Distance Memories: Reflections of a Life on the Run

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Foreword

Course Map

Once Upon A Time

Soul-Searching And Sightseeing In The Cradle Of Liberty

Cold Turkey

Peachtree, Ocd And Me

One More For The Road

No End In Sight

My Way

The Trouble With Treadmills And Trails

Springing Forward

The Morning After

Making Money At A Moderate Pace

Running Commentary

Thinking On My Feet

‘Weather’ Or Not To Run

Cabin Fever

Resolve

Gainesville, Florida

Perhaps The Toughest One Yet

Coaching Optional

The Mind Is Still Willing…

Go Gator

The Wonder Years

Reeling In The Years

Turning The Big Five-(Uh)-Oh

Growing (B)Older

Competitive Writing

Shooting From The Hip

Heart Of The Matter

Knowing When To Say Yes

First Kiss

No Regrets

Grin And ‘Bare’ It

Culture Clash: Runner Vs. Redneck

A Cold Day In Hell

Look Back In Laughter

Then And Now

Statistical Insignificance

Bibliography

Vital Statistics

Listening To The Legends

Long Live Running

The Impurities Of Sport

Halfasst

Trivial Pursuits

Virginia Beach

So Long, Shamrock!

Against All Enemies, Foreign And Domestic

Bucket List

Uncomfortably Numb

Numbingly Uncomfortable

Bucket List

Reflections

Breath Taking

Regret Me Not

Full Circle

Distance Memories

Making The Most Of It

Aloha Also Means Goodbye

Epilogue

Cover Photo

Acknowledgements

Other Books By Scott Ludwig

DEDICATION

To Cindy, who has been with me

every step of the way

FOREWORD

I’ve been around the block a few times.

Over half a million times, actually.

Assuming a block is approximately 100 yards long and 100 yards wide, running just over 130,000 lifetime miles equates to a few more than 500,000 times around the block.

So yeah, I’ve been around the block a few times.

I’ve had my share of ups and downs. The Boston Marathon, the Badwater Ultramarathon and having whatever it takes to run every single day since November 30, 1978 would fall into the former; an aging body, injuries, and—well, to be totally honest falling down while running much too often these days would fall into the latter.

But it’s been a good, long run and I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

My wife Cindy believes the 2003 Badwater Ultramarathon signaled the beginning of my declining health and running ability. I beg to differ: I believe it was my (last place, and darn proud of it) finish in the 2006 Western States Endurance Run that catapulted me into the downside of my running career.

However, I have no regrets. As I said earlier it’s been a good, long run and I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Besides, if it had been any other way I wouldn’t have had the many tales you will find in this book that you, quite frankly, could not possibly find anywhere else.

These are my stories from… my experiences… and my perspectives on running as well as life.

They’re all absolutely true. They’re all brutally honest. They’re all from the heart.

Most of all, they’re all mine.

COURSE MAP

Having ventured out on well over 13,000 runs in my lifetime to this point, I know the value of having a course map and having some knowledge or idea of where you are heading. The times I was running in the dark… wait, bad example since almost all of my runs are in the dark (I run primarily very early in the morning—someone has to wake the roosters so it may as well be me). Let me try again.

The times I was running without adequate knowledge of the route I would be taking more times than not ended up with not so favorable results. The first time I ran on the intricate cart path system in Peachtree City when we moved here in 1990? I went out for a 10 or so mile run one Sunday morning and after running well over three hours, found myself about seven miles from home. When I ran the Badwater Ultramarathon in 2003? I knew I would be running through Death Valley so I was prepared for the heat; the three mountain ranges I had to overcome? Well, surprise and shame on me (I wasn’t adequately prepared for the climbs). On vacation and running in a new place for the very first time? The best idea is to run straight for X miles, turn around and retrace your steps. So what do I do more times than not? Make turn after turn while trying to keep up with landmarks (‘OK, right at the convenience store, left at the cemetery’) only to find the landmarks look quite different when you approach them from the opposite direction (and by ‘look quite different’ I really mean ‘where did they go?’).

So, my gift to you: a course map of this book. You might like to know a little bit about the journey you are about to take so you don’t get lost along the way. So here goes, chapter by chapter:

‘Once Upon a Time’ takes you along to some of my favorite races. I will share my thoughts on what I believe makes them so special… as well as memorable.

‘Maybe It’s Just Me’ gives you a glimpse into my answers (yes, ‘answers’ was intended to be plural) to the age-old question: ‘What do you think about when you run?’ Perhaps a better question for me would be ‘What DON’T you think about when you run?’

‘Gainesville, Florida’ is a road trip to one of my absolute favorite cities on the planet; a trip that includes a couple of races, a 125,000 mile moment and a passing of the torch.

‘Reeling in the Years’ discusses the changes I had to make—mentally as well as physically once I turned 50 years old. I was forced to modify my running goals and just as importantly adjust my perspective on running.

‘Heart of the Matter’ is where I’m letting my guard down. I’ll share some thoughts I’ve never shared with anyone until now. Once you read this chapter you’ll understand why: They are just very difficult for me to talk about.

‘Grin and ‘Bare’ It’ is comprised of absolutely true stories that should make you laugh and then immediately pray they never happen to you.

‘Count Me In’ reveals my weakness: a fondness for numbers. I like to consider it a strength of mine as I’m very good with numbers and have a passion for thinking (calculating) in terms of mathematics.

‘Virginia Beach’ presents a 10-day odyssey to my birthplace following the death of my mom and dad, and reflections on the marathon that meant so much to the three of us.

‘Bucket List’ takes you on a trip to South Africa; a trip I had to make to complete my Bucket List of Ultramarathons: The JFK 50, Badwater, Western States and finally… Comrades. I would never have thought the hardest part would be showing up at the starting line of the Comrades Marathon… alive.

‘Reflections’ is my opportunity to look back at my life and the role running has played in it. Many of my fondest and proudest moments I’ve had the good fortune to experience and enjoy are presented, as well as my hopes for the future.

I poured my heart and soul into this book and I truly believe it contains the finest work I’ve ever done. As a writer. As a runner. As a human being.

I hope you enjoy it. I trust you won’t get lost along the way; just stick to the map.

ONCE UPON A TIME

I ran my first marathon in 1979. Almost 34 years later I completed my 200th marathon.

I ran my first Peachtree Road Race in 1979. I have run every one since.

For years my times in races of various distances got faster and faster.

I had youth on my side. I had ‘fresh legs.’ I had the desire, focus and motivation to run faster and farther.

But time has a way of catching up with everyone; I am no exception.

SOUL-SEARCHING AND SIGHTSEEING IN THE CRADLE OF LIBERTY

I ran the Boston Marathon in 2:53:18.

That was back in 1987.

In 2010—virtually three decades later, I ran, walked and damned near crawled the 26.2 miles from Hopkinton to Boston over an hour slower.

Which led me to ask at the time: What the hell has happened to me?

Well, in 1987 I was a mere 32 years old, which is, as I understand it, the prime age to run one’s fastest marathons. In 2010 I was ¾’s of the way from being a masters runner (age 40) to being a seniors runner (age 60); yep, I was already 55 years old (where does the time go?).

Not to mention that my legs had incurred an additional 95,000 miles since that first Boston Marathon back in 1987 and this one, that will give me an even dozen Boston finishes.

Then there’s the string of nagging and/or recurring injuries over the past seven years. Lower back. Hamstring (both of them). Shin (thankfully, only one of them). Neck. Stomach.

However, beyond these three things—time, physical wear-and-tear, injury—there was still something missing in 2010.

My heart just wasn’t in it. I simply did not want to run the Boston Marathon.

Originally the plan was to run Boston with my good friend Al Barker. We were going to line up in the same time group corral (seeing as our qualifying times were less than one minute apart) and for the first time truly enjoy (i.e. not run balls-to-the-wall like we usually do) the Boston Marathon experience. We were going to stop and kiss the girls at Wellesley… admire the statue of Johnny Kelley on Heartbreak Hill (after 11 Boston Marathons you would think I saw the statue at least once; I haven’t) . . . have our photo taken at the Citgo sign, indicating we had one mile before we would reach the finish line on Boylston Street…

But something unforeseen happened. It just so happened that although the marathon times we ran to qualify for Boston were less than one minute apart, Al’s was just a few seconds under the cutoff for the first wave of starters at 10:00 a.m. and mine just a few seconds over the cutoff, which put me in the second wave of starters at 10:30 a.m. As Al was at the back of the first wave and I was at the front of the second wave, I thought there was a chance I wouldn’t start too far behind Al, enabling me to catch up to him if I ran hard the first few miles. However, Al crossed the starting line almost 15 minutes before my race began and even though I ran the first four miles much faster than I originally intended, I didn’t have a prayer of catching up with him.

That’s when I started noticing how much of a toll the bright, sunny day was taking on me. I’ve never been one to run well in marathons under a bright, sunny sky—regardless of the temperature—and with a 10:30 a.m. start the sun was certain to be a factor throughout the duration of the race.

By the time I got to Wellesley College, all I could do was glance at the signs held up by the cheering and screaming all-female student population:

Kiss me, I’m Irish.

Kiss me, I’m Asian.

Kiss me, I’m a senior.

Kiss me, I’m a freshman.

Kiss me, I won’t tell your wife.

Soon afterward, my neck would seize up, similar to what had happened six weeks ago at the Snickers Marathon in Albany at mile 22 and again three weeks later at the Umstead Endurance Run in Raleigh around mile 30. Six weeks earlier the pain was agonizing; three weeks before it was still painful but slightly more tolerable (although I did quit after 75 miles, failing to finish the 100-mile version of the event). On this particular day it was somewhere in between, but I’ll be the first to admit I wasn’t looking forward to the last 12 miles into Boston.

I hung in for another couple of hours before finally—mercifully crossing the finish line in 3:58:51. Before today, my last Boston Marathon was in 2004: 3:59:30 in 87 degree heat which caused me to swear off any more Boston Marathons until they did away with their unattractive (yet traditional) starting time of 12:00 noon. (The year before, 2003, I ran the marathon in 3:56:15—after running the course from the finish line to the starting line prior to the start of the race in just over three hours and 30 minutes.)

I staggered back to my hotel room, only to have my left leg cramp up in excruciating pain. I cursed Boston… the sun… the ridiculous start time of 10:30… virtually everything I had just experienced in the preceding eight hours beginning with the long bus ride to the start in Hopkinton and ending with this excruciatingly painful cramp in my left leg!

The next day I was in terrible shape, physically and to a slightly lesser degree mentally. My wife Cindy, this being her first trip to Boston, was anxious to get started on a big week of sightseeing in the city that was built for it. By ‘built’ I mean that the recommended mode of transportation to see the sights is on foot. Over the next three days we would take a whale-watching excursion, walk the Freedom Trail, eat lunch in Chinatown and dinner in Little Italy, visit the JFK Presidential Library, tour the Samuel Adams brewery (Note: unlimited free beer provides an exorbitant amount of comfort to an aching pair of legs) and stop by the Bill Rodgers Running Center.

It was at the latter where I found the perfect remedy for what was ailing me. It was at the most famous running store in the world that I had the opportunity to finally meet Bobbi Gibb, the first woman to run the Boston Marathon.

I use the word ‘finally’ as I had spoken to Bobbi numerous times and traded countless E-mails with her during the past year as she graciously allowed me to tell her story in my book A Passion for Running. However, I had never met Bobbi in person. That is, until the day after my worst showing in the most prestigious marathon on the planet.

I introduced myself to Bobbi and she recognized me instantly, giving me a friendly hug and asking me how I was enjoying Boston. She was every bit as elegant and eloquent as I had envisioned during our many spoken and written conversations from before.

Then she asked me a question consisting of only four words that reminded me of what I had been missing out on for 26.2 miles one short day ago. Bobbi Gibb asked me quite simply:

How was your marathon?

I’ve heard that your life flashes before your eyes when death is imminent. What flashed through my mind must have been the runners’ equivalent: the ‘It all starts here’ sign in Hopkinton… Ashland… Framingham… Natick… the insanity of Wellesley College… the hills of Newton… Brighton… Brookline… the Citgo sign… the sprint to the finish on Boylston Street… Johnny Kelley… Uta Pippig… Bill Rodgers… Alberto Salazar… the Duel in the Sun… Bobbi Gibb.

I knew at that very moment how proud I was to have finished the most prestigious marathon on the planet twelve times.

Bobbi Gibb, I bet you have no idea how much the few minutes I spent with you meant to me.

Then again, maybe you do.

COLD TURKEY

Effective immediately, Christmas has been cancelled.

When I heard the news that there would be no Atlanta Marathon on Thanksgiving Day 2010, the earlier news about Christmas (relax, I just used it to grab your attention—it hasn’t really been cancelled.) would have taken a back seat. After all, running 26.2 miles along the streets and roads of Atlanta has been a tradition with me since the Atlanta Marathon was first held on Thanksgiving Day in 1981. But in 2010 it was taken away… just like that. Cold turkey.

I ran my first Atlanta Half Marathon in December 1980 when it was held in conjunction with the full marathon at the Westminster School campus. I remember how difficult (brutal hills!) it was running the 13.1 mile loop once, and that there was no way I wanted to run it a second time (which constituted the marathon course). In fact, the runner who crossed the finish line directly in front of me fell over and died… at the age of 26 (he had an undiagnosed heart condition). That left quite a lasting impression on me, and I was certain I would never run the Atlanta Marathon if it meant two loops of the Westminster course.

However, when the marathon moved to downtown Atlanta in 1981 and made its Thanksgiving debut, I was there (I ran a 3:13 flat for you historians). I’ve been on the starting line on Thanksgiving morning every year since (don’t ask me why, but I opted for the half marathon in 1989 and 1990; other than that I’ve run the full marathon every year). From 1983 through 1991, the marathon began in Lithonia and finished in Piedmont Park. Between 1992 and 1996 the marathon started and finished at Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium, until eventually settling in on virtually the exact same course used in the 1996 Summer Olympics.

But in 2010 there was no Thanksgiving Day Atlanta Marathon. Christmas had been cancelled—at least in my book. You see, the Atlanta Marathon is my absolute favorite running event. It’s been a part of my running life from the very beginning. My son Justin was only nine days old when I ran my second Atlanta Marathon; my son Josh only 38 days old when I ran fifth. In 2010 they were 27 and 24 years old—how’s that for perspective!?! In fact, when the first Atlanta Marathon was held in 1963, I was not quite nine years old. How can the ‘South’s oldest marathon’ simply fade off into the sunset like that???

I asked Tracey Russell, the Executive Director of the Atlanta Track Club that very question, to which she replied:

We are working to find a better date for the Atlanta Marathon that allows us (the Atlanta Track Club) to offer a longer course time limit (currently it is five hours, which is 1-2 hours shorter than most marathons allow), providing more runners an opportunity to participate, and make the overall event even better. Keeping the marathon on Thanksgiving Day limits our ability to really make some great enhancements to the event. So right now we’re just in transition.

(Note: the comments in italics are mine).

While I totally understand her reply, it doesn’t make it any easier to accept Thanksgiving Day would never be the same again for me as well as for many of my closest running friends who I’ve shared this special day with over the years. Sure, I could run the Atlanta Half Marathon on Thanksgiving Day, but like I said earlier, it just wouldn’t be the same.

But the Atlanta Marathon will always bring back some fond memories (which is how I choose to remember someone when they leave for the Great Beyond):

• Running my fastest Atlanta Marathon and missing the three-hour mark by a mere 20 seconds in 1991, only to hear my training pals yell ‘you suck’ (they were great kidders… I think) as I triumphantly (?) crossed the finish line.

• Celebrating my friend Prince Whatley’s 35th birthday by joining him for a before-the-start run to the 4.4 mile mark of the course and back to the starting line and then running the marathon for a total of 35 miles; one mile for each year. (If you think the first 4.4 miles of the Olympic Marathon course are tough, believe me: they’re equally as tough in the opposite direction!).

• Pacing Valerie Reynolds in 1993 to her first Boston qualifier and meeting Al Barker at the finish line. Valerie, Al and I would go on to run a cumulative three-dozen Boston Marathons over the next 16 years. Valerie would later become President of the Atlanta Track Club for two years, and Al and I would establish the Darkside Running Club in 2002.

• Reaching my 100,000th lifetime mile when I crossed the finish line of the 2005 Atlanta Marathon.