Volume X (2006)

Vol. 10 #1 | Vol. 10 #2 | Vol. 10 #3 | Vol. 10 #4 | Vol. 10 #5 | Vol. 10 #6

Volume 10 | Number 1 | January/February 2006

Departments

Editorial
Together

Whenever and wherever we run and race, we do so alone, no matter whether we're on a run with friends or surrounded by 30,000 strangers at a big-city marathon event.

Our run is done within and without ourselves. It is generated by us and us alone and we are wholly and totally responsible for it. It is unlike most other sports or social activities in that to do it at all, there must first be a communion with ourselves. The activity begins there, and it ends there. Although there is a lot of latitude regarding with whom we run, we ultimately run alone, because nobody else can run for us. Nobody else can carry us through a run or a race, although others can certainly assist us at nearly every turn, from getting out the door in the first place to offering psychic energizing along the way-a process that borders on the supernatural.

Because distance running is a sport and a lifestyle in which we ultimately do it alone while allowed to have as much company as we can stand, it holds a special place among human activities but demands a special kind of commitment from the person pursuing it.

In many sports and human activities, a person's shortcomings can be at least partially covered by friends and teammates.

Continued in our Jan/Feb issue.

On the Road with Joe Henderson
As Times Go By

George Sheehan watched times change, quickly and mostly for the better. The physician-author, whose first book (and best one, I think) begins a rerun in this issue, started running when watches still had hands. He finished when runners wore minicomputers on their wrists.

George called the digital wrist stopwatch "running's greatest invention"—not one of the greatest but number one. This watch gave runners instant and accurate results. It gave birth to the most important result: the personal record. Not many decades ago, the reports on running events didn't list anyone's time but the winner's. The only time of lasting value was the course record holder's.

Place, not time, was the measure of success. Which meant that very few runners could feel successful. Which meant that very few ran races at all.

Some of us tried to time ourselves, but these efforts were guesstimates at best. Longtime Michigan Runner columnist Scott Hubbard recalls his runs in the 1970s, "when watches had analog faces, weren't very water resistant, and fell apart too soon." He rarely wore one.

Instead, "I'd glance at a wall clock on my way out the door and again on the way in to time myself." Or if driving to a run, he would use the car clock. "Subtraction yielded my running time, unless I couldn't remember when I started." I practiced a common predigital trick of runners. That was to set the watch's hands at "12" to start. Sometimes a passerby would ask, "Can you tell me what time it is?" I would shrug, leaving the questioner to wonder why someone would wear a watch he couldn't read.

Running self-timing was an inexact act back then. Forget seconds and fractions thereof; you could misread a time by a minute or more.

Continued in our Jan/Feb issue...

My Most Unforgettable Ultramarathon (And What I Learned From It)
by Diane Palmason

KNOWLTON, QUEBEC, CANADA, October 30, 1980—This day was my older son's 16th birthday. I'll never forget it. Craig won't let me.

On that date he spent more than seven and a half hours on a bicycle accompanying me as I ran four loops around a small lake in Quebec's Eastern Townships to complete the Lac Brome 80K. It was my first-and last-official1 ultra (to date). I learned a lot that day.

By October 1980, I had learned quite a bit about running the standard marathon distance. I had made my first journey over the distance-in fact, my first road race of any distance-in the National Capital Marathon (NCM) in Ottawa, Ontario, in May 1976. That run had taken me three hours and 54 minutes. As I was recovering and deciding that it had not been as painful as I had feared, I was approached by Eleanor Thomas, the winner of the women's race. She invited me to join the National Capital Runners Association (NCRA), participate in its training runs and monthly time trials, and then join the group on a planned excursion to run another marathon that fall. Thirty minutes after having completed my first marathon, I already had a second one on my calendar. Maybe I had found a new pastime.

It was that second run, the Skylon Marathon, that removed any doubt. This time it took me 3:22, well under Boston's 3:30 qualifying time for women in those days. More important, I had placed. (Remember that this was 1976.) I was called up to the stage and given what looked, and still looks, to me, like a small silver ashtray. However, it was engraved "Buffalo to Niagara Skylon International Marathon 1976-Women-5th." At 38 years of age, the mother of four, I had won an award for running! I was hooked.

Diane's tale of running this ultra in Quebec, Canada, is not to be missed in our Jan/Feb issue...

I want this issue delivered right to my house. Subscribe

Bataan March Memorial Marathon
A Race in Memory of Men Who Personified "Endurance."

Imagine, or better yet for many of you, remember standing in the crowd at the start area of the Boston, New York, Chicago, or Rock 'n' Roll marathons. You nervously await the beginning of the challenge for which you have trained weeks and months. The crowd is huge and close. Sights, sounds, and smells inundate you. A sea of heads and shoulders is around you. The only legs you see are your own and the nearest dozen or so of your neighbors. A general buzz and babble with unintelligible bullhorn announcements or snatches of music hit your ears.

And the smells that surround you: lots of assorted ointments, perfume, after-shave, deodorant, nervous body odor, and-if you are near the chemical toilets-a mix of pungent sweet and earthy smells wafts into your nostrils and adds to the ambiance of the event. The sound you have eagerly anticipated, the starting gun, is heard. You joyfully shuffle off with the masses, looking forward to a thinning when you can stretch your legs out, free from the half-step gait of the crowd.

One of the more unique marathons in North America. Only in our Jan/Feb issue...

Letters
Lively responses to our most recent issues.

On the Mark
Experts answer readers' training and competition questions. This month's question: Going Long. WHAT IS the longest practical training run that someone training for a marathon should take? What I mean is, is there a point where a long training run begins to creep into being counterproductive?

Our experts answer this question in our Jan/Feb issue.

About the Authors
Among this issue's stellar cast of authors are Jeff Horowitz, Guy Avery, Paul and Elaine Reese, Steve Prudhomme, and Bill Pierce.

Features

There and Back
Adventures in South Africa's Two Oceans Marathon.
by Jeff Horowitz

I sat in the dark theater, gazing up at the image on the screen. It was of a man pumping his arms rhythmically as he ran over brown, unpaved earth. The man was Haile Gebrselassie, the great Ethiopian middle-distance runner, and the movie was Endurance, the film that chronicled his rise from poverty in Ethiopia to Olympic gold in Atlanta. The opening scene was of Gebrselassie on a training run, covering the African countryside with long, powerful strides, gliding over rocks and hills, with no display of effort. He looked like a running god, and the land looked primeval. This, to me, was Africa.

Scientists now tell us that we are biologically predisposed to run. We live on a planet that seems itself predisposed to be run upon, crisscrossed with a complex network of running trails, interrupted here and there by mountains and oceans. Some trails are paved and measured, most are not. Some haven't even been discovered yet. The scenery might change, but the effort of running makes everything familiar. There is no place in the world that feels truly foreign to a runner in motion.

I knew this all to be true. Why, then, did the thought of Africa seem so strange to me? Held in my hand like a puzzle, turned end over end and inspected, the continent was a mystery. It seemed a mythical land, full of large animals roaming free, expansive grasslands, and superhuman runners like Gebrselassie. But it was also a land of war, oppression, corruption, and disease-great beauty sitting beside great hardship, in a place unlike any I had ever visited. Try as I might, I couldn't imagine running there. It was a gap in my theory of the world, a place where my running shoes would not feel at home. Clearly, something had to be done about this. I went online and signed up for the Two Oceans Marathon and booked a trip to South Africa. One way or the other, I was going to sort this out.

Continued in our January/February issue...

I like this magazine! How can I Subscribe?

Seasonal Half-Marathon Training That Will Improve Your Marathon Performance
Once Your Program Is in Place, There Are Numerous Other Considerations Toward Tweaking Your Results.
by Guy Avery

In the previous two parts of this three-part series on the half-marathon, we have reviewed (a) how to set a meaningful and realistic half-marathon goal, (b) how to select an appropriate training level based on your goal, training history, and lifestyle commitments, (c) how to perform each suggested type of training optimally for the greatest benefit, and (d) how to pattern your half-marathon training schedule to fit your life patterns.

In this third part, we will review 10 key concepts in better detail and for greater clarity. These concepts include (1) your intention and attitude; (2) listening to your body-mind feedback; (3) the most important training sessions; (4) adjusting or adapting your schedule where, when, and if needed; (5) assimilating the training fully and addressing areas that may need improvement; (6) factors affecting your realistic half-marathon goal pace; (7) specifics on the intricacies of goal-pace runs and hill sessions; (8) when and how to perform our special goal-pace cutdowns in training and on race day; (9) how to taper, sharpen, and be ready to get the most from your current fitness level on race day; and (10) how to extend your schedule for an additional half-marathon race and/or smoothly transition back into marathon training.

Continued in our Jan/Feb issue. Part 3 of Avery's popular half-marathon training series.

Running As Armor
A Fit Lifestyle Serves to Modulate the Aging Process.
by Dr. Walter Bortz, II

Among all those self-images you have developed over your years on the roads and trails, I am sure that you have never once identified yourself as enclosed in a sturdy suit of armor. Not once have you seen yourself cresting a rise or on a long straightaway wearing an impregnable coat of boilerplate with helmet and visor securely fixed. You have never seen yourself in this costume, but the image is not fantasy, it is real. You, the runner, put in your miles within an invisible protective casing that serves to shield you from all manner of life's assaults. You move in your own fortress with secure defenses on all sides. Life's slings and arrows fall harmlessly. At the end of the day you, the runner, are likely to be the last warrior standing.

All of us running enthusiasts seek new metaphors to explain why we are so committed to our active lifestyle. As a physician and geriatrician proud of my running habit-a marathon a year for 35 years-I propose to you the suggestion that the image of "running as armor" is not so far-fetched as it might at first appear. Running builds your mettle; it girds your whole being in a battlement that displays your grit. It provides protective layers of the right stuff.

Two years ago, an old 50-foot oak limb in our yard broke off. A neighbor alerted me to this event. There it was on its new perch jammed among lower branches 15 feet off the ground. Firewood!

Read all of Running As Armor

Where Have All the Sumos Gone?
The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Runner? Not on Weekend Mornings.
by Scott Young

A few minutes before 7:00 A.M. every Saturday, a group of a dozen or so runners congregates beneath the carvings of Stonewall Jackson, Robert E. Lee, and Jefferson Davis. In the shadow of the world's largest hunk of granite, at Stone Mountain, Georgia, the runners slowly set out precisely at 7:00. Not at 6:59, not at 7:01. These are the Stone Mountain Sumos, and from 1982 to 1987, I ran with them.

For 25 years, the Sumos have trudged out in all sorts of weather, usually heading out of the Stone Mountain Park to Ponce de Leon Avenue. The rare times they veered from this direction, they ran up the Fish Pond Hill on the other side of Stone Mountain.

The name came from a chance remark. One of the guys observed, "We look more like a bunch of Sumos than we look like runners!" The name stuck. All of the Sumos were male, though later a few Summettes would break the sex barrier. I was 32 when introduced to the Sumos by Jim Meehan, a friend from another running group, the speed workout group coached by Lee Fidler, a road racing speedster who took 11th at Boston in 1975 (2:16:51) and 14th in '78 (2:16:14). It was convenient to go to the mountain, 10 minutes from where I lived, while working on my doctorate at Georgia State University. I was the youngest and usually the fastest Sumo. Most of the Sumos were already in their 40s with kids approaching college. Not one of them was born in Georgia, hailing instead from the Midwest, East, Florida, and Kentucky.

Continued in our Jan/Feb issue.

Numbers Matter!
It Never Hurts to Keep Your Mind Open to a Few Numbered Omens.
by Steve Wearne

It really hit home when I read Dick Beardsley's article in M&B about the number omen (see volume 6, issue 1). I had gone through the same type of experience about eight years ago.

Training for a fall marathon, I was feeling great! A week before the race, I went down to Madison, Wisconsin, to run in the Race for the Ages 10K. We started according to age, with the oldest starting first. It's great to watch the easy pace at such an event. Some of the early starters expect to be passed by a lot of runners; some of them plan on holding on for a great finish.

There were a few real speedsters starting behind me. Not far enough behind! Bev Lampe was one of the first starters, and she was calling out positions as faster runners passed her. Bev has placed in her age group at Boston. When I passed her, she let me know I was in third. Dave Allen had already passed me as a minute's advantage over him did little good. Just before the finish, another youngster came by, so I had fourth.

At the race, I had heard about a Univeristy of Wisconsin race at the library, craftily called the Library Run. It had been delayed for some reason and was to start in a couple of hours. Why not run two races in one day?

At the library mall, I met my daughter, Katherine; she was a student, and several of her friends had decided to run the race. When I told them I had come in fourth earlier that day, they kind of did a "Yeah, sure," not believing me for some reason.

Continued in our Jan/Feb issue.

I like this magazine! How can I Subscribe?

Paul Reese's Run Across the USA
High-Quality Time on the Road Can Be the Ultimate Bonding.
by Paul & Elaine Reese

Editor's Note: For the last half-dozen years, legendary runner Paul Reese has graced the pages of the January/February issue of this magazine with a lengthy feature article. Several were on his efforts to run across every state in the United States. Some were ruminations on the effects of aging on running. Others reflected Paul's upbeat attitude toward life in general and the running life in particular. Unfortunately, Paul died on November 4, 2004, of complications in the wake of heart surgery. He was 87 years old. We weren't about to let him get out of the obligation to write his annual story for our January/February issue, though, especially since to us Paul is still very much alive. So we asked Paul's wife and life companion to write a story about their trip across the country and to pick a couple of chapters from Paul's next book so we could keep his spirit alive for our readers at least one more year. She was agreeable. This is her story-and Paul's. They were that kind of a team.

Sometimes when we reminisce, I'm not sure we were on the same trip, I saw things so differently.

You've probably already read some of how it was for Paul. I'll tell you how it was for me. Many times the first question I get from folks is: "Wasn't it boring? How on earth did you find something to do all day?" Well, just let me tell you!

Before we left on our trip, I made the decision to keep the motor home as close as possible to a real home rather than a "camping-out" home. This meant sheets, blankets, real dishes, pots and pans, and baking ingredients. I packed our 21-foot motor home full. Plastic bags of flour, sugar, and spices were stored under the built-in double bed. I had another large cupboard, which I crammed full of all kinds of canned goods and other items needed for cooking. We had a nice little refrigerator that ran on propane as well as electricity, so I kept the fridge full, too. I mention the propane, in that electricity was seldom available and we didn't have a generator to make our own.

You need to understand how I perceived my role in all this. I felt that providing a comfortable home and nourishing food-all part of a total pit-crew service that also included taking on all the worrying about motor-home maintenance, gasoline, water, mailboxes, garbage, dump stations, grocery shopping, and map reading-would help Paul direct all his strength into completing his run.

Continued in our Jan/Feb issue. Don't miss this sweet tale of life on the road with Paul and Elaine.

Run to the Temple of Doom
A Solo Attempt at a First Ultra Borders on Madness. Part 1.
by Joanne Lane

Not everyone can be an Indiana Jones when running in Australia. But in the Indian Himalayas, it is possible every day. Here the intrepid athletes must overcome the short-breath effect of high altitude, be constantly alert for local buses that swing rapidly around blind hairpin bends, and watch their footing as they cross landslides brought down by earthquakes. They must also avoid forest fires and be sure not to lose their concentration as they gaze at the beautiful snowcapped Himalayas, as one false step can mean certain death on the steep mountain trails. Not only are there these natural elements to deal with, but everywhere there is a hint of religious forces at work. Yes, running in the Himalayas is exhilarating, exciting-and dangerous.

Australian marathoner Peter Lane took on the challenge of the highest mountain range in the world while living in the hill station Mussoorie in north India for six months. His daughter, Joanne Lane, reports on his experiences.

Continued in our Jan/Feb issue. You'll enjoy the story of Peter's adventures.

You're As Ready As You're Gonna Be
For Running Your First, Second, or 10th Marathon.
by "Mad Dog Mike" Schreiber

You are four weeks from your marathon. Egad. Isn't this exciting! Depending on what level you began and what training program you are using, you have been wearing out your training flats for from six months to two years, and it's finally about to pay off.

Since you have been following all the rules and cautions (see Marathon & Beyond, September/October 2003: "A Classic First Marathon Training Program," by yours truly), you are fit, strong, full of energy, and both pain- and injury-free, but nonetheless a little bit scared.

It is Sunday, and you are about to run your penultimate long morning run. You will eat absolutely nothing before running or during the workout, though you may drink coffee (if you drink coffee). That is, you drink the coffee an hour or so before going out, not during the run, or you may burn your lips. This semifinal long run should be 18 to 20 miles or three hours (whichever is less).

When you run long in preparation for a marathon, there is a point of diminishing returns. Beyond about 20 miles (32.3K) or three hours, the run takes more out of you than it gives back in positive training effect. If any of you Type A personalities feel that 20 miles isn't far enough, just run the final three miles faster-it will then seem plenty long.

During this long run, drink water if you normally drink during a training run, but don't switch to a (diluted) sports drink until after the 10-mile mark. By this time, your body will have slipped into the fat-metabolism mode, and the small amount of carbohydrates in the sports drink will aid in fat combustion rather than preventing or delaying the process.

Immediately after the long run, ice your legs. Then, as soon as possible, take a 20-minute cold (not warm or hot) bath or shower. This cold soak will greatly speed recovery. On the other hand, a warm or hot bath (or hot tub) will slow recovery and may cause further muscular damage due to an increase in intercellular pressure.

While you are sitting in the cold bath, drinking a hot toddy, is a good time to dream about the race. It is natural to be a little nervous but never negative. All your thoughts should be at least 110 percent positive, and why not? You've trained hard; you're fit and uninjured. The marathon is a done deal. Now, all you have to do is run it. But first you run it in your mind.

Continued in our Jan/Feb issue.

Running Fast for the Long Run
If You Make It Intense Enough, Less Is More.
by Bill Pierce

In the October 2003 issue of Runner's World, Amby Burfoot included a profile of my training in his article "Boost Your Endurance." I received numerous queries from runners who were intrigued with my low-mileage, high-intensity training regimen, asking for details. Why do I train that way? Why does it work for me, relatively speaking, and for whom might it be a reasonable training approach? Let me explain, but some personal history first.

My competitive running began 40 years ago in junior high school and continued through high school and college, primarily as a means for basketball conditioning. There were occasional races, but the training was neither consistent nor sustained for any meaningful length of time. After my competitive basketball playing came to an end, I needed a replacement sport. Road racing has filled that role for the past 30 years.

My first race was a 10K, my second a 20K, and my third a marathon.

I was never tempted to go farther, but I was curious to see whether I could go faster. Like most marathoners, I quickly focused on qualifying for Boston, which then required a sub-3:00 finishing time. Soon after I qualified and ran Boston for the first time in 1978, the qualifying time dropped to sub-2:50.

Using a Runner's World marathon training program, my older brother, Don, who had never run a marathon, and I began following the six-days-per-week training program that totaled a weekly 55 miles of training: three five-mile runs, two 10-mile runs, and a 20-mile run.

In 1979, at the Marine Corps Marathon, we succeeded in running under the new Boston standard when we were at the ages of 29 and 32.

Continued in our Jan/Feb issue.

I like this magazine! How can I Subscribe?

The Russians Are Coming; the Russians Have Come
Year In and Year Out, Russians Make Their Mark at Major Marathons.
by Alexander "Sasha" Pachev

The Kenyans frequently dominate road races on American soil. Things have gotten to the point where some U.S. races have a special American-only prize category. Many articles have been published speculating about some special genetic advantage that the Kenyans and other African runners might have. We often are led to believe that a non-African runner cannot win.

The results of both the men's and the women's Olympic marathons in Athens challenge this misconception of inferiority. And so does the consistent success of the runners from the former USSR on American roads.

It is not uncommon to encounter a name of Russian, Ukrainian, or Belarussian origin, frequently difficult to pronounce for an English speaker, in the top-10-finishers list of a major marathon. For example, let us take a look at 2004. In the Boston Marathon, we see Fyodor Ryzhov taking ninth in the men's race and Lyubov Denisova (sixth), Victoria Klimina (eighth), and Ramila Burangulova (ninth) in the women's race. In the Chicago Marathon, Svetlana Zakharova finished third and Albina Ivanova fifth in the women's. In the Los Angeles Marathon, we see Tatyana Pozdnyakova (first), Tatyana Titova (second), Lioudmila Kortchaguina (sixth), and Silvia Skvortsova (seventh) in the women's race.

In the Austin Freescale Marathon, we see Mykola Antonenko in second and Dmitry Sivou in fourth in the men's race. In the women's race, Tatiana Borisova won, with Ramila Burangulova second overall, winning the masters, and Rimma Dubovik fifth overall. In the Grandma's Marathon, Vladimir Tsiamchyk won with Pavel Andreyev third, Andrey Gordeyev fifth, and Fyodor Ryzhov sixth in the men's race. In the women's race, well, the Grandma's announcer at the awards ceremony had better take some Russian pronunciation lessons: Firaya Sultanova-Zhdanova won with Svetlana Demidenko third, Svetlana Shepeleva fourth, Galina Karnatsevich fifth, Yelena Makolava sixth, Victoria Zueva seventh, and Larissa Zousko eighth. In the inaugural Salt Lake City Marathon with a prize purse of over $100,000, Lioudmila Kortchaguina won the women's title with Irina Bogacheva second overall and winning the masters and Rimma Dubovik fifth overall and second master. Aleksey Khokhlov finished ninth for the men, and Gennady Temnikov won the masters, finishing 11th overall.

A fantasic piece on Russian marathoners. Continued in our Jan/Feb issue.

End Run
What Could Turn a Former Football Player Into a Sub-3:00 Marathoner? How About a Burger King Chicken Sandwich-With Fries.
by Stephen Prudhomme

Isaiah Douglas lives for running. He has competed in 20 marathons, including 11 Bostons, and hundreds of shorter events. Six days a week, usually during the evening hours, he runs around a small man-made lake in Savannah, Georgia, with a tireless gait and ready smile.

Eighteen years ago, Douglas had little to smile about. Without a job, he didn't have money to buy food. Running was the furthest thing from his mind, something he had a natural talent for but had grown to hate through the wind sprints he had done as a member of his high school football team. In the half-dozen or so years since he had graduated from high school, Douglas hadn't done any running, and he didn't rue the loss one bit.

Out of those difficult times running emerged as Douglas's unlikely savior, his meal ticket, both literally and figuratively.

Douglas, 44, is a native of Tallahassee, Florida. He is married and has one daughter, age 15. His occupation is heavy equipment operator. In his spare time, Douglas moves a different type of heavy equipment. At 6-foot-2, 195 pounds, he is a giant in the marathon world, where men nearly a foot shorter and nearly 100 pounds lighter dominate the sport. Douglas is not an elite marathoner, but he is better than most. He has run eight sub-three-hour marathons and has a personal best of 2:46.

"I'm a little bit of a role model for the big guy," Douglas says. "People say they don't see how a big guy like me can run like I do. I look at smaller runners . . . I'm sure it would help being 15 to 20 pounds lighter. I enjoy it, though."

Enjoyment is not a word Douglas would have used in connection with running during his early years. He played soccer, softball, and football while growing up, recalling that he did well in all of them. By the time he got to high school, Douglas concentrated solely on football, encouraged by other athletes to focus on just one sport. "There was something about football," says Douglas, who was a tight end and describes himself as a pretty good player. "It was my love."

Continued in our Jan/Feb issue.

Special Book Bonus

What We Do Must Be Fun and Impractical and Useless, Or Else We Won't Do It. Play Is the Key.

Here is Joe Henderson's introduction to our new Book Bonus:

Dr. George Sheehan beat his own doctors' time-left forecasts by many years, but his end finally came in late 1993. Soon afterward, a favorite race of his was renamed and moved to his old training course.

The next summer I walked to the start of the George Sheehan Classic in Red Bank, New Jersey. A young runner ahead of me turned to another and said, "This is a cool race. But who is this Sheehan guy, anyway?"

He said "She-han," not the proper "She-un." At that time and place, this was like asking who that Kennedy was with his name on a New York City airport.

Every runner should have known George Sheehan then-or so his friends and fans liked to think, though he himself knew better.

George would have loved telling this story on himself. Others built up his bigger-than-life legend, and he sometimes felt the need to knock it down to size.

The two of us once walked away from the adulation that always greeted him at the Boston Marathon. He shook his head in amazement, then added, "Two blocks from here I'm just another skinny old Irishman."

For all the fame heaped on him in his later years, he didn't take all of this too seriously. Being famous was a phase that started in his late 50s, when the practices of his lifetime were pretty well set and wouldn't change much the rest of his days.

As long as I knew him, which was 25 years, he wore the same blue(jeans)-on-blue(shirt and sweater) uniform while greeting crowds of runners. He drove the same little well-used cars, VWs and Hondas, that doubled as his mobile locker room.

He spoke and wrote his last words in 1993, which means that many of today's runners can be excused for asking: who's this George Sheehan, and why is Marathon & Beyond reprinting his old book?

Many of you came into the sport after George left. You never had the pleasure of hearing, reading, or knowing him in life.

But it isn't too late to get acquainted with a figure who once stood taller than anyone in this sport. (Put John "Penguin" Bingham on Jeff Galloway's shoulders and you get an idea of George Sheehan's stature at his peak.) No one to come along since has given better speeches to runners or written finer literature on running.

George was an accidental author. He wasn't trained as a writer and had practiced medicine for half his life before publishing his first article at age 50. His medical career was winding down when he wrote his first book seven years later.

By then he had settled into his distinctive style of writing: personal, philosophical, and padded with quotes from great thinkers from outside of sports. The Sheehan style would come to be widely mimicked (and occasionally satirized) but never matched.

The first book, Dr. Sheehan On Running, sold well among his Runner's World readers, but the wider world wasn't yet ready to buy running books. That would happen soon.

During one amazing month of 1978, three different books for runners ranked among the top 10 in national sales-for all topics. Each book took a different look at the sport.

Jim Fixx's Complete Book of Running profiled people who ran and what it meant to them. Bob Glover and Jack Shepherd's Runner's Handbook advised how to run. George Sheehan's Running & Being examined why he, and we, ran. George's book, along with his previous and later ones, gave voice to what other runners thought but couldn't express. They embraced him for this for the rest of his life and beyond. They loved him all the more as he wrote as openly about his final test as he had about other subjects.

In 1986, George was diagnosed with advanced prostate cancer that had spread into his bones. His doctors told him to hope for another year but to plan for less.

He lived seven more years-good years, mostly. He wrote three more books during that illness (finishing the last, Going the Distance, in his final week), published dozens of newspaper and magazine columns, and spoke at hundreds of races (running them as long as he was able, including the 1989 World Masters Championships). His end came just days shy of his 75th birthday.

Who was George Sheehan? The best way to introduce yourself to him now, or to renew acquaintances, is to read one of his books. You can still find copies without looking too far. (The family Web site, www.georgesheehan.com, offers his bestselling Running & Being plus reprints of many columns.)

I worked with George on all but one of his books. He never once, in almost two decades of writing them, named one as his favorite.

"These books are my babies," he said. "I could no more single out one than say which of my own children I like best." His kids outnumbered his books, 12 to seven.

Readers must decide which book they like best. Once you read this reprint of his first one, Dr. Sheehan On Running, you'll want to find others. Once you've read him, you'll know him and won't forget him.

Dr. Sheehan's entire book will be printed (in serial format) in M&B over the next several issues.

I think I'll give M&B a try. How can I Subscribe?

Read all of My Most Unforgettable Marathon (And What I Learned From It)

Grandfather Mountain Marathon
One of America's Toughest Marathons

With a subtitle like that, you would think the focus of a review of this race would be on the toughness, but not in this case. That is because this race is much more than a beautiful, tough, and challenging course. For one thing, it is also one of America's oldest marathons, the second oldest in the South. The 2006 race will be the 39th running of this race and the 50th anniversary of the Highland Games of which it is a part. The spectacular finish during the Highland Games is one of the reasons that many runners repeat this race year after year.

But about the toughness: "The toughest in the country" slogan for the Grandfather Mountain Marathon was printed on the race T-shirts in the '80s. Since this race has such a long history, the slogan may have been true at one time. If the slogan is qualified to "the toughest road marathon in the country"-a bit too wordy to be catchy-it may still be true. Several trail marathons (and shorter trail races) are much tougher, and while there may be more difficult road marathons, they are not common knowledge.

There is always a discussion among runners at the postrace refreshment tent about Grandfather's relative toughness. To my knowledge, few other road marathons come close. Depending upon ability, this course is 15 to 30 minutes slower than a runner's PR when the runner has a good race. This race is difficult, have no doubt about that; however, the race slogan has been amended to "one of America's toughest marathons."

One of the most difficult marathons in North America. Only in our March/April issue...

Letters
Lively responses to our most recent issues.

On the Mark
Experts answer readers' training and competition questions. This month's question:

GETTING "HIGH"

WE'VE ALL heard about the benefits of living/training at altitude and then coming down from the mountain to a lower altitude to race, wherein the altitude-trained runner has an advantage. My question has three parts:

1. What altitude constitutes "altitude," that is, an altitude where the effects of lower oxygen per cubic inch begin to be felt?

2. What is the ideal altitude to train and live at in order to obtain the benefits for racing at sea level?

3. At what altitude (what maximum altitude, that is) does the lack of sufficient oxygen volume begin to negatively affect training?

Our experts answer this question in our March/April issue.

About the Authors
Among this issue's stellar cast of authors are Clay Evans, Tito Morales, Hal Higdon, Paul Clerici, Dan Horvath, and Fred Stewart.

I want this issue delivered right to my house. Subscribe

Features

Matt Carpenter
Deviating From the Horizontal.
by Clay Evans

Matt Carpenter doesn't like to tie his shoes. Call him "loose school."

"That's one thing I do differently than a lot of people: I never untie my shoes. I just tie them and slip them on and off," he says. "Today's shoes are so built up that if you tie them too tight, the shock is transferred to your knees and your hips. I like to have my foot move around in my shoe."

But what about those black toenails? If you're going to be running up and down mountains, don't you have to tie your hi-tech, ultrasupported shoes tighter than a bear trap to avoid those?

"Look, if you're getting black toenails, you're overstriding," Carpenter says patiently, his smile rarely fading. "You have to try to run efficiently."

There is more that might surprise people about the man who has been called the king of Pikes Peak. Carpenter, 41, has won the grueling Pikes Peak Marathon 11 times, holds records in three age groups and the overall course record-and he shattered the record at the Leadville Trail 100 in 2005, just a year after moving up to ultra distances. Carpenter wears cheap, ankle-high cotton socks and cotton T-shirts when he runs, and these days, more often than not, he is pushing his 4-year-old daughter, Kyla, in a heavy-duty running stroller.

"I'm definitely old school," says Carpenter, whose blue eyes, broad forehead, and high cheekbones give him a perpetually cheery expression.

A MOVE TO THE ULTRA SIDE

But there was nothing old school about his already legendary move into ultras, which came on June 19, 2004, in Lake City, Colorado. (Pikes Peak, though clearly an ultra in terms of difficulty, with 8,000 feet of climbing to above 14,000 feet-and of course, 8,000 feet of descent-is still just marathon distance.)

In Carpenter's first official race beyond the marathon distance, he blew away Dave Mackey's course record in the San Juan Solstice 50-Mile Run by 43 minutes, becoming the first person to finish in under eight hours, at 7:59:44. That finish, nearly two hours faster than the next-best competitor, earned Carpenter the moniker "freak of nature" from awestruck race organizers.

"San Juan was really scary for me, so I was glad once the gun went off and we got running," Carpenter says as he trots along behind the stroller on his way into downtown Manitou Springs, one of his short training routes. "But everything just really clicked that day."

The next logical target was a 100-mile mountain race. Just two months after Lake City, Carpenter took on the infamous Leadville course-and bonked, though a Carpenter bonk is still a prodigious finish by most standards. After a fast start, he walked the last third of the race, finishing 14th.

Post-Leadville '04, he quickly identified his major problem: not enough recovery time.

"If I had not done Lake City," he said in 2004 the week after Leadville, "I could have won Leadville." Some in the ultra community smirked at Carpenter's "collapse": guy can do 50 miles, sure, but a 100 is a whole different universe. Some dismissed Carpenter as a one-hit wonder.

But Carpenter himself was only emboldened.

"There is a reasonable chance I will do [Leadville] again next year," Carpenter said following Leadville '04. "One reason I didn't want to quit is then I would definitely have to go back. I've done one, now. But I haven't done one right . . .yet."

Continued in our March/April issue...

Peter Gilmore
Anatomy of a Late Bloomer.
by Tito Morales

It's certainly no secret that marathoning is among the pursuits that demand the most patience. At the upper echelons of the sport, in particular, there is simply no way of achieving success without heaping many miles upon many years. Elite marathoners do not fall, fully intact, from the sky. Rather, they mature gradually from the ground up, like stately apple trees-initially developing a sturdy network of roots, then a robust trunk from which sprouts a substantive collection of branches, and then, and only then, the blossoms that will eventually evolve into fruit.

Some trees, for whatever reason, yield more slowly than others.

After a long and arduous journey that began nearly two decades ago, Peter Gilmore's running career is finally beginning to bear fruit. In 2004, the 28-year-old produced an eighth-place finish at the U.S. Marathon Olympic Team Trials. Ten months later, he crossed the line second at the California International Marathon. And on April 18, 2005, Gilmore followed that up with a stirring tenth-place finish at the Boston Marathon.

Thanks to such impressive results, Gilmore, unknown to all but the most ardent admirers of distance running, was selected to represent the United States at the 2005 World Championships in Helsinki, Finland.

However inspiring Gilmore's story may be, though, it's even that much more illuminating as to the monumental challenges that confront late developers in the sport of distance running.

Continued in our March/April issue.

Training with the Gunks
A Marathon Training Odyssey, One Step and One Day at a Time. Part 1 of 3.
by Fred Stewart

INTRODUCTION

Whether this is your first marathon and your goal is simply finishing or this is your last marathon before you hang up your jock strap or Jog Bra, read on.

If you are one of the millions of aging runners, like me, who still believes that your best marathon lies ahead, read on.

Finally, if you have decided that you don't want to simply run the marathon but want to race the marathon, read on. Train with us, the Shawangunk Runners, and have the race of your life.

It won't be easy, for there is no magic formula. But if your desire is great enough and you are committed to devoting an entire training season to racing the marathon, welcome to the Gunks.

Me? My name is Fred Stewart. I'm an army brat who grew up with runners, as my father was the army track and field coach back in the early '60s. Every day as the sun would set, that's where I found myself, on the track at Fort Campbell, Kentucky, where the Army track team was based. Even then I was intrigued with training techniques and used to go to all the meets and watch the great runners of the day compete. Training was much different back then. For example, every day in practice, the half milers would usually go out and race a hard half, jog around for an hour or so, and come back and do it again. It seemed to make sense at the time, but in retrospect, although my father loved the sport, I can't say he was on the cutting edge of sports physiology.

I ran in high school, but my passion waned and I didn't run again until late in the running boom of the '70s. I ran the New York City Marathon in 1985 and 1986. I forget my 1986 time, but I know I ran 3:25 in 1987. My training was highly suspect. I ran the same loop most days with little deviation and logged in a long run on the weekend. For various reasons, I didn't run again until 1997 when I totaled a mere 510 miles. I would run in the good weather but pack up my running gear at the first sign of winter. When all was said and done, I was training each year in an attempt to get back to where I had ended the year before. Realizing this, I knew that I had to commit to a lifestyle change. I decided that I would train through the winter. As a motivational tool, I told everyone who would listen (or not). Friends, family, workmates, runners, nonrunners-everyone knew that I ran on Mondays, Wednesdays, and at least one day on the weekend.

On Mondays, the Onteora runners, a local Kingston, New York, group, would meet at Dietz Stadium and run an eight-mile loop around Kingston. The group could be substantial during the nice weather, but it really thinned out in the winter. I remember one evening in particular. The sky was dark, and you could barely see a foot ahead of you. It was a full-scale blizzard. Despite the travel advisory, I trudged out to Dietz. I was shocked when not only Joe and Robert showed, two of the Monday night stalwarts, but also Kevin. I was dumbfounded. Yet when I asked why, Kevin simply said, "Stew, we just couldn't have you run by yourself." I'm a sap and never told him, but it brought a tear to my eyes.

My first run of 1999 was on January 2, and my last run of the year was on December 31. I've been running year-round ever since with an occasional lull due to injuries. Currently I'm 56 and am training for a marathon in Richmond, Virginia, on November 13. My goal is to break three hours. Call me Stew. Running is my passion; I'm a Shawangunk Runner. To the rest of the local running community, we're known as "the Gunks."

Continued in our March/April issue.

I like this magazine! How can I Subscribe?

Run From the Hill Stations
Descent Into the Valley Below Is a Run Into Humanity and Humidity. Part 2 of 3.
by Joanne Lane

INTRODUCTION

Heat, dirt, pollution, busy streets, and overcrowded buses are the impression we all have of India. And it is true of some places on the plains. But what of the cool beauty of hill stations like Mussoorie, set high in the Himalayan foothills? These hill stations are remnants of British occupation of India and provide stunning views of the snowcapped tips of the world's highest mountain range, and the red-roofed villages seated below them in green hillsides are truly picturesque. Australian marathoner Peter Lane took the opportunity to discover some of the history and beauties of this region while living in Mussoorie for six months. In this second article, he runs from the Mussoorie hill station to Rajpur and Dehra Dun in the Doon Valley, a mainly downhill distance of 35K. His daughter, Joanne Lane, reports.

Out of the eerie morning monsoon mist comes Australian marathoner Peter Lane. Visibility is poor, and he is alert for traffic. He narrowly avoids running into a cow that emerges suddenly out of the hazy whiteness. It had been picking through some rubbish, and its soft bell had not penetrated the thick air to give any warning.

A coolie (employed to carry things), heavily laden with boxes, appears almost ghostlike in the fog like a soul damned to wander in eternal penance. Then he is gone-swallowed up by the mist.

It is early, and the sun has failed to break through yet again, leaving only a dull gray light. Peter's clothes hang damp and limply from his body. The air is so thick with moisture they did not dry, although he hung them up three days ago.

This is monsoon. For three months, the heavens open and provide enough nourishment for India to last the rest of the year. Water sources replenish, fields become green, and everywhere spurts new life. Even inside the houses, new life begins as walls blacken with mold and beds remain clammy even though sleeping bodies try to dry the sheets all night. In the high altitude of the Mussoorie hills, the monsoon strikes even harder. Peter runs from Sister's Bazaar (8,000 feet) to Landour Bazaar, a drop of 1,000 feet that takes only 10 minutes.

Continued in our March/April issue.

A Tale of Two Bostons
For Good or Ill, Boston Isn't What It Used to Be. It's the Same but Completely Different.
by Hal Higdon

Race director David McGillivray, dressed in silver jacket and red cap, both bearing the logo of the Boston Athletic Association, moves like a water bug across the surface of a pond as he supervises the start of the 109th running of the Boston Marathon. Pointing and gesturing like the conductor of a symphony orchestra, McGillivray shifts a motorcycle policeman forward a few feet, coaxes several of the wheelchair athletes back behind the starting line, and next clears a lane so the elite women can warm up while waiting for their start six minutes after the wheelchairs. It's a normal day at Hopkinton Green-that is, if that day is Patriots' Day, a holiday in Massachusetts, the day the marathon is held. The Green swarms with vendors, spectators, and local residents just walking about on a warm and sunny spring morning.

The narrow road leading to Boston contains, crunched together in corrals, 18,319 runners, most of them having posted fast qualifying times in order to enter what, arguably, is America's most prestigious road race. Standing beside the starting line with three press passes for access to various areas hung around my neck and prior to boarding the press truck for a ride (instead of a run) into Boston, I glance up at the flag-bedecked reviewing platform and see Senator John Kerry standing above me holding a starting pistol, hardly a weapon of mass destruction but effective enough for getting the show moving. Standing beside him is the B.A.A.'s executive director, Guy Morse, dressed nattily in a blue blazer with the organization's unicorn logo on his breast pocket.

Morse's job on race day includes attending to all the ceremonial aspects of Boston, everything from the firing of the start pistol to crowning the winners with laurel wreaths. Meanwhile, McGillivray does his water bug act, his main worry whether people to whom he has delegated responsibility (including 6,300 volunteers) complete their assigned tasks with dexterity and honor. If both men have done their jobs the preceding 364 days, the Boston Marathon will move forward like the smoothly oiled machine it is, and half a million spectators can watch 18,319 runners happily cover 26 miles, 385 yards from Hopkinton to Boston.

Continued in our March/April issue.

I like this magazine! How can I Subscribe?

Running's Woodstock
A Look Back at the 100th Boston Marathon 10 Years Later.
by Dan Horvath

Were you there? Did you attend the greatest rock 'n' roll gathering of all time? Woodstock was a one-of-a-kind event attended by thousands. It was a watershed; popular music can be considered in terms of everything that came before it, and then everything that happened and continues to happen afterward. Woodstock still exerts an enormous influence on rock 'n' roll music. Were you there? Did you attend the greatest running gathering of all time? The 100th running of the Boston Marathon was also a one-of-a-kind event, attended by thousands. Boston 100 was also a watershed. Everything that came before-the previous 99 Boston Marathons, all of the New York, Chicago, London, and other big marathons-led up to the 100th Boston Marathon. Everything that came after Boston 100-number 101 on up, as well as the subsequent running of other big marathons-has been influenced to some degree by events on that day. Although it seems like only yesterday, that day, April 15, 1996, is now 10 years in our past. Every big-city marathon has something special to offer. All have excitement, crowds of cheering fans, great and average runners, and some measure of history and tradition. That said, the Boston Marathon still manages to stand out. No other marathon (with the possible exception of the Olympic Marathon) can come close to matching this history and tradition. No other marathon can match the camaraderie, this gathering of kindred souls. No other community provides this much support for a race and its runners. When was the last time you were treated like a king or queen for a weekend, just for being a runner? When was the last time you were able to commune with so many other kings and queens who all have this much in common: for the most part, they all had to qualify to get there, and they will all struggle together. When was the last time you ran in the footsteps of so many great runners throughout history? If you've done Boston, you know the answers. More than any other race, the Boston Marathon has always been a pilgrimage for runners. The 100th Boston Marathon was the pilgrimage to end all pilgrimages. Let's take a look back to one of the most extraordinary days in the history of running.

Continued in our March/April. Don't miss this look back at Boston's 100th running.

Art of Media Coverage
Great Strides Have Been Made in the Way Boston Is Covered.
by Paul Clerici

Ever hear of Hopkinton? Heartbreak Hill? Kenmore Square? Chances are you have. And whether you live in Arizona, Oklahoma, or the Carolinas, these Boston Marathon landmarks are more familiar to runners thanks in large part to the increasing national and international coverage of the oldest annually contested marathon, first run in 1897. Watching live coverage of Boston from the other side of the planet has become as normal as, well, watching regular monthly programming of road races on TV. The popularity and broadcasting of footraces of varying distances have grown tremendously over the years to the point where the sport's athletes and commentators, and even its cities and courses, have become famous.

"Because of the interest in this event, and it's unlike any other," notes Guy Morse, executive director of the Boston Athletic Association (B.A.A.), the governing body of the Boston Marathon, "there's more media that cover the Boston Marathon than any other [running] event. It's actually the largest single-day sporting event for media credentials in the world, annually, except for the Super Bowl."

TV COVERAGE ON THREE FRONTS

Such media attention reflects the level of viewership, participation, and general interest in the marquee event, so much so that it warrants live start-to-finish coverage from two of the city's network-affiliated stations and national cable's Outdoor Life Network (OLN), which also covers the Tour de France.

"Acquiring best-in-class events is an integral part of OLN's programming strategy," says OLN President Gavin Harvey. "The Boston Marathon definitely qualifies as one of those events, which is why we felt it belonged on our air." Proof that the local and national TV media consider this to be a key event is seen in the stellar list of guest on-air personalities, among them Bill Rodgers and Joan Benoit Samuelson on WCVB-TV (ABC); Kathrine Switzer, Toni Reavis, Jean Driscoll, Tim Kilduff, and Uta Pippig on WBZ-TV (CBS); and Al Trautwig, Larry Rawson, and Dwight Stones on OLN.

"We thought for our first year covering the event, our telecast went very smoothly thanks to our experienced programming and production team working in conjunction with Clear Channel and the B.A.A.," notes OLN Senior Vice President of Programming and Production Marc Fein. "Between the three of us, we had the proper personnel and knowledge to pull it off. Luckily, there were no major obstacles to overcome."

Television coverage wasn't always as fluid a process as has been the case in recent years. Sure, there are always bumps along the way, but there was a time, and it wasn't too long ago, when archaic means of coverage were accepted as the norm.

Continued in our March/April issue.

Shut Up & Run
The Best Strategy to Meet Your Marathon Goals Is to Plan Your Race and Race Your Plan.
by Tom Miller, Ph.D.

For several years, I had the privilege and challenge of guiding blind runner Harry Cordellos. We ran a dozen Marine Corps Marathons and three Double Dipsea Trail Runs together. However, our most memorable race was the first World Blind Marathon Championship in the Nike-Vancouver International Marathon in British Columbia, Canada.

The performance planning and execution principles and strategies we developed to meet this challenge became the basis for my doctoral studies in exercise science and sports psychology. I've subsequently used these principles while working with endurance athletes ranging from beginners to Jo Garuccio, a six-time women's masters world champion triathlete; Dirk Cowley, a two-time men's masters world stage-race cycling champion; and John Cahill, who ran his first marathon at age 65 in 3:04, at age 73 in 3:05, and at age 78 in 3:30. As I'm typing this article, 81-year-old John and I are on a weeklong cycling tour of southern Utah, northern Arizona, and western Colorado where we will cover about 100 miles a day. Given the opportunity to work with elite athletes, I've picked their brains to find out not only about the physiology of their training but also about the psychology of their mental preparation and racing strategies. The following story will illustrate the principles common to the successes of each of these special athletes.

Early one January, Harry called and excitedly said, "Tom, I've got good news and bad news and need your help!" The First World Blind Marathon Championships were to be held May 1 in Vancouver, and the best blind runners in the world-including Harry-had been invited. The bad news was that to qualify for financial support from the United States Association of Blind Athletes (USABA), he would have to win the National Blind Championship in the Boston Marathon two weeks before the championships-even though he was the four-time defending champion. Our challenge was clear but complicated. How do we both prepare to race two marathons in two weeks?

Continued in our March/April issue.

Hatfield-McCoy Marathon
No Feudin', Just Runnin', but for One Side or the Other.
by Denise Dillon

Take a challenging, two-state course, add an historic family feud, a few goats, small mountain children, a stray dog or two, the charm of the Appalachian Mountains, and you've got the Hatfield-McCoy Marathon. It might be the quirkiness that draws runners, but the organized race and supportive volunteers keep them coming back.

The Hatfield-McCoy feud is legendary in the Appalachian hills of West Virginia and Kentucky. It's a legend of tragedy and vengeance, with a Romeo and Juliet love story thrown in. The marathon course takes runners past some of the many spots where the feud played out. To really appreciate the race, you have to know a little about the famous feud that took place around these here parts.

The Hatfields lived on the West Virginia side of the Tug River, and the McCoys lived on the Kentucky side. The patriarchs of the two families were Anderson "Devil Anse" Hatfield and Randolph "Old Ranel" McCoy. Devil Anse was a guerilla leader in the Civil War. He was known as the best horseman and marksman in the valley. Although he could not read or write, he owned a lot of land and ran a lumber operation.

Old Ranel served under Devil Anse in the Logan Wildcats, which was a guerilla band that supported the Confederates. Old Ranel and his clan lived on 300 acres of mountainous land in Kentucky. Over the years, they lost a lot of land in timber disputes. Because of that, they were suspicious and resentful of those in the lumber business.

Continued in our March/April issue.

I like this magazine! How can I Subscribe?

In the Beginning
The Running Craze Can Be Traced to a 1962 Track Meet in Fresno.
by Richard Leutizinger

A lot fewer of us would be running today if an obscure relay record hadn't been set on a dirt track in the central California town of Fresno more than 40 years ago.

Hardly anyone paid attention when four University of Oregon runners set a world record in the four-mile relay at the West Coast Relays there in 1962. It was big news only in Eugene, Fresno, and New Zealand, home of the previous record holders. Almost no one had even heard of a four-mile relay anywhere else. No one anywhere could possibly have realized the significance of what had occurred.

Viewed now from another perspective, the record looks to be one of the most significant running achievements of the 20th century in the United States. It was the first link in a chain of events that culminated in a nationwide running movement that continues to thrive to this day.

Few people ran in 1962 unless they were part of a high school or college track team. Road races, trail races, and running shoes without spikes weren't part of most peoples' consciousness. There were no stores catering exclusively to runners. There weren't any doctors specializing in running injuries. There was no Marathon & Beyond.

Only three marathons were run regularly in the United States at the time: Boston, Yonkers (New York), and Culver City (California). None had many entrants, with only 232 entered at Boston that year. All were men, most probably thought to be slightly eccentric, and many were foreigners. No one had even thought to ban women runners yet because there weren't any. By present standards, the times of the Oregon runners weren't overly impressive. Archie San Romani Jr. led off with a 4:03.5, Vic Reeve followed with a 4:05.2, Keith Forman ran 4:02.5, and Dyrol Burleson finished with a 3:57.7. The total time of 16:08.9 was 14.9 seconds faster than the New Zealanders had run when they set the record in 1961. To them, this was an affront.

Continued in our March/April issue.

Special Book Bonus

Quarter-Mile Intervals Aren't Necessary, But They Are Surely Wonderful for Building Character.

Here is Joe Henderson's introduction to our new Book Bonus:

Dr. George Sheehan beat his own doctors' time-left forecasts by many years, but his end finally came in late 1993. Soon afterward, a favorite race of his was renamed and moved to his old training course.

The next summer I walked to the start of the George Sheehan Classic in Red Bank, New Jersey. A young runner ahead of me turned to another and said, "This is a cool race. But who is this Sheehan guy, anyway?"

He said "She-han," not the proper "She-un." At that time and place, this was like asking who that Kennedy was with his name on a New York City airport.

Every runner should have known George Sheehan then-or so his friends and fans liked to think, though he himself knew better.

George would have loved telling this story on himself. Others built up his bigger-than-life legend, and he sometimes felt the need to knock it down to size.

The two of us once walked away from the adulation that always greeted him at the Boston Marathon. He shook his head in amazement, then added, "Two blocks from here I'm just another skinny old Irishman."

For all the fame heaped on him in his later years, he didn't take all of this too seriously. Being famous was a phase that started in his late 50s, when the practices of his lifetime were pretty well set and wouldn't change much the rest of his days.

As long as I knew him, which was 25 years, he wore the same blue(jeans)-on-blue(shirt and sweater) uniform while greeting crowds of runners. He drove the same little well-used cars, VWs and Hondas, that doubled as his mobile locker room.

He spoke and wrote his last words in 1993, which means that many of today's runners can be excused for asking: who's this George Sheehan, and why is Marathon & Beyond reprinting his old book?

Many of you came into the sport after George left. You never had the pleasure of hearing, reading, or knowing him in life.

But it isn't too late to get acquainted with a figure who once stood taller than anyone in this sport. (Put John "Penguin" Bingham on Jeff Galloway's shoulders and you get an idea of George Sheehan's stature at his peak.) No one to come along since has given better speeches to runners or written finer literature on running.

George was an accidental author. He wasn't trained as a writer and had practiced medicine for half his life before publishing his first article at age 50. His medical career was winding down when he wrote his first book seven years later.

By then he had settled into his distinctive style of writing: personal, philosophical, and padded with quotes from great thinkers from outside of sports. The Sheehan style would come to be widely mimicked (and occasionally satirized) but never matched.

The first book, Dr. Sheehan On Running, sold well among his Runner's World readers, but the wider world wasn't yet ready to buy running books. That would happen soon.

During one amazing month of 1978, three different books for runners ranked among the top 10 in national sales-for all topics. Each book took a different look at the sport.

Jim Fixx's Complete Book of Running profiled people who ran and what it meant to them. Bob Glover and Jack Shepherd's Runner's Handbook advised how to run. George Sheehan's Running & Being examined why he, and we, ran. George's book, along with his previous and later ones, gave voice to what other runners thought but couldn't express. They embraced him for this for the rest of his life and beyond. They loved him all the more as he wrote as openly about his final test as he had about other subjects.

In 1986, George was diagnosed with advanced prostate cancer that had spread into his bones. His doctors told him to hope for another year but to plan for less.

He lived seven more years-good years, mostly. He wrote three more books during that illness (finishing the last, Going the Distance, in his final week), published dozens of newspaper and magazine columns, and spoke at hundreds of races (running them as long as he was able, including the 1989 World Masters Championships). His end came just days shy of his 75th birthday.

Who was George Sheehan? The best way to introduce yourself to him now, or to renew acquaintances, is to read one of his books. You can still find copies without looking too far. (The family Web site, www.georgesheehan.com, offers his bestselling Running & Being plus reprints of many columns.)

I worked with George on all but one of his books. He never once, in almost two decades of writing them, named one as his favorite.

"These books are my babies," he said. "I could no more single out one than say which of my own children I like best." His kids outnumbered his books, 12 to seven.

Readers must decide which book they like best. Once you read this reprint of his first one, Dr. Sheehan On Running, you'll want to find others. Once you've read him, you'll know him and won't forget him.

Dr. Sheehan's entire book will be printed (in serial format) in M&B over the next several issues.

I think I'll give M&B a try. How can I Subscribe?

I want this issue delivered right to my house. Subscribe

Features

The Mad Mountain
The Middle of Summer on Mount St. Helens Isn't Supposed to Be As Foggy As San Francisco.
by Don Kardong

This is the end of July, the apex of summer, so it's supposed to be hot. Even here, halfway up a mountain in the Pacific Northwest. Or maybe that's halfway up half a mountain. At any rate, it's supposed to be warm, sunny, and clear, with eagle-eye views of river valleys, rolling evergreen hillsides, and mountain peaks that beg to be worshipped.

This is what we expected. Instead, Mike and I find ourselves floundering in a fog bank, zigzagging uphill-cairn to post, post to cairn, cairn to cairn-like a couple of wayward schooners lost at sea, dripping drizzle from our mizzenmasts. And barely warm.

We're surrounded by what appears to be a landslide, giant black blocks of slippery, angular stone, some the size of Volkswagens, none of them easy to scuttle across. This is, we discover later, an ancient lava flow. It is beautiful in a stark, melancholic way, the ragged edge of the hillside pasted against a foggy gray background like modern art. Lovely or not, though, we're simply trying to follow the vaguest notion of a path up and across it, then find the next portion of the Loowit Trail. We need to circumnavigate 30-some miles of Mount St. Helens before sundown. And time's a-wastin'.

Mike glances at his wrist. "We're climbing 39 feet per minute," he reports.

Great. We may not know where the trail is, and we may run out of daylight and freeze to death on the side of this volcano, but at least, thanks to my partner's altimeter, we have good information about our rate of vertical ascent.

Actually, I'm not peeved at Mike. We're in the same boat here, caught off guard by the claustrophobic fog, the ambiguity of the route, the impossibility of doing much actual running. We both figure this section of the trail is an aberration and that we'll soon be sailing on clearly marked, well-tended trails. The ranger, after all, didn't discourage us from attempting the loop around the mountain. He even claimed to have done it himself. So, yes, this section of the route must be an aberration.

Continued in our July/August issue...

Around Mount St. Helens
In One Very Long Day, the Fear of Running in the Sweltering Heat of Summer Quickly Disappeared.
by Mike McQuaide

Shuffling up a sandy slope inside one of the many canyons on Mount St. Helens's southeast side, my running partner and I question a certain park ranger's motives.

"When you hit Windy Pass, it's pretty easy from there," the ranger had said. "The last nine miles are mostly downhill."

Yeah, right.

We had run through Windy Pass more than an hour ago on this 30-mile circumnavigation of Mount St. Helens via the Loowit Trail. The only thing we had found to be "mostly downhill" since the pass were our spirits. By 5:30 on this late July afternoon when we found ourselves yo-yoing up and down gorge after gorge, we had been running, speed hiking, and scrambling for over nine hours.

To get an idea of what this stretch of the Loowit is like, spread your fingers on one hand, press it into some wet sand, and then remove it. These canyons and ridges are a supersize version of the handprint you just made. They are the results of mudflows that blasted through the earth during the 1980 eruption.

In front of me, Don Kardong, my partner in this trail-running adventure, wonders if I instigated the ranger's fibbery. "You didn't happen to question his ability to distinguish flora from fauna, did you?" asks Don, a noted writer and former Olympic marathoner.

Continued in our July/August issue.

Dialog With Don
Don Kardong Was Inducted Into the National Distance Running Hall of Fame. What's He Got to Say About That?
by Bob Kopac

On the weekend of the 2005 Utica, New York, Boilermaker 15K, running legends Greg Meyer, Bob Schul, and Don Kardong were inducted into the National Distance Running Hall of Fame. Don Kardong is famous for finishing fourth in the 1976 Olympic marathon, missing the bronze medal by three seconds (in a PR of 2:11:16). He is a founding member and past president of the Association of Road Racing Athletes and past president of the Road Runners Club of America (RRCA). He founded the Spokane Lilac Bloomsday 12K Run that today attracts 50,000 runners, joggers, and walkers. He is a contributing editor for Runner's World. After the ceremonies, Bob Kopac had a chance to interview Don Kardong and get his reflections on his induction and on his running career.

Bob Kopac: This is the first time I cut to the back of a line [to be the last person so I can interview Don]. Since you are a Monty Python fan, what is your name? What is your quest? What is your favorite color?

Don: I don't have a favorite color. But if I had one, it would be green because every place I run that I love is green . . . except the Grand Canyon.

Bob:When you learned of your induction into the National Distance Running Hall of Fame, what was your first impression?

Don: I think of all the great athletes in here, and I was just kind of humbled. Really, because the people that I have admired my entire running career are in here. To be mentioned among them is a little overwhelming.

Bob: How did your family take it?

Don: They thought it was great. Actually, they had an announcement at the [2005] Boston Marathon that I could not go to, at a luncheon there, a media announcement. But my daughter goes to Boston College, and she thought it was totally cool that she got to get up and say a few words on behalf of her dad. So, it's great, they love it.

Interview continued in July/August issue

I like this magazine! How can I Subscribe?

The Bamboo Trail
A Running Regimen in China Faces Unique Roadblocks.
by Gail Kislevitz

China was never on my list of places to visit. Too far, too foreign, and I don't like Chinese food. All that changed when Elijah, my son, moved to China. He started studying Chinese in high school and continued as an Asian studies major at the University of Vermont. In his sophomore year, he went to study at Yunnan University in Kunming, southwest China, for seven months. Three months into his stay, I was resigned to the fact that I would be visiting China. A mother's umbilical cord can stretch just so far.

Kunming, a city of 4 million, is the capital of Yunnan Province and the fastest growing economy in China. Its name means City of Eternal Spring. I've maintained my daily runs throughout my travels, but I was apprehensive about running in a Communist country. My concerns centered on safety, road conditions, and cultural mores. Eli reported that although he didn't see many joggers, he found a place where I could run safely. With that, the running shoes were packed for my first visit to China. My husband, Androc, and my sister-in-law, Julia, who speaks Chinese, came along as well.

Continued in our July/August issue.

Funny Marathons
The Name of the Game Is Purely in the Name.
by Jack McDermott

As a marathon connoisseur, I have searched the country for the best-named marathons to add a little spice to your next 26-mile sojourn into pain. Please note that although I have run more than 70 marathons myself, I have never been crazy enough to run any of these races. These events tend to conjure images of tough terrain, gritty conditions, and farm animals-all of which have not enticed me to send in an entry form.

This has not stopped me from speculating about how these races earned their appellations. Please note that any resemblance to the actual races is purely coincidental.

#15 Death Valley Marathon in Death Valley, California

I have heard of high-altitude training, but how do you do low-altitude training? I wonder if they hand out brown bags at the aid stations in case someone starts hyperventilating from too much oxygen. Any marathon with the word "death" in its title deserves to be in the top 15.

#14 Lost Dutchman Marathon in Apache Junction, Arizona

Better than "death" is to have the word "lost" in the name. Maybe this is the marathon version of "Where's Waldo?" If you are the first runner to find a lost soul in wooden shoes who speaks Dutch, you receive bonus points at the awards ceremony. Since this race is in Arizona, I guess the Dutchman really is lost.

#13 Hogeye Marathon in Fayetteville, Arkansas

I have heard of a bull's-eye, but what is a hog's eye? Is this a pig in a poke? When you send in your entry form, do you really get to run a marathon? You don't think they trick you into doing an ultra? Well, there were only 65 finishers in 2006, and I have a feeling that half of the finishers were in the 50-States club.

#12 Idaho Great Potato Marathon in Boise, Idaho

This is not your average potato marathon. I think Dan Quayle is the honorary race director. (Is it potato or potatoe? I can never remember.) Let's just say that they may not give you a traditional pasta dinner. It's like my grandpa always said, "The race is a dud if they don't offer you a spud."

#11 Whiskey Row Marathon in Prescott, Arizona

This gives a whole new meaning to the words "aid station." Be sure to pace yourself or you may end up dehydrated with liver damage. If there appear to be random directions in faded chalk on the pavement and guys in red dresses yelling "On, on," don't expect to finish before Tuesday.

Read the rest of Jack's quirky story in our July/August issue.

I like this magazine! How can I Subscribe?

The 86-Year-Old Marathon Debut
There Is No Such Thing in Life As Being Too Old to Start Over.
by Gladys O. "Glady" Burrill

It really hit me that I should try the Honolulu Marathon when my husband, Gene, and I watched the fireworks that signaled the 5:00 A.M. start of the December 2003 race from the lanai of our Waikiki Beach condominium. It was so inspiring and emotional. I just knew I wanted to do it in 2004.

Gene didn't waste any time thinking about it. "Go for it!" he said.

Mingling with marathoners the week before at the running expo in the lobby of the Outrigger Reef on the Beach Hotel next door started me thinking about the challenge.

I wasn't afraid to consider it, as I had walked so many miles through my lifetime. No matter where I am, I always find some place to walk. As I began spending more time in Hawaii, I was walking 12 miles to and from Kahala Mall from our condominium.

I have always thrived on challenges, from becoming a pilot to horseback riding, climbing mountains, snowshoeing, and living a rough 'n' ready childhood on a farm deep in poverty.

I have never thought it a great deal to be doing the marathon. I don't feel 86, and I don't think about it. Until my younger friends found out my age and the world found out, then all of a sudden, I was a public figure, which is still difficult to fathom.

When 2004 arrived, as I dreamed of doing the marathon, the winter and snow at our home in Prospect, Oregon, made it difficult to walk.

During February and March we snowbirded in southern Arizona. The desert was up to the door of our motor home. I resumed my walks on desert trails and ridges that I had been doing for about 10 years.

After a short while back in Oregon from Arizona, I returned to Hawaii, where once again I began my trek back to Kahala, increasing my miles and increasing my pace. I'm an early-morning person, so as soon as it is daylight, I head out.

To begin, I had been eating a light breakfast at Kahala before heading back, and I knew I must change that, so I would have something energizing before I left home. I always carry a bottle of water, protein-carbohydrate bars, and sometimes Wheat Thins and pretzels. This became my training diet.

Continued in our July/August issue.

Beyond The Wall
A Short Story: Racing Past the Past Can Produce a Runner's Low.
by Michael J. Greenwalt

Coop! You dirty dog!"

Jack Cooper looked around for the source of the voice but saw no one he immediately recognized. He was sitting, back to the gymnasium wall, trying to relax, but his senses were being bombarded from every angle. Hundreds of runners, family members, friends, and assorted race officials were milling about yelling at each other over the "Boss," who was rocking on about being born to run. Sight and sound blended into a swirling whirlwind of commotion that was completely disrupting the meditative state he was trying to achieve.

"Coop!"

He looked up, finally recognizing a face bobbing on the sea of humanity in front of him. Robert Norton pushed through the last of the crowd, a grin the largest feature adorning his diminutive figure. The smile was so infectious that Coop's face broke wide open as he got to his feet.

He and Robby were great friends, and although they communicated quite frequently via e-mail and by phone, it had been months since Coop had last seen him in the flesh. The two of them went back a long way. Once high school buddies, they had attempted, without success, to walk on to their college cross-country team but hadn't let that failure dampen their enthusiasm for a good run. Coop remembered one outing in particular, a run that was rapidly becoming legendary-in his own mind.

# # #

Immediately after finishing the last exam of their senior year, Coop and Robby had headed out to the lake for a final run together. They had warmed up over the two miles through campus even though not much warm-up was necessary that balmy spring day, the sun high and bright in a cloudless sky. Lean and tanned, they had relaxed through the initial miles, cracking jokes and talking about their summer plans.

Once at the lake, though, all focus had been on the effort. The lake's perimeter was about four miles, and as they entered the surrounding forest, Robby had taken control and begun to press the pace. This was certainly not unusual since he had always been the stronger, the faster of the two, and Coop was used to it. But the air temperature was an invigorating 10 degrees cooler under the trees, and Coop had found a gear that he never knew he had, one that he hadn't been able to engage since. Entering the woods a half step behind Robby, he had hammered through the weeds trail side in order to take the lead, branches thrashing him as he did so, leaving bloody streaks on his face and arms. The gauntlet had been thrown.

During the four-mile tour of the lake, both Coop and Robby had jockeyed for the lead position, pushing hard to be first, to be the one to hold the advantage over the other. Their training run had become a race, and both wanted to be the first to break from the trees on the other side.

The trail's width pulsed as they ran, at first so constricted they had been forced to run single file. Then, when it widened, both had pressed the pace to see who would be in the lead before it once again narrowed and they had to run one, two. Sweat flying, elbows colliding, they had taken turns in the lead.

First Robby.

Then Coop.

Then Robby again.

The miles flew by, the pace dictated by the one in front. It was quiet under the trees, footfalls and heavy breathing the only sounds except for an isolated expletive or grunt of exertion.

Fortune had smiled on Coop that day. As they neared the straightaway that led to the trail's end-their finish line-he made his break and took the lead for the last time. As Coop sprinted the final hundred yards, he actually put some distance on Robby and was first to shed the trees for the sunlight.

God, the memory of his triumph on their last run together was one he still cherished and looked to for inspiration.

Read all of Beyond The Wall

A Marathon Training Odyssey
One Step and One Day at a Time. Part 3 of 3.
by Fred Stewart

Editor's note: In the previous two parts, which appeared in our last two issues, the author introduced readers to the Shawangunk Runners of New York State as they began to train for the SunTrust Richmond Marathon in Virginia. The training program started 22 weeks out from the marathon. In this, the third and final installment, we pick up "the Gunks" as they sweat through their final 10 weeks of training, including their taper into marathon weekend. Will they reach their goals? Or will some of them fall short?

Read the final part of Fred's Training Odyssey in our July/August issue.

I like this magazine! How can I Subscribe?

Bright Days in Budapest
Once the Iron Curtain Was Lifted, Eastern Europe Took a Western Stride.
by Richard Benyo

First impressions are written in ink; second impressions start with the application of a pencil eraser.

The first time Hungary made an impression on me was in 1956, when I was 10 years old. We had been taught that the world was divided into two camps: the evil sneaky Commies and the rest of us. Our class of 36 snot-nosed kids knew where Hungary was located because we had geography classes several times a week. But now the good nun who pumped information into us all day explained that people in Hungary, people behind the Iron Curtain, had revolted against their Soviet masters and there was fighting in the streets of Budapest. We knew Budapest was the capital of Hungary because we had studied capitals of the world. We even had an inkling of what the Austro-Hungarian Empire had been.

For a week, we followed the Hungarian Revolt in the newspapers. Then we heard that a Hungarian family had fled their homeland and had arrived in a town a dozen miles down the road. The newspaper carried a story. Even though we never met the Hungarian family, we felt a connection, since the ancestors of most of the kids in our class came from Central and Eastern Europe.

Many years later there was great exhilaration when The Wall came down in Germany. I felt just as exhilarated that the Iron Curtain had been lifted from the long-suffering, long-stifled countries of Eastern Europe. Warsaw and Prague and Budapest were suddenly more accessible to the outside world, and those capitals reveled in their newly won freedoms.

When an opportunity to attend the 20th annual Budapest Marathon in early October 2005 appeared, the decision to go took less time than it takes to run a 40-yard dash. Any other decision would have elicited a good rap on the knuckles with a reinforced yardstick from the spirit of my fourth-grade teacher.

Getting to Budapest was lengthy but easy. Get on a plane in San Francisco, change planes in London, get off a plane at Ferihegy Airport outside Budapest, and catch a shuttle into the downtown.

The ride to downtown is through outskirts that are distinctly Eastern European but also strangely familiar: there are small strip malls, weathered houses, the occasional gas station and garage, and the occasional Soviet-era, cheesy cheese-box apartment building. Signs in English coexist with Hungarian signs, and a visitor quickly realizes where all the letter Zs that the rest of the world doesn't use ended up.

Continued in our July/August issue.

A Modest Alternative
Modern North America Isn't All Superhighways and Clogged Thoroughfares; Get Off the Beaten Path.
by Roy Reisinger

I'm all for running challenges, be they against the clock, competitors, or distance. In 50 years of running, I have experienced many, from short distances on the track through ultras on the roads and trails. I still jump into races, and the adrenaline flows as much as ever before the starting gun, although at 65 I probably cannot finish a single mile at what had been my average pace for a half-marathon (six minutes per mile) just 10 years ago.

So, although I'll probably always seek out running challenges, running has increasingly become simply my daily therapy, my recreation-my playtime, if you will. And if a nice long run in a pleasant setting is good, how about stringing together day after day in an idyllic setting? This was my thinking in seeking out long routes that I could cover at my own leisurely pace. I'll describe four such experiences. If they sound appealing, I would encourage you to seek out your own.

Simply tweak the variables to fit your own abilities, interests, and circumstances.

In my case, there were three prerequisites: