5K Cancer Run...my final race

Ran what was probably my last 5K this past weekend. Two second year Sloan students, Erin Santerre & Emil Smith, made sure I got around the course safely.

Johnny the Younger, rest in Peace

I can't say it any better than Amby, so go here first:
John J. Kelley, RIP, 1930-2011: 1957 Boston Marathon Winner; America's First Modern Road Runner, by Amby Burfoot, Runners World Editor-at-Large (thanks to Yankee Runner for pointing out the link)

Quote from my memoir, All Over the Board, Mile 5 - Embrace of a Lifetime:
"The runners spilled over into the gymnasium. Nobody wanted to go outside because of the cold and rain. The distinct wintergreen smell of Bengay permeated the room. In one corner, the two Johnny Kelleys (John A. Kelly the ‘elder’ and John J. Kelly the ‘younger’) held court and posed for photographs. I was impressed by the fact that Johnny Kelley the younger, who had won the race ten years earlier in 2 hours, 20 minutes and 5 seconds, sported the biggest bunions I had ever seen. When he stood, his feet looked like sailboats crossing on the gym floor."

My earlier blog on the marathon posted April 16, 2010 (repeated here in Johnny's honor):


It is hard to believe that it has been twenty years since I crossed the finish line of the Boston Marathon for the last time, together with my friends Ruth Rothfarb and Marie Fitzherbert. The scan above is the mylar "blanket" that the race officials threw over my shoulders at the end of the race.



featuring: Albin Stenroos Paris 1924, Emil Zátopek Helsinki 1952, Alain Mimoun Melbourne 1956, Abebe Bikila Rome 1960, Tokyo 1964, Mamo Wolde Mexico 1968, Josiah Thugwane Atlanta 1996, Abera Sydney 2000, Samuel Wanjiru Beijing 2008 (RIP), Montreal 1976 Waldemar Cierpinski, Moscow 1980, Los Angeles 1984 Carlos Lopez, Munich 1972 Frank Shorter, London 2012, Kitei Son Berlín 1936, Juan Zabala, Haile Gebrselassie, Paavo Nurmi. You can also catch a glimpse of USA's John J. Kelley if you look closely.

Added video of the 1959 Boston Marathon:


Also see Norwich Bulletin article by Marc Allard, 8/22/11

Rest in Peace, Johnny Kelley (Dec 24, 1930 - Aug 21, 2011)

It must be the link to the stupid human trick

OK, so I checked my blog stats today and one entry has 2,242 hits, more than double any other. It must be the link to the stupid human trick that did it. How do people find these things?

Go here to learn which one has been viewed the most. Hint: It was added in 2008 and the photo in this post has nothing to do with it.

This article is in second place (one of my own favorites).

By the way, it started as a chess blog... but nine of the top 10 most popular posts have nothing to do with chess?!

Twenty Years

It is hard to believe that it has been twenty years since I crossed the finish line of the Boston Marathon for the last time, together with my friends Ruth Rothfarb and Marie Fitzherbert. The scan above is the mylar "blanket" that the race officials threw over my shoulders at the end of the race.

May God rest your soul, Abele Bikila, wherever you are:


featuring: Albin Stenroos Paris 1924, Emil Zátopek Helsinki 1952, Alain Mimoun Melbourne 1956, Abebe Bikila Rome 1960, Tokyo 1964, Mamo Wolde Mexico 1968, Josiah Thugwane Atlanta 1996, Abera Sydney 2000, Samuel Wanjiru Beijing 2008 (RIP), Montreal 1976 Waldemar Cierpinski, Moscow 1980, Los Angeles 1984 Carlos Lopez, Munich 1972 Frank Shorter, London 2012, Kitei Son Berlín 1936, Juan Zabala, Haile Gebrselassie, Paavo Nurmi.

Happy Birthday Rick Bayko

Today is Rick Bayko's 61st birthday. Those who have read a few chapters of my upcoming book are aware that Rick's time in the service paralleled my two years in the hospital. He is also the person most responsible for my return to running after an 18-year absence.

Rick Bayko of Newburypot MA, AKA "the Polish Rifle"

I have been blessed thoughout my life with the best set of friends anyone can have. Surely, that's what got me through the toughest times. At the top of the list is Rick Bayko. We met at a race in Merrimac MA in July 1966 and have been part of each other's lives ever since.

Rick Bayko at my side at Hartford Hospital, January 1968, shortly before he was shipped to Viet Nam. We corresponded nearly every day of my two-year stay in the hospital.

When I first left the hospital I had three options: (1) wheelchair, (2) crawling around the house on my rear end and hands (especially on the stairs), and (3) my locked-kneed long-legged braces and crutches. I gradually went from exclusively option (1) to a combination of (2) and (3) by the summer of 1970. I couldn’t drive but I commuted with other Bentley students from Milford. In the fall of ’70 and spring of ’71 I lived in a dormitory on the Bentley College campus in Waltham. By the time I got married in August of 1971 I had short braces (to the knee) and a cane.

Meanwhile, in May of 1971, I was riding in a car driven by a Bentley fraternity brother when he got into a minor “fender bender” type accident. However the impact pushed my brace against my left tibia and caused another fracture. They put a cast on it at Waltham Hospital but the doctors there had difficulty determining from the x-rays what was new and was old. So they didn’t set the fracture properly and it healed crooked (very crooked). I didn’t have it straightened until 1979.

The combination of crooked left leg, osteoporosis, weak leg muscles, limited joint mobility, severed nerve in lower left leg, non-union of the left fibula (which still exists), leg braces and 4”-6” heels made it impossible to consider running as an option in any foreseeable time horizon. My leg muscles gradually regained strength between 1971 and 1980. I also gained weight (from 105 to 213) so the extra poundage offset gains in strength in terms of ability to give running a try.

I played wheelchair basketball one season (1971-72), which built up my upper body strength and dropped 17 quick pounds. But I moved away to Cornell where there was no wheelchair basketball outlet. A teammate of mine on the New England Clippers was Bob Hall who later pioneered wheelchair marathoning. I often thought of trying to be the first person to run and wheel the Boston Marathon in under three hours but never had the time or sufficient motivation. I still might some day. I once thought breaking three hours in a chair would be a piece of cake, but not so any more.

During all those years, Rick Bayko was a constant source of encouragement. He made sure I never gave up.Rick Bayko, Diana Murray and Frank Niro, circa 1989. Diana was also born on October 15th, so today is her 57th birthday. Shhhh. Don't tell anyone.

My first attempt at running again came in the summer of 1973, but physically I wasn’t ready yet. I was on Cape Cod with Rick Bayko for the APCL convention and chess tournament. Between rounds he went to run along the Cape Cod Canal as we had both done in the ‘60s. I went with him and while he was training I decided to see if I could get both feet off the ground at the same time. It seemed to me that this would be a fundamental prerequisite to being able to run again. At that point I had only one short-legged brace on my left leg. I couldn’t stand up without shoes (e.g. in the shower) because of foot drop. I was able to get about three strides, but it was quite painful. I worked at it for about an hour until Rick came back. As he watched I actually ran the distance from telephone pole to telephone pole (about 35 yards). On that date both Rick Bayko and I knew that someday I would run again.

Rick contacted Jeff Johnson of NIKE. Jeff had a pair of shoes specially made for me using Bill Bowerman’s new waffle design that had not yet been released to the public. They had lifts on the heels and extra padding inside to protect my feet. NIKE gave them to me for no charge. I used them about a dozen times at Cornell to “run” on the indoor track but, by that time, I weighed 185 pounds. The heels pronated so I couldn’t use my custom NIKEs. I would need stronger counters. There is no doubt that the use of the custom shoes set the groundwork for my return to running a decade later. But there were some physical issues to be surgically corrected first.

I stopped wearing the brace on my leg around 1976. But my left leg was still very crooked and my limp was quite noticeable. I tried to run a few times in the fall of 1978 but developed back pain for the first time in my life. My weight had climbed to 195 and probably had something to do with it. I visited my doctor in Connecticut and asked for his advice. He didn’t rule out running again but suggested three things: (1) lose 30 pounds, (2) get the leg straightened , and (3) don’t rush it. My body, he told me, would let me know when it was time to run again. I accomplished (2) in 1979. But it was a physical and psychological setback because it required surgery (operation #19) and I was back on crutches and in a cast for several more months. Meanwhile, I was worried about the back pain returning, so I put the idea of running again out of my mind for a few more years.

The weight has continued to be the real struggle. I was 213 lbs in June 1985. Diet and exercise have been continuing parts of my vocabulary and I have become the poster child for yo-yo dieting ever since. My comeback was made after 18 years, but I often wonder how much better it would have been if I had dropped the excess baggage along the way.

Nowadays, Rick Bayko is pushing 150 pounds. Happy birthday, old friend! And Happy birthday, Diana, wherever you are.


Some Rick Bayko links:
Knowing the biz made Bayko’s business by Jill Anderson
Still in great shape, Rick now competes at online stationary rowing. Click here

Mile 5: Embrace of a Lifetime

SECOND DRAFT

As always, your comments and suggestions for improvement can be sent directly to the author at ChessSafari@yahoo.com.

Frank Niro, on his 18th birthday, September 28, 1966

Unlike the previous year, the 1967 Boston Marathon was run on a chilly, drizzly, windy day. It was a tough day for the runners and especially miserable for spectators. Nevertheless, a 40-year-old housewife and mother stood near the 14-mile marker in front of Wellesley High School counting the runners as they passed by. She was there, standing alone in the rain, for one reason. She didn’t drive a car but, luckily, her neighbor Antoinette Cormier offered to bring her to watch the race. Mrs. Cormier sat in her car with the heater on while the mother stood watching and counting, in a motionless gaze as each runner went by.

The first runner, New Zealander Dave McKenzie came by at 1:12 pm with American track star Tom Laris close on his heels. The remaining runners were spread out in the distance like an endless parade. One by one she counted the runners as they passed. She was prepared to count all 650 entrants if necessary. She needed to do it; she needed to find out if her son was still alive. It had been more than two months she last heard anything at all from him. Anxiously she thought, if he is alive he will be in this race and, if he is in this race, he will run by and I will see him.

As for me, I trained hard for the 1967 Boston Marathon, averaging more than ten miles per day during the previous twelve months. A large percentage of the training was in races. I completed six other full 26-mile marathons plus a 24-miler, and participated in my freshman cross country season at Bentley College. The highlight was my finish in Atlantic City in October 1966, where I became the youngest American runner to officially break three hours in an AAU sanctioned marathon. A few months later I was able to complete three full marathons in an eight day period. So I was quite confident that I would perform well here.

Despite the fact that I had temporarily withdrawn from college in order to save money for tuition, my Bentley teammates and I were given permission by the school to form its first track & field program. We competed in invitational events on the track as well as open road races. We entered a team in the Boston Marathon consisting of Ed Sicard, Bob Benoit, Jim Jeneral, Scott White and Dan Heary. Since I wasn’t currently enrolled in classes, I entered as a member of the North Medford Club.

The race started at noon. My Bentley teammates and I arrived at Hopkinton High School, about a mile from the starting line, before 10 am. Most of the veteran runners were accustomed to changing into their running clothes in the school’s locker room. This year would present a more difficult challenge because, for the first time, the race had more than 650 participants. Getting there early was a necessity.

The runners spilled over into the gymnasium. Nobody wanted to go outside because of the cold and rain. The distinct wintergreen smell of Bengay permeated the room. In one corner, the two Johnny Kelleys (John A. Kelly the ‘elder’ and John J. Kelly the ‘younger’) held court and posed for photographs. I was impressed by the fact that Johnny Kelley the younger, who had won the race ten years earlier in 2 hours, 20 minutes and 5 seconds, sported the biggest bunions I had ever seen. When he stood, his feet looked like sailboats crossing on the gym floor.

On the other side of the room, newspaper reporters were interviewing the contenders: Canadian champion Andrew Boychuk, American hopefuls Amby Burfoot and Tom Laris, New Zealand visitor Dave McKenzie and, through their interpreter, three Japanese runners.

I found a seat next to Ted Corbitt, an ultra-marathoner whom I had talked with at the Atlantic City and Cherry Tree marathons. He was accustomed to doing 50-mile races, and longer, which I found intriguing. Ted Corbitt liked regular marathons too and ran a lot of them. His best finish in the Boston Marathon was 6th place in 1952, the same year he competed for the United States in the Olympic games.

No sun block would be required this year, as it was in 1966, but Ted Corbitt was applying Vaseline liberally to his entire body. It made his skin shine like a new car. He looked every bit the superb athlete that he was, even at age 45. “Here, take some,” he said as held the jar within my reach. “Put some under your arms and on your nipples and anywhere else where there will be rubbing,” he said. “It prevents chafing. That’s important on a day like this.” So I did. I was getting advice from one of the best and I knew I could trust him.

Rick Bayko, Tom Derderian, Jim Conley and I started the race at the back of the pack. We were inexperienced and didn’t realize that it would take almost a minute after the gun to reach the starting line. Kurt Steiner, a short man built like a fireplug, charged into the lead for the first 300 yards, just as he usually did before settling into his customary four hour pace. Kurt probably held the lead in more marathon races than any other runner in history but, as far as I know, never finished in the top half of the field.

My eyes were on the lookout for Johnny Kelley the elder. Even though he was 59 years old, I knew that he could be counted on to break the three hour barrier. I figured that if I stayed close to him, I would too. Remembering Stan Tiernan’s advice from last year and the mistake I made in the Brockton marathon, I decided to start out more slowly and let Johnny the elder be my beacon.

Once we began moving, the cold didn’t seem bothersome but the headwinds were brutal. I tried to duck behind some tall runners whenever I could. My main focus remained old Johnny. It was easy to find him because of the applause from the crowd. There were not as many spectators as usual due to the poor weather, but most of them came to cheer for the icon Kelly; it was a rite of spring. Old Johnny Kelley won the Boston Marathon in 1935 and 1945. He had 15 top five finishes between 1934 and 1950 and finished second an unbelievable seven times. He was a link to the past. Johnny Kelley WAS the Boston Marathon.

I caught up to him at the four mile mark between Ashland and Framingham and ran beside him for the next eight miles. He didn’t seem bothered by my company. “I’m trying to break three hours and I know you will do it,” I said. “Sure you can, son,” he replied, “but it might get pretty noisy.” He probably expected me to over-extend myself trying to keep up, and quickly drop off. He had the reputation for being aloof toward ordinary runners, but on that occasion he seemed warm and obliging. He was in his Element. And he was correct about the noise.

As we approached Framingham square, the fans cheered wildly and loudly. Johnny Kelley was who they were there to see. Old John waved his arms in the air and acknowledged the accolades. Occasionally, he blew a kiss to someone in the crowd. I felt like I was crashing a private party. At the same time, I knew that I belonged.

We passed the 10-mile mark in 64 minutes, a little faster than what I had planned, but I remained confident that wise old John knew what he was doing. The crowd in Natick was even bigger and the cheers reverberated like Fenway Park. This time Johnny waved and, what the heck, I waved too. He smiled at the fans. I smiled too. Blowing kisses, though, was out of the question.

Soon the young women in front of Wellesley college were in sight. They came onto the street to catch a glimpse of old Johnny Kelley. They reached out to touch his shirt like he was a living relic. “I hate it when they try to touch me,” he said in a stern tone of voice. I moved over to the left side of the road to avoid the crowd completely. I wasn’t going to risk pouring ginger ale over my head like I did at the same place the year before. It continued to rain heavily so I didn’t feel the need for hydration.

Despite his words to the contrary, Johnny Kelley seemed to thrive on the attention and the affection of the fans. While I went to the left, he inched closer to the right. It was slowing him down. Then I made a huge mistake. I shifted gears and started running as though this was a five mile cross country meet. I felt good and decided to test what my body could do. To my detriment, I picked up the pace.

The negative impact was not immediate. I reached the half way point in Wellesley Center at 1:21. It was eight full minutes faster than Atlantic City. Had I really improved that much? I had covered the five kilometers since Natick in just over 17 minutes. Once I gave myself a reality check and determined that there was no way I should be running a 2:42 marathon pace, I started to panic. My confidence sagged. It was all psychological. Or was it?

My train of thought was soon interrupted. Up ahead, a woman ran into the center of the road. She was jumping up and down, waving frantically, right in the middle of my path. I would have to change direction to get around her. At first I felt very annoyed.

“You are in 88th place,” she shouted. “I counted every runner ahead of you. Come home, Frank. Please come home, I miss you. Everyone misses you. It doesn’t matter what you did or why you did it. It’ll be alright; just come home.” The tears dripping from her face were hard to distinguish from the rain drops. Then she wrapped her arms around me with the embrace of a lifetime.
“I will, Ma. I’ll be home tonight. I promise.”

I stumbled back into the stream of runners. Now, besides being in a physical state of high alert, I was an emotional wreck. My entire body was on overload. For a couple of minutes I lost my bearings. I forgot where I was, and I lost my concentration and focus.

My next dose of reality came soon enough as Rick Bayko came up on my left shoulder. Like he did in our last marathon, he was about to roar by me like a freight train. The 15-mile checkpoint was in plain view and this was absolutely not the time and place that he wanted to engage in one of my irritating mid-race interrogations. “Hi, Rick. Where have you been? I’ve been waiting patiently for you to get here. Do you know we’re on a 2:40 marathon pace? Do you think we can run that fast? Wouldn’t that be great? I ran all the way from Ashland to Wellesley with Johnny Kelley. What a trip. Hey, Rick…”
Without a word, he glanced at me with ‘the look’. I knew the look and I knew exactly what it meant: ‘Shut the hell up!’. He didn’t have to say a word, even if he wanted to, which he didn’t.

As we crossed the route 9 overpass in Wellesley Hills, Rick picked up the pace. Like an earlier version of Bill Rodgers, Rick Bayko was very fast on the downhill section of the course. This day, he was fast on every part of the course. Rick had run hard in 1966, but collapsed at 22 miles and wound up in the Peter Bent Brigham hospital emergency room instead of the line for beef stew at the Prudential Center. He wasn’t going to let that happen again. Regardless of our friendship, he wasn’t going to let me jeopardize his race with my incessant babbling. Down the hill we went into Newton Lower Falls. He wanted to shake me as fast as he could and this was the place to do it.

It worked. At 16 miles I hit the wall, and it was my own fault. I should not have picked up the pace at Wellesley College. Nor should I have tried to match strides with Rick Bayko coming out of Wellesley Hills, not to mention the energy wasting chatter. Some lessons in life are learned the hard way. For me, this was one of those lessons.

Soon three North Medford teammates came by: Dick Clapp, Lenny Holmes and Dick Ruquist. These were folks I should’ve been running with, or ahead of, like I had so many times in recent races. Yet they went by me like I was standing still. “Keep it up…hey, what’s wrong Frank?” Lenny spouted as he looked back over his shoulder.
“I’m having a problem with my universal joint,” I responded while taking a page from Tom Derderian’s ‘good humor’ manual. Tom was fond of characterizing his running travails in terms of a finely tuned automobile.

My wake up call was right behind them. I could hear the cheering getting louder and louder as Johnny Kelley got closer and closer. In Auburndale, we turned onto Commonwealth Avenue and started up the Newton Hills. “Hi Johnny, I missed you.” I had to make up my mind to run through the pain. If I was going to get a shot at a sub-three hour Boston Marathon, I had to stick with Johnny Kelley.

I got into Johnny Kelley’s space. There were no shadows that day due to the lack of sunshine…except for one: me. I was like a puppy on a leash moving faithfully behind. This year the hills were hard work. I was determined to stay with the Master. Without him to draw me forward, I would have seriously considered dropping out. I blew my race and now I knew it.

The marathon, like life, is long and winding, with its ups and downs, with its raindrops and headwinds, with its opportunities for redemption. There was still plenty of time to salvage a good race. “I can do this,” I said audibly. “Show me the way, Johnny.” I raised my eyes skyward and said a quick prayer. I needed all the help I could get.

One by one, the hills came and went. We eventually reached the crest of Heartbreak Hill near Boston College. I appreciated for the first time how the name originated and why the moniker has stuck. “It’s all down hill from here,” said Johnny. I could see the top of the Prudential Center six miles in the distance; it finally felt within reach.

We made the left turn onto Beacon Street. “Sometimes these are the shortest four miles of the race,” Johnny said. “And sometimes they are the longest.” Unlike the previous year, there was no young boy standing there with a chocolate bar. It would’ve been pretty soggy by now. I assured myself that it would have tasted awful (a little internal psychological warfare).

Suddenly it happened: I got my second wind. I felt like I was back at mile 10. It is a phenomenon that is hard to understand and even harder to explain. But it can happen to any runner at any point in a long race. I was glad it was happening to me. This time I wasn’t going to make the mistake of charging ahead. We still had a half hour to reach the finish line by 3 o’clock. I asked Johnny if he thought we would beat three hours. “By a minute or two,” he said confidently. “Just keep the same pace.”

The noise in Kenmore Square was deafening. The crowd from the Red Sox game was streaming out of Fenway Park and they all seemed to know that Johnny Kelley was crossing the B.U. bridge. Word of mouth was moving faster than the runners. I didn’t want to be next to Old Johnny Kelley going through Kenmore Square. This was his show and the applause was for him. “You’ve got it made now,” he said. “Go ahead and stretch it out. Get the best time you can.” His thoughts and mine were in synch. I lengthened my stride and left him behind to enjoy the moment.
Old Johnny Kelley is shown approaching the finish line for his thirty-eighth Boston Marathon in 1967. At age 59, it was the last time he would finish a full length marathon in less than three hours.

I ran the last mile under six minutes, finishing in 132nd place with a time of 2 hours, 57 minutes and 19 seconds. I was thrilled to see Frank Conti on Hereford Street, a half mile from the finish, cheering for the runners, especially his Bentley College teammates. Frank had been one of the runners responsible for forming the cross country program at the college a few years earlier, and had recently advocated with school administration for support of a track & field team. Not only was his dream a reality, in our first ‘season’ we had competed at distances from 60 meters to 42,195 meters.

My time wasn’t as fast as I would have liked but it was my best so far, certainly not bad for an 18-year-old. I was confident that I would do better next time. Of course, I assumed there would be a next time.

The race was won by Dave McKenzie in course record time of 2:15:48. Tom Laris was second. He recovered well after falling back to eighth place in the Newton hills. The first two North Medford Club finishers were, as expected, Jim Daley (2:34:12 in 34th place) and Larry Olsen (2:37:42 in 48th). The next NMC finisher was a shocker: 19-year-old Rick Bayko of Newburyport, after dropping out the year before, finished 56th in 2:40:27. He never slowed down after dropping me in Newton Lower Falls, while picking off at least 40 runners over the last ten miles.

Eventually, Rick Bayko finished in the top 20 of the Boston Marathon four consecutive times. His best time was 2:20:56 for 17th place in 1974. His highest finish was 13th in 1971 (2:27:37). His streak of top 20 finishes ended in 1975 when he was 31st. But his time that year (2:21:28) would have won all 56 Boston Marathons before 1953. That year’s winning time, as well as those recorded in 1954-56, were later invalidated when the course was re-measured and found to be short. So, the 1957 victory by Johnny Kelley the younger was the first journey by anyone under 2 hours and 21 minutes for the full distance. Rick Bayko won many other races including the Philadelphia and Houston Marathons, and the New England 30K Championship over Bill Rodgers in 1974. All things considered, it is my opinion that his 1967 Boston Marathon result was his best effort of all.

Tom Derderian, still a senior in high school in 1967, dropped out in Wellesley of what he termed a ‘blown transmission’. He didn’t compete in 1968 but managed 2:49:33 in his next try in 1969, followed by 2:29:57 in 1970. His eventual best was 2:19:04 (18th place) in 1975. His first marathon victory was in the 1972 Holyoke Marathon (2:38:14).

Old Johnny Kelley crossed the finish line in 2:58:13; it was the last time he would finish a full marathon in less than three hours. Amby Burfoot was 17th with a time of 2:28:05. But it wasn’t his time yet. Amby came back in 1968 to win the race in blistering heat. Lenny Holmes finished in 2:53:35 for the best marathon of his life. Siggy Podlozny beat more than half of the field in one of his best marathon results: 3:30 for 294th place. Notably, high school senior Leo Duart of Vineyard Haven finished 90th in 2:47:15 to become the new youngest American runner to break three hours in a marathon.

As promised, I went home that night to get reacquainted with my family. My mother had her son back. Mrs. Cormier, the neighbor who had driven her to Wellesley, was not so fortunate. Her son, Eugene, was a classmate and friend between 4th grade and our junior year in high school. We were cohorts on many adventures and practical jokes while growing up. He dropped out of school after a disagreement with one of the nuns and, as soon as he was eligible, enlisted in the marines. On the day of the marathon, Gene Cormier was fighting for his country in Viet Nam; or to put it more precisely, he was doing what his Country asked him to do in a strange and far away land.

On September 22, 1967, her son Pfc. Eugene Cormier of Milford, Massachusetts, was killed by enemy fire in Quang Tri Province in the republic of South Viet Nam. A short time later, Richard Ramskwich received word that his good friend and neighbor, Dave St. John, was coming home from Viet Nam in a box. For me, the reality of the Viet Nam war was beginning to sink in. It would soon become a reality for Rick Bayko as well.

Mile 4: Bobbi, Sue & Kathrine

Quote of the Day: Bobbi Gibb made big headlines and big photos in the Boston papers. “Hub Bride First Gal to Run Marathon” and “Blond Wife, 23, Runs Marathon.” Yet she could not join the other runners for their traditional bowl of beef stew in the Prudential cafeteria: Women were not allowed. Photographers followed her home, and one of the shots showed her at home later on race day in the kitchen, making fudge with a friend. -- Tom Derderian, from his wonderful book: BOSTON Marathon, The History of the World’s Premier Running Event.

Following is an excerpt from the fourth chapter of my upcoming book, Safari Into the Black & White Jungle. Please send your comments and suggestions to the author via e-mail: ChessSafari@yahoo.com.

Chess and running have been constant threads throughout my life. They haven’t always represented the same level of importance but they’ve always been part of my personality and part of my character. Sometimes these threads have run parallel and sometimes they have become entangled, often braided in my mind like a cord.

So it’s not surprising that I used metaphors about running in my Strategic Vision presentation to the US Chess Federation delegates in 2002. While discussing chess and Alzheimer’s disease, I talked about the prevalent myth heard in my youth that running a marathon would make a person immune from heart disease. After running Guru Jim Fixx dropped dead of a heart attack, the pendulum swung the other way as doomsayers started to warn that running would lead to all kinds of medical maladies. Eventually, however, most competent health professionals came to understand that people have inherent risk factors that cannot be overcome in all cases by diet and exercise. Nowadays, it is generally understood that vigorous physical exercise on a regular basis reduces the risk of coronary artery disease and other illnesses such as diabetes and stroke, but it does not make anyone immune.

Recently, there have been studies that demonstrate that playing chess and engaging in other forms of mental gymnastics may reduce the risk of Alzheimer’s disease. It is my belief that one day it will be generally understood that vigorous mental exercise on a regular basis reduces the risk of dementia and related mental health problems. Promoting this notion in the public eye, I urged, will give a boost to the popularity of the game of chess.

As with the sport of running before the mid-1960s, chess is a male dominated activity. Less than 5% of adult tournament chess players in the U.S. are female. Almost as many girls as boys up to about the fourth grade play chess in school, but most young girls give it up for other activities soon thereafter. Chess helps develop cognitive skills, teaches kids to plan ahead, helps developing minds identify consequences related to their actions, and improves self esteem and social skills. It is equally as beneficial for girls and boys.

There were virtually no women runners when I was growing up because of various prejudices. But after Joan Benoit won the 1984 Olympic Marathon in Los Angeles the popularity of running among women took off. It took off so much, in fact, that many of the local 5K and 10K road races around the country now routinely have more female entrants than male.

Of course, like most other greats, Joan Benoit stood on the shoulders of others. Perhaps she wouldn’t have been running herself had it not been for those who tried it before her. The longest women’s track and field event in the Olympics was only 200 meters until 1960. After that it was the 800, then the 1500 and later the 10,000. Finally in 1984 the Women’s Olympic marathon was introduced.

Many casual runners will probably tell you that the first female marathon runner was Kathrine Switzer. She became famous when race director Jock Semple tried to pull her off the course during the 1967 Boston Marathon. Kathrine was an athlete, not just an agitator. Once women were allowed to run ‘officially’ in 1972, Switzer placed in the top 5 four times, including 1975 when she ran her personal best time of 2:51:37 for second place. Only a world record performance that year by West German superstar Liane Winter kept her from the ultimate satisfaction of having race officials place a laurel wreath on her head.

Kathrine Switzer was inspired, according to her own words, by someone who did it before her: Roberta Gibb. A friend had run the 1966 Boston Marathon in 3 hours and 45 minutes. He was a 2-mile runner on the local college track team and related the story of how a woman named Roberta Gibb had finished more than a mile ahead of him in the race. Amazed, Kathy Switzer ran the Boston Marathon the very next year.

Most serious runners, especially those who have read Tom Derderian’s book about the Boston Marathon, know about Roberta Gibb. Only a handful of them have ever heard about Sue Morse. Not to take anything away from Kathy Switzer, as I think her accomplishments were terrific and great for the sport, but Roberta Gibb and Sue Morse ran a marathon before her.

Tom Derderian’s personal recollection of the 1966 Boston Marathon was coaxing his father to pick me up after the morning track meet in order to transport me to the starting line in Hopkinton. It was a gift for which I will remain eternally grateful since my own father had no interest. It was too inconvenient for him. Tom eventually ran 2:19:04 for an 18th place finish in the 1975 Boston Marathon, the year of Kathy Switzer’s best race.

Tom’s description of the 1966 race is a masterpiece. In it, he presented a well-researched biography of Roberta Gibb, who wore an official number and ran as “R. Gibb”. She finished in 3 hours, 26 minutes and 40 seconds for an unofficial placing of 126th. Bobbi, as she was known to her friends, completed the Boston Marathon again in 1967 in 3:27:17, but was pretty much ignored by the media in favor of Kathrine Switzer who finished an hour later. As mentioned above, Switzer gained national attention when race official Jock Semple tried to rip her number off her shirt as he shouted, “Get the hell out of my race and give me that number.”

Then there is the story of Sue Morse, which I witnessed with my own eyes. The Philadelphia Marathon was held on December 18, 1966, my third full length marathon in 8 days. My goal was to see if had recovered well enough from the previous weekend to break three hours.

The Philadelphia Marathon course was the most scenic of any that I ran. It started at the last boat house on ‘boat house row’ along the Schuylkill River, went around the Museum of Art (the building with the steps featured in the first Rocky movie), and back along the river through Fairmount Park for about four miles to a turnaround point near the Philadelphia Zoo. Then it returned to the starting line for a total of 8 ¾ miles. This was done three times.Frank Niro, running the first of three 26.2 mile marathons in eight days, Brockton, MA, December 1966

One of the enjoyable aspects of the race was that you could see the other runners going the opposite way after each loop. It enabled the runners to participate and be spectators at the same time. Such an event would be impractical today because of the large fields, but with less than 30 entrants it was probably easier for the officials to keep track of everyone on a three lap course.

Amby Burfoot, a friend from Connecticut, won the race. He was in second place early and closed fast to take over the lead on the last lap. His winning time was 2:24:43. I remember our paths crossing as I was heading out and he was coming back. “You look good. Keep it up,” he said. On the other end of the field was Sue Morse, a local high school senior who was running her first marathon. I had spoken to her at the starting line where she told me she just wanted to finish before dark and thought she could do better than four hours. Each time our paths intersected I tried to give her a smile and some encouragement.

I finished the race in 3:01:22, disappointed that it took me longer than three hours. Later, the course was re-measured and found to be 462 yards too long. I was pleased when I saw the race report by H. Browning Ross in the Long Distance Log noting the discrepancy.

After the race I took a shower in the boat house, changed into my street clothes and headed for the finish line to cheer for Sue Morse. On the way out I passed the race officials coming into the building. “Hey, aren’t you going to wait for Sue Morse?” I asked. “She’s not finished yet and has a good chance to break four hours. Somebody should be there to record her time.”

“She’s not an official runner,” I was told. “If you want her time recorded then you get it. Here...”, one of the officials blurted as he transferred his stopwatch that was hanging from a string around his neck to mine. Sue Morse was met at the finish by a crowd of one. “Three hours, 58 minutes and 49 seconds,” I told her. “Nice job. Here, put my sweatshirt on and stay warm.” Back inside, I recorded Sue’s time on the bottom of the official list of finishers and returned the watch.

At the awards ceremony, the room was filled with newspaper reporters, politicians and other dignitaries. I was awarded a trophy for finishing in 12th place and a medal for being a member of the 3rd place team. Then they called me to the podium for another award. “Youngest finisher; congratulations” I was told. “There must be some mistake,” I said into the microphone. “The youngest finisher was Sue Morse. This award belongs to her, not me.”

Sue Morse came forward and I gave her HER prize. The newspapers took note. The article in the Sunday paper said, “The marathon had an unofficial entry in Sue Morse, Olney High School student who represented Philadelphia Hawks TC and finished 27th. She became the first women ever to run this distance in the area.”

Within a few days of returning home I received the following letter from the Mid Atlantic Association of the Amateur Athletic Union:

“The Chairman of the Long Distance Committee of the Mid Atlantic AAU has called to our attention your recent violation of AAU rules that resulted when you publicly presented your award for finishing the MAAAU championship race in Philadelphia, 12/18.66, to a non-AAU member.

Under these circumstances your action calls for punitive measures. You are hereby notified of the suspension of your privileges, effective immediately, to participate in any and all MAAAU events for a period of 90 days from the date of this letter. During this period, no travel permits to run in any sanctioned races in the mid-Atlantic region will be issued under your name and AAU membership number.”

Professionally, Jock Semple was a physiotherapist and a masseuse. He worked on Causeway Street in Boston next to the old Boston Garden. His office was quaint and doubled as the Boston Athletic Association (B.A.A.) headquarters. Every wall was decorated with trophies, plaques, medals and old photographs.

I liked to run across town to see Jock at least once each week. He was entertaining, funny, knowledgeable about running, and most of all, opinionated. Originally from Scotland, Jock Semple had an unmistakable brogue that imprinted every word he spoke. I enjoyed listening to him tell stories and rant about whatever happened to be on his mind. It was not unusual to bump into a Boston Bruins player or one of the B.A.A. elite runners in his office for a whirlpool or a rubdown. I often stopped to pick up a sandwich for him since he frequently was busy with clients. It pleased him for two reasons: he didn’t have to leave the office, and he saved a buck and a quarter. On most occasions, I was a welcome guest.

After receiving the letter from the AAU, I visited him to tell him what had happened. “Well you shouldn’t have done it,” he said. Then with his trademark accent he added, “Girrrrls can’t run marathons.” “Sure they can, Jock, I witnessed it myself.” He walked into the next room shaking his head. Maybe I should have tried harder to convince him, but it was pretty difficult to budge Jock Semple once he had made up his mind on any subject. Four months later, his attitude earned him headlines.
NOTE: CLICK ON ABOVE ARTICLE TO ENLARGE

Hall breaks Olympic Trials marathon record

Quote of the Day: "Ryan Shay was a tremendous champion who was here today to pursue his dreams. The Olympic trials is traditionally a day of celebration, but we are heartbroken." -- Craig Masback
Ryan Hall, shown here in a blue singlet at the starting line in New York on Saturday, set an Olympic trials record. His friend and competitor Ryan Shay, standing next to him, collapsed and died after 5 1/2 miles.

The most important 26.2-mile race in New York City this past weekend was not, in my opinion, the ING New York City marathon. Instead, the NYRRC staged the latest version of the men's Olympic marathon trials to select the USA men's team for the 2008 Beijing Olympic Games. Californian Ryan Hall won in the time of 2:09:02, remarkable not only because it was a new olympic trials record, but more so for his blistering 1:02:45 second half. Dathan Ritzenhein (2:11:07) and Brian Sell (2:11:40) were the other qualifiers. The U.S. began using trials rather than committees to select its Olympic track and field athletes in 1968.

2008 USA Olympic qualifiers in the marathon: Ryan Hall, Dathan Ritzenhein and Brian Sell. Hall coasted around what had been thought of as a slow and difficult five-loop course, breaking the Olympic trials record with his winning time of 2:09:02. Ritzenhein was second in a personal best of 2:11:06, with Sell third in 2:11:40.

Hall's performance was clearly not a fluke. Earlier this year he became the first American to break an hour for the half-marathon (59:43), obliterating the old record of Mark Curp set in 1985 by a minute and 12 seconds. He followed that up in London by running 2:08:24 for his first official marathon.

Ryan Hall shown above running in his initial 26.2-mile race, the 2007 London Marathon, which he completed in 2:08:24.

The trials course was moderately difficult. However, the cool weather provided favorable compensation. After 2,000 meters on the city streets, the race entered Central Park for 5 loops of up-and-down terrain on the RRC 8K championship route (run in the opposite direction from the championship). The fast time, coupled with the fact that the event was held more than 9 months prior to Olympic race, means that Hall has a legitimate shot at earning the first men's Olympic marathon gold medal since Frank Shorter at Munich in 1972.

The 35-year absence of an olympic men's marathon gold medal has been partcularly disheartening for U.S. runners. In a sense it has been the running version of "The Curse of the Bambino". After all, America is where the running boom started. As pointed out by Kenny Moore in his fabulous book, "Bowerman and The Men of Oregon", Frank Shorter was capable, in 1976, of breaking Australian Derek Clayton's world record of 2:08:34. And after Shorter retired, Bill Rodgers and Alberto Salazar were the top ranked marathoners in the world for much of the next decade. So what went wrong?

The 1976 event in Montreal was won by an East German Waldemar Cierpinski by less than a minute over Frank Shorter (2:09:55 to 2:10:46). Don Kardong of the U.S. finished 4th, just three seconds behind bronze medalist Karel Lismont of Belgium. We know for certain now what many at the time suspected: Cierpinski's win was tainted. This is what Kenny Moore had to say about the matter:

"Twenty years later, Shorter and Kardong would take grim satisfaction when Dr. Werner W. Frank of the German Cancer Research Center in Heidelberg began uncovering documents kept by East German physicians and coaches who'd conducted the country's doping program. The documents showed that Cierpinski was on androgenic steroids in 1976. 'I mean, I always knew,' Shorter would say, and now I knew for sure.' "

By the way, Clayton's 1969 record has been beaten 312 times. Hall's London performance was the first time it has been done by a native-born American. The newest world record is 2:04:26 set by Haile Gebrselassie of Ethiopia on 9/30/07 in Berlin. He improved upon Paul Tergat of Kenya's 4-year-old standard of 2:04:55.

By the time the 1980 Moscow Olympics rolled around, Bill Rodgers was in his prime. A world and olympic record seemed his for the taking. In 1979, he was ranked by Track & Field News as the world's top marathon runner. Then President Carter decided that the U.S. should boycott the summer Olympic Games because the U.S.S.R. had invaded Afghanistan. (And, by the way, where are we now?) In any case, Bill Rodgers' best shot at Olympic gold passed him by.

The 1984 Summer Olympics were held in Los Angeles. In retaliation for the U.S boycott in 1980, 14 Eastern Bloc countries and allies including the Soviet Union, Cuba and East Germany (as well as Libya and Iran), boycotted the Los Angeles Olympic Games. It was the first time that a women's 26.2-mile marathon event was held and it was won, famously, by Joan Benoit of the U.S.

But the men's side was a different story. The medals were taken by Carlos Lopes of Portugal, John Treacy of Ireland and Charlie Spedding of Great Britain. All three finished under 2 hours and 10 minutes. The first American was Pete Pfitzinger who finished 11th in 2:13:53. Alberto Salazar was a disappointing 15th in 2:14:19. The third U.S. runner, John Tuttle, did not finish.

The 1988 Olympic marathon in Seoul, Korea, was won by Italian Gelindo Bordin (2:10:32) and once again the U.S. was shut out of the top 10. In fairness, some of the American athletes reported stomach problems from eating the food at the Olympic village. Pete Pfitzinger was again the first U.S. finisher (14th in 2:14:44).

Belayneh Dinsamo of Ethiopia broke the existing world record when he finished the 1988 Rotterdam Marathon in 2:06:50. Since that time, the running world has pretty much been dominated by the runners from sub-Saharan African countries. Gebrselassie and all three of the Kenyans will be Hall's chief competition in Beijing, assuming that Khalid Khannouchi doesn't run.

Ryan Hall, Khalid Khannouchi and Meb Keflezighi, shown here at an earlier race, were the pre-race favorites to take the three spots on the 2008 USA men's marathon team.

Khannouchi, the American record holder (2:05:38), was born in Morocco. Now 35, Khannouchi has been nursing a variety of injuries the last few years. He finished fourth this past weekend and is officially listed as the first alternate for the team. Dathan Ritzenhein has indicated that he may run the 10,000 meters at Beijing instead of the marathon if he earns a spot on the team in that event. So there is still a chance that Khannouchi might compete in Beijing.

Five runners have broken 2 hours and 6 minutes in the history of the marathon. Khannouchi has done it three times. He set the world record (2:05:42) in 1999 running for Morocco and did it twice in 2002 as an American citizen. It is ceratinly possible, given the opportunity, that he has one good race left.

One of the pre-race favorites for the trials was Meb Keflezighi, winner of a silver medal at the 2004 Olympic marathon in Athens behind Stefano Baldini of Italy. Keflezighi has been unsuccessfully lobbying the authorities to allow runners who win a medal in an Olympic event to get an automatic seed onto the team for the next Olympics. As recently as two weeks ago he was suffering from a stomach virus which interfered with his training and brought him to the starting line a bit weakened. He ran out of steam late in the race and faded to eighth place in 2:15:09. Still, he sobbed with appreciation as the fans chanted his name during the final mile.

Despite the optimism surrounding the results, the biggest news of the race was the death of Ryan Shay. Shay, a Michigan native residing in Arizona, came into the race with a personal best of 2:14:08. He went through the 5K mark in 16:53 looking strong, but collapsed from an apparent heart attack at 5 1/2 miles.

Ryan Shay of Michigan (2:14:29) winning the 2003 U.S. Marathon Championship in Birmingham, Alabama.

Medical attention was immediate but Shay was probably dead "before he hit the ground", according to the cardiologist who initially treated him. Family members reported that the 28-year-old had been diagnosed with an enlarged heart as a teenager and, more recently, was told that the condition might soon require a pacemaker. You can read more here.

Ryan Shay and his wife Alicia were married this past July. She is Alicia Craig, a champion 10,000 meter runner who recently graduated from Stanford University. They met at the 2005 New York City marathon. Like everyone else that has any connection to the running world, my heart as well as my prayers go out to Alicia and the rest of Ryan Shay's family and friends.

<---Alicia Craig Shay

Alicia Craig Shay is a qualifier for the Women's marathon trials by virtue of her sub-33:00 10K performance at the 2007 USA Outdoor Track & Field Championship. Like the men's event, the race will be staged the day before a major marathon, in Boston, on April 20, 2008.

Starting and finishing at the traditional Boston Marathon finish line on Boylston Street, the Olympic trials race will feature a specially designed course that tours historic Boston with a one-time loop that passes Boston Public Garden, Boston Common, the State House and Beacon Hill.

The runners will then traverse four scenic loops of approximately six miles each proceeding down Commonwealth Avenue, crossing the Charles River into Cambridge using the Massachusetts Avenue Bridge, running east, then west along Memorial Drive. Runners then return from each of the core loops via Massachusetts Avenue.

The early favorite in the women's marathon trials has to be Deena Kastor of California. She ran 2:19:54 in London last April and owns three of the top 10 qualifying times at this distance. Her chief competion will no doubt come from Jen Rhines of Pennsylvania and Elva Dryer of Colorado. Rhines is the only American woman other than Kastor who has run a sub-2:30 during the 2006-07 qualifiying period. Her 10K speed (31:19) is superior to all of the other competitors. Dryer posted 2:31:48 at the 2006 LaSalle Bank Chicago Marathon and was the first American female finisher at Sunday's ING New York City Marathon in 2:35:18. Finally, you can't rule out the 2004 trials winner Colleen De Reuck.

Colleen De Reuck --->

Born in South Africa, De Reuck became a U.S. citizen in 2000. The 2008 trials will be held a week after her 44th birthday. Yet, her 2:33:08 finish in Chicago in October 2006 indicates that she is definitely not yet over the hill.

Alicia Craig Shay will probably not be at the women's marathon trials in Boston. More likely, she will looking to earn a spot on the team at her best distance: 10,000 meters. In April 2004, she broke Carol Zajac of Villanova's 12-year-old national collegiate 10K record with a time of 32:19.97. Ironically, in the same meet, Dathan Ritzenhein of Colorado set an American collegiate men's 10K record with a time of 27:38.50.

The 2008 U.S.A. track & field Olympic trials will be held at Hayward Field in Eugene Orgeon next June. The women's 10,000 meter final is scheduled for Friday evening, June 27, 2008. I intend to be there watching and cheering.

The fastest all-time American marathon runners (each listed once in order of their best time):
1. 2:05:38 Khalid Khannouchi (native of Morocco), London 2002
2. 2:08:24 Ryan Hall, London 2007
3. 2:08:47 Bob Kampainen, Boston 2004
4. 2:08:52 Alberto Salazar, Boston 1982
5. 2:08:54 Dick Beardsley, Boston 1982
6. 2:08:56 Abdihakem Abdiraham, Chicago 2006
7. 2:09:00 Greg Meyer, Boston 1983
8. 2:09:27 Bill Rodgers, Boston 1979
9. 2:09:31 Ron Tabb, Boston 1983
10. 2:09:32 David Morris, Chicago 1999
11. 2:09:35 Jerry Lawson, Chicago 1997
12. 2:09:38 Ken Martin, New York City 1989
13. 2:09:41 Alan Culpepper, Chicago 2002
14. 2:09:53 Meb Keflezighi, New York City 2004
15. 2:09:57 Benji Durden, Boston 1983
16. 2:10:04 Patrick Petersen, London 1989
17. 2:10:05 Phil Coppess, Minneapolis 1985
18. 2:10:06 Ed Mendoza, Boston 1983
19. 2:10:15 Jeff Wells, Boston 1978
20. 2:10:19 Tony Sandoval, Niagara Falls 1980
21. 2:10:20 Garry Bjorklund, Duluth 1980
22. 2:10:26 Craig Virgin, Boston 1981
23. 2:10:29 Kirk Pfeffer, Fukuoka 1980
24. 2:10:29 Mark Plaatjes (native of So. Africa), Los Angeles 1991
Some Others (not a complete list; additions welcome):
2:10:47 Brian Sell, 2:10:54 Chris Bunyan, 2:10:55 Kyle Heffner,
2:10:59 Ed Eyestone, 2:11:07 Dathan Ritzenhein,
2:11:16 Don Kardong, 2:11:17 Jack Fultz, 2:11:24 Mike Layman,
2:11:25 Randy Thomas, 2:11:33 John Lodwick,
2:11:35 Malcom East, 2:11:36 Kenny Moore & Dan Schlesinger,
2:11:40 Rod DeHaven, 2:11:43 Pete Pfitzinger,
2:11:50 John Tuttle, 2:11:54 Steve Hoag & Shaun Creighton
2:11:59 Dave Gordon, 2:12:01 Dennis Rinde & Daniel Browne,
2:12:05 Tom Fleming & David Hinz, 2:12:13 Paul Pilkington,
2:12:25 Dean Matthews, 2:12:26 Mark Conover,
2:12:27 Fernando Cabada, 2:12:30 Robert Hodge,
2:12:34 Trent Briney, 2:12:42 Eric Mack,
2:12:43 Steve Spence, 2:12:45 Peter Gilmore,
2:12:49 Duncan MacDonald, 2:12:51 Steve Plasencia,
2:12:54 Jason Lehmkuhle, 2:12:58 Keith Brantly,
2:12:59 Ric Sayre, 2:13:05 Mark Coogan.

Progression of Marathon World records since 1965:
Haile Gebrselassie 2007 Berlin 2:04:26
Paul Tergat 2003 Berlin 2:04:55
Khalid Khannouchi 2002 London 2:05:38
Khalid Khannouchi 1999 Chicago 2:05:42
Ronaldo da Costa 1998 Berlin 2:06:05
Belayneh Densimo 1988 Rotterdam 2:06:50
Carlos Lopes 1985 Rotterdam 2:07:12
Steve Jones 1984 Chicago 2:08:05
Rob de Castella 1981 Fukuoka 2:08:18
Derek Clayton 1969 Antwerp 2:08:34
Derek Clayton 1967 Fukuoka 2:09:36
Morio Shigematsu 1965 Chiswick 2:12:00

The women's marathon in Beijing will be held on August 17, 2008. The men's marathon is scheduled a week later, on August 24th.


As always, your comments, corrections and suggestions are welcome. Please send them to me at ChessSafari@yahoo.com.

Mile 1 - Everything that comes before...

My son, Hunter Sky Niro Magee, taken in early 2004 at age 6

Today is the 39th anniversary of my accident and third anniversary of the start of my long letter to Hunter, which evolved into my book. The letter, with a few minor editorial changes, is now the first chapter of my book. Here it is, exactly as written, three years ago today. Enjoy!

December 22, 2003

Dear Hunter,

Today, in recognition of the 36th anniversary of my accident, I decided to drive north along the Connecticut River to the spot where it happened. I haven’t been back many times over the years, perhaps seven or eight, but each visit has been special. In a sense, it is a pilgrimage that I afford myself every now and then. It provides an opportunity for quiet reflection and a vortex for emotional healing.

It is a pretty drive from my cottage in East Hampton. Connecticut, in my opinion, is one of the prettiest states in the country with its myriad of colors and hills and bodies of water scattered on the landscape, even in December when there are no flowers and the leaves and birds are gone for the winter. Today the sun was glistening off the ripples of the river. The world around me seemed tranquil and soothing, just the way I wanted it to be.

Every place is an easy drive from every place else in the state, except for rush hour when everybody who has an automobile seems to be on the same road at the same time. As I pulled off the highway upon reaching my destination, it occurred to me that there’s at least a small bit of irony in the distance up the river from my new home to Windsor Locks: 26.2 miles, the exact distance of a marathon.

The Spot is located on Spring Street, in sight of the front gate of Bradley International Airport. The atmosphere remains punctuated by the roar of airliners taking off and landing every four minutes or so, just as it was back then. Once I spotted the old Mobil Gas sign, memories started filling my mind. Not just memories of the paramedics scraping me off the pavement but also of the good times before and the periodic visits since. And there were feelings of curiosity and wonderment about what might have been.

Less than a week before the accident in 1967, Tom Derderian and I had breezed through that same spot on a training run. Our hometown newspaper, the Milford Daily News, frequently referred to us as the ‘Running Twins’ because we ran so many races together and because we were seen so often running on the local streets. Neither of us imagined that this particular occasion would be the last time that we would run together for nearly twenty years.

Tom and I were high school cross country and track competitors. We went to different schools in the same town. He was a year behind me in school but we were evenly matched. We were arch-rivals and wonderful friends at the same time. My recollection of one of our earliest conversations was his explanation for joining the cross country team. “I was on the chess team and one day I lost the first game of our elimination match. So I had to watch the other kids play for the rest of the day. I went outside and saw some boys running. Everyone got to keep running whether they were in first place or last. That seemed more enjoyable and satisfying to me. I decided at that moment to give up chess and get involved with running.” I recall thinking that I may want to avoid the game of chess. Sometimes I wish I had remembered sooner.

Tom Derderian graduated from Milford High School in 1967 and attended college at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst. I visited him at his freshman high-rise dormitory in November while I was temporarily working at a shoe store a few miles down the road in Palmer. A month later he was making a courtesy return visit to Windsor Locks where I was managing a shoe store in Dexter Plaza, presumably my last stop before returning to school in January. It was a 72-hour per week position. It felt like I was working all of the time, except for an hour each morning and afternoon when I would go out for my run.

Tom and I were both training for the North Medford Club Championship, a six mile event in Newburyport MA to be held at the end of December. We ran side-by-side during most of the 1966 event. He out-sprinted me at the finish to take third place behind Ron ‘Vito’ Gaff and Rick Bayko. I returned the favor a few weeks later by finishing ahead of him to win the New Year’s Day race in Amesbury. Private bragging rights were now on the line.

We anticipated that the 1967 club championship would be close again and that our main competition would likely be Rick Bayko. Ron Gaff was nursing an injury and unlikely to compete. The best runners in the club, Jim Daley and Larry Olsen, didn’t participate in the club events very often. They raced seldom in order to maximize their success and preferred open competition whenever possible. Rick had beaten us many times during the past year. The 1967 race would be in his hometown giving him a distinct advantage. We were training to outrun Rick Bayko as much as we were training to defeat each other. Like all great rivalries, it motivated us to work hard and perform our best.

I had competed only once since the Canadian National Marathon in September. I was stale from too many races and it took longer than usual to recover from the Holyoke massacre in June. I decided to focus on training during the fall of 1967 rather than racing. It was a conscious effort to build a foundation of conditioning for the upcoming 1968 season. During this period I ran twelve consecutive 70-mile weeks, five of them over 100. It was the most intense training period of my life and it seemed to be working. My regimen consisted of speed training on the track, a few race walking competitions for cross training purpose, intervals on hills, and what is known as Fartlek (long, slow distance runs with intermittent changes in speed). I ended each day with a timed six mile run on the same six mile loop out by the airport and back, trying each day to improve by a couple of seconds from the day before.

I wanted to show Tom how fit I had become so I took our training run that day very seriously. He had just come off his college cross country season and was fit as well. I knew he was capable of stringing together five-minute miles. I wanted to see the look on his face when he discovered that I could do that too. Without saying a word to each other about our intentions, we took off on our run like it was an important race. Side-by-side we charged down Spring Street, past the front gate of the airport, by the front door of the Bradley Bowl, and over the rolling hills back into town. We experienced one of those rare but wonderful sensations that runners feel when it seemed that our feet were not touching the ground and our brains were immersed in endorphins. We felt no pain and yet we felt we were moving as fast as we possibly could. We crossed the finish line together in 31 minutes and 20 seconds. It was my best time for six miles. We were ready for the NMC championship. Teeming with confidence we sent Rick a challenge: “Get ready for third place,” we told him.

Reflecting back on it now, I am in awe at the fact that a few years later Tom ran the entire Boston Marathon at approximately the same pace. So did Rick. Four times the distance of that day plus an extra 2.2 miles for good measure. Truly awesome!

After we finished the six-mile course, we continued running across the canal to the bridge over the Connecticut River into Warehouse Point. We ran eight miles of Fartlek through the tobacco fields of Broad Brook, talking as we ran, occasionally hurdling fences, circling puddles, dodging sinkholes and chasing rabbits. I picked up a stray golf ball and dribbled it across the I-91 bridge back over the river. It was a silly place to be running but we were runners and thought we owned the roads. A few days later I would learn the hard way that cars own the roads. Runners do their thing on the roads at their own peril.

It is difficult to put into words the feelings I used to get while running. We often hear the vague reference: runner’s high. John Parker called it “real” and something that “made him free”. That’s true, but it’s more than that. To me, running reflects a spirit of excitement, adventure, freedom and joy, all at the same time. I wish I could package those feelings and give them to you as a gift. But I can’t. You will have to discover them one day for yourself. But just as your brother Richard was able to do, I am confident that you will discover the rewards of running on your own.

In 1994, your brother used his high school valedictorian speech to share the significance of running with his classmates. At the moment I heard his words, I realized that my son was explaining to his friends what I always felt but could not formulate into words. Somehow the message got across. He was feeling the same feelings as I felt at the same age. Even the description of the camaraderie was fitting of the enjoyment I felt when training with running partners like Tom Derderian and Rick Bayko. Running for him, as with me almost thirty years earlier, had become one of the most important and satisfying activities in his life. In fact, running WAS my life. In an instant it was taken away.

It’s hard for me to describe the accident in any great detail. All I remember was the car swerving off the road out of a line of cars right into me. I braced myself against the front of the car, went onto the hood and to the ground, where the car ran over both of my legs. I woke up once in the ambulance, which was stuck in Christmas-shopping traffic, to hear someone say, “Try to get around these guys. He’s losing a lot of blood.” My next recollection was waking up in the Hartford Hospital intensive care unit several days later. More than two years passed before I was able to return home. I didn’t run again for more than 18 years. When I came home, finally, I was not the same person as before. When I came home, I was no longer a child.

Here’s what Tom Derderian wrote regarding my accident nearly twenty years later. The details as he described them are graphic but accurate. The article, entitled I Beat Frank!, appeared in Boston Running News, September 1987:

“Frank Niro and I ran against each other in a road race on New Year’s Day, 1987. It was the first time since New Year’s Day, 1967. Everything and nothing had changed since then. First he tried to psyche me out by reminding me that twenty years ago on that very day he had beaten me. He used to try to psyche me out when we were in high school together. But this was a new year and a new race. I’d probably beat him in it because he had been injured for the past twenty years and I had not. But it is important to have your priorities in order: a race is a race. I intended to beat him and I knew I would because it hadn’t been an ordinary running injury for Frank.

It was a near fatal traffic accident that put him in a hospital for two years and kept him away from running for nearly twenty years. Then again, maybe it was all part of the psyche-out. You never know with runners, they are notorious liars.

On December 22, 1967, a 48-year-old factory worker filled with several quarts of Christmas party beer drove home on a busy Connecticut valley road. Frank ran to where the sidewalk ended, approaching the intersection where the Mobil station and a big house stood. Frank faced the traffic. The two of us had trained together on that loop only a few days before. At sixty mph, the factory worker’s car swerved out of the line of traffic and into the place where the sidewalk ended. The grill hit and shattered Frank’s right kneecap, drove the femur into his pelvis, breaking the pelvis in three places, as well as the femur itself. Frank’s palms jammed against the hood of the car pivoting him onto the hood. He grabbed the radio antenna instinctively while his legs slipped under the wheels. They crushed both tibias and fibulas pushing the bones through the skin. The antenna broke off in his hand releasing Frank to roll into the ditch. The last he remembers seeing was his legs twisted beneath him like pretzels, the marrow points poking through the skin. He hadn’t started to bleed. The car never slowed. Later the driver told his wife he thought he hit a dog. She however had heard a description on the radio of a police report of a car involved in a hit and run accident. She convinced him to turn himself in. By that time he was sober.

Before the accident nearly cost Frank his life, he had been a runner who showed considerable talent and promise. As a freshman in 1966 at Bentley College, he often finished as second man on a very strong cross country team. He once ran the six mile home course in 31:25. As a seventeen year old, Frank ran his first Boston Marathon in 3:42. One year later as an 18-year-old, Frank ran 2:57:19. At times, Frank’s mileage reached 100 miles per week. I convinced him to add variety to his workouts by adding some Fartlek, speed work, rest, and race walking. In early 1967, Frank won the New England Junior Racewalking Championship 10K in 49:09. He finished in the top 25 in the National 25K walk in Berwick PA.

Luck saved Frank from bleeding to death in the ditch. The operator of the Mobil station saw the accident and ran to the big house. The doctor who lived in the house had arrived home moments earlier. He called the ambulance, rushed to Frank’s side, took his own dress shirt off to make tourniquets that he applied to stop the bleeding, and then rode in the ambulance to the hospital where Frank lived for the next two years.

After a month in intensive care, doctors placed Frank in traction for 22 weeks. After the traction, Frank was placed in a full body cast, neck to toes with two essential holes. More operations were performed for alignment and skin grafting. In the body cast his legs were attached together, to get skin from his right leg to cover the wound on his left.

The wound in Frank’s left leg became infected. It took 30 days to kill the infection, but part of the shinbone and a lot of tissue had died. Amputation was considered, but the doctors instead grafted some hipbone into the shin. After ten weeks in a body cast, Frank was fitted with casts on both legs. The first time he tried to stand, his right femur snapped like a wishbone and nineteen more weeks of traction followed.

Frank’s visit to the hospital lasted for 760 consecutive days. When he returned to his hometown of Milford MA, he was wheelchair bound. Lock kneed long-legged braces, special shoes and crutches soon replaced the wheelchair.

Frank wouldn’t give up his dream to become a top runner. After his release from the hospital, another traffic accident (he was a passenger in a friend’s car this time) broke his leg again. He couldn’t run. He had no strength in the muscles in his legs and little motion. He married a nurse, Christine, he’d met in the hospital. With Christine’s help, he completed college and earned a graduate degree in hospital administration. Things looked good for Frank. Christine was pregnant with twins. They were premature and each weighed less than two pounds. One of the twins died at birth and the other lived only 12 days. He plunged himself into his work. His marriage dissolved. Still he would not give up his dream to run again; he expected to run again. But the years passed and he didn’t run at all. Frank walked with a limp, gained weight and limped more.

Then Frank gave up. He realized he would never run again. “Until then I couldn’t reconcile myself to the losses: my legs, my twins, my marriage, I just denied to myself that those bad things had happened. It was only when I said to myself that I would never run again that I could start walking, lose weight and build myself up again.” Then he rejoined the North Medford Club and began to walk and run in races. At first it was more of a hobble than a run. Frank is now President of the North Medford Club. In races he fights it out with friends like octogenarian Ruth Rothfarb for last place.

Frank’s final alignment operation (his 19th) was in 1979, nearly twelve years after the original accident. Over the years he suffered ‘foot drop’ (in both feet), osteoporosis, loss of feeling below the left knee as a result of nerve damage, loss of mobility in both ankles and knees, one ankle completely fused and no bend of more than 45 degrees in either knee.

In a road race last fall Frank had secured his customary last place, an accomplishment that has earned him the nickname ‘Caboose’ among the other runners. He wore a t-shirt that declared the 1986 Boston Red Sox to be the American League champions. The police motorcycles clustered around him as he hobbled along in last place. With only a half mile to go, the police turned on their sirens and formed a semi-circle with him as the focus. Frank finished with the ‘official’ escort in dead last smiling, and like most of us egomaniac runners, pleased with the attention. He thanked the officers for the escort thinking maybe they had heard his story. But to be humble, he asked if the royal service was rendered because he wore the Red Sox shirt. One officer replied, “Hell no, not at all. You took so long in the race that with a half mile to go we all went on overtime pay. We were celebrating.” You’ve gotta have your priorities in order.

Oh, in the 1987 New Year’s race Frank finished last. I beat Frank. His story’s true.

So my visit to the ‘spot’ today was worthwhile, as usual. On one previous visit with Richard Ramaskwich, a lifelong friend whom I often refer to as “Uncle Richard”, I actually met the gas station owner who went next door to get the doctor. Uncle Richard and I bowled in the Pro-Am at Bradley Bowl for several years when the Pro Bowlers’ Tour came to Windsor Locks. On a few occasions, we stopped by the ’spot’ together for a silent prayer. One time, around April1982 I think, we went inside the Mobil gas station. I asked the old timer if he was there in 1967. He said he had been there 30 years. “Do you remember the day when a young runner was hit by a drunk driver while passing your station?” I said. “I sure do,” was his response. “ I often wonder what ever happened to the kid. Do you know him?” “Yes I do. That was me. I came to thank you for saving my life.” Spontaneously we embraced. Tears filled our eyes; all three of us. After a long pause and without saying another word, Richard and I turned and left. I never met the gentleman again after that day but I am grateful for the one time. I’m sure it was important for him too. It brought an element of closure to the situation.

On another visit I arrived shortly after a devastating tornado hit the area. It was the late seventies or early eighties. Your mom was living a few miles down the road in Simsbury at the time. I was amazed at the damage to the buildings. The trees strewn on the ground looked as if someone had spilled a box of gigantic toothpicks. They were scattered all over and no trees were standing for three of four blocks. It was the first tornado that I recall hitting New England since the big one touched down in Massachusetts on June 9, 1953. The earlier one started in Petersham and passed through Worcester where it did a lot of damage. It made a big impression on me, even though I was only four years old, because it came so close to my home. I remember seeing newspaper photos of the Assumption College campus showing several wrecked buildings. South of Worcester it split in two before it reached our home in Hopkinton. One branch petered out in Uxbridge while the other lifted into the sky and dissipated in Marlboro. My father was having lunch in a diner in Marlboro. The last building the tornado hit was across the street from the diner.

The last time I visited the Spot was with your mom in 1997. Autumn and Tember were visiting with their dad for the weekend. It was convenient for Michael to drop them off at the McDonald’s in front of the airport, so that’s where the exchange took place. I remember your mom asking me, after she had seen the spot, if I had any regrets. She wanted to know if I would change anything if I had the chance to re-live my life. It was a pretty insightful question. “Of course not,” I said. “I wouldn’t be right here, right now, with you, if anything had happened differently.”

It was the only ‘correct’ answer, of course, but it is what I really believe. If we are happy with where we are in our lives today, son, then everything that went on before is part of how we arrived where we are. To change a single decision or event is to change everything. Sure we learn from our experiences and want to avoid making similar mistakes in the future. And no sane person wants to re-live life’s tragedies. The truth is that we can’t change what has gone on before even if we would like to, so there is no benefit to getting anxious or distracted or distressed by what might have happened had things worked out differently. Fundamentally, we have to remember that everything that comes before leads to who we are and where we are today. Everything, whether good or bad! We must take it all and try to make the best of every situation.

The point is that sometimes things happen that we cannot control. It is important that we make good choices and exercise sound judgment regarding the things we can control, and deal with the unexpected and uncontrollable events in the best way possible. It is all right to wonder about what might have been but it is unhealthy to fret about it. It does no good to carry anger inside for a long time. If we do that, the anger can build up and explode at a bad time with a negative effect on people who are closest to us. We risk the possibility of anger pouring out on someone we care about, someone who doesn’t deserve it. Unfortunately, it took way too many years for me to figure this out.

I remember talking to my friend and former student, Mary Ann Szufnarowski, about a difficult situation she was dealing with. I was attempting to give her encouragement by reminding her that good things happen to good people. “Sure,” she said, “but good things happen to bad people and bad things happen to good people too.” She was certainly right.

In the game of chess there is a term “Sockdolager” coined by Fred Reinfeld, which means a move from seemingly out of nowhere that significantly changes things. In sports like like bowling and baseball it is just plain “bad luck”. The pitch by Mike Torrez to Bucky Dent in the 1978 Playoffs and the ball going through Bill Buckner’s legs in the 1986 World Series are examples of bad luck. Sometimes the bad luck for you is somebody else’s good luck. Take, for example, the ‘miracle’ river card in this year’s World Series of Poker that knocked Phil Ivey out of the tournament and pushed Chris Moneymaker toward victory.

It doesn’t help the situation to become envious, jealous or embittered. Those are attributes of an unhappy person. You will find that some people (or baseball teams) seem to get more than their share of bad luck. That’s just the nature of luck. There is no guarantee that everyone will get the same amount of good and bad luck. The sooner you accept that, son, the more peaceful and emotionally healthy your life will be.

I’ll write again soon.

Love,
Dad