Since starting this blog of short stories, I have yet to include anything about my favorite sport of running. For almost seventy years beginning in 1957, I have been a runner, starting with my high school years, then on to university years and afterward as a member of several clubs in the US, Canada, and Africa. I've only run eight marathons, not many by comparison to a lot of folks, but I'm proud to say all of them have taken me less than three hours. I ran my last one in 1982. Maybe I did go over three hours once, but that was when I entered the London marathon, but could not make it to the race, and a British schoolboy used my number to run with my name. My best was 2 hours 35 minutes and 55.92 seconds in Quebec City in 1981. You will note that runners like to be specific when talking about their performances. When I realized I would not get any faster due to aging, I said, "Enough". But I didn't stop running, just stopped running marathons.
Recently while cleaning out the stable, I came across a reflection I wrote the day after that first marathon. I put it below in it's original typewritten form. There is also a picture of me at the finish of that race. This was the 1976 Ottawa marathon. It was also the Canadian Olympic trials as Canada was hosting the Olympics in Montreal that year. You may note that I mention there were only 550 runners in that race. That number is miniscule compared to the popularity of today's marathon competitions which go into the tens of thousands. And the fee to run was probably only $5.00, whereas today's organizers bilk runners several hundred to get into the 'big' races. I also mention that I finished in 40th place, an absurdly good finish in today's races where the top times are much faster.
In the story below, I don't mention it, but if you look at the picture of me at the finish you will note that my shorts look rather tight. They were. I forgot to pack a pair in my kit, and Sunday morning when the race was scheduled to start in Ottawa, I discovered that I had no lower gear to run in. There was no such thing as 'running stores' in those days, and if there were, to find one open at 8;00AM on a Sunday in Ottawa would have been impossible. Fortunately one of my fellow travellers, Bernard Beland had an extra pair. However, Bernard was about 5 feet 3 inches tall and had a much smaller waist than I had, but I managed to squeeze into his spare pair and run a somewhat strangulated race.
Here is my account:
The Finish
Of note: No automatic timers, only a single individual recording our number and time by hand. Also notice that my number is hand lettered. Nothing like this anymore. And where is the finish line? When I moved to British Columbia in 2013, a lady in my new club the Comox Valley Road Runners told me she had also run her first marathon that day. Her name Diane Palmason. Diane became one on the great Masters runners in Canada in the following years.
From my friend and fellow runner Roy Mason:
My best was 2:37:something. I was 17th in a field of 600+ but have a vivid memory of the last 100 yards where there was an older guy carrying his shoes. Put on a spurt and I could pass him. No, 16th place was his as he toughed up and sprinted the last few yards barefoot. The picture of a guy limping, holding his shoes beating me is my memory of that race.
The lack of an exact time is evidence of cognitive decline.
(I had a results list. That's how I knew my time, Roy.)
Used to be, wake me in the middle of the night and I could supply my best times at any distance down to the tenth. It is also evidence of the ravages of age which keep me in the recliner instead of going through drawers and exploring shelves where, in 10-15 minutes, I could find the notebook that would supply that info. That said, I've come to the realization that much of the material I have saved falls into the "nobody gives a shit" category.
Unfortunately this classification also fits the collection of photos, results and newspaper articles about the La Mirada Meteors girls team I coached in the late 60s and early 70s which I found while organizing a couple rooms. I assembled this disorganized memorabilia in a large 80 page scrapbook. Leaf through it and memories flow. Debbie's record mile is the highlight but I had others that were near her level and a couple with more talent. Six kids competed internationally and we won a national championship.
That scrapbook sits on my desk, needing only the subjects of a few photos to be identified. When that work is done, the book will go on a shelf to be tossed in the trash when my children clean out the house in preparation for sale. I could pass it along to one of the few kids with whom I have contact. but while they would enjoy leafing through it and showing it to grandchildren, they aren't kids. These are 70 year old women. The book would have the same fate when they pass.
A last note. The photo you included forces me to comment on your lack of dedication and effort. This is the finish and you are not leaning at the tape?
Reply: Hey do you see a finish line in that photo? How could I know when to lean?
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