JFK Reflections

By Tim Mangan

13 November, 2000

Inspiration and Perspiration

Bob dribbled from side to side as I guarded him, my eyes glued to his eyes. "You ain't see nothing yet, chump," he chided me. Ignoring his trash talk, I focused on his movement and could tell that he wasn't going to drive to the hoop this time. It was a good thing too, since I yielded 6 inches and 80 pounds to his lineman's frame. I often ended up on my backside when he drove to the hoop....no refs, no rules. Bob squared up to shoot. I anticipated his release perfectly, straining at the top of my jump to reject the just released ball and send it halfway across the school parking lot. "You getting tired big guy," I gloated in jest.

Many a summer evening of my youth was spent in pick-up basketball games. My best friend Bob, a 3-sport star in high school was off to play Division I-A football that fall. You don't admit it when you are 16, but I was going to miss him. I was just an average athlete, always willing, but far from spectacular. Maybe that is what I liked most about Bob; he didn't care how good you were, he just wanted to play. Through his example he taught me a valuable playing field lesson: competition in sport should be fun - the shared experience is more important than who "wins" the game. Nearly 24 years later, the most vivid memories I have of those neighborhood basketball games are the adolescent dreams and fears my friends and I shared while playing.

Mr. Brick was the only adult who dared to play basketball with us. He was a fortyish, balding, solidly built man, but he had a mean jump hook which was almost impossible to defend. Mr. Brick used a perfectly timed forearm into the defender's chest just before he released his shot.

The spring of my junior year in high school, Mr. Brick invited me to run with him. He had been running for a couple of months and had worked up to 2.5 miles. To a kid affectionately nicknamed "beef", the thought of running was not really appealing, but one evening I decided to join him. It was a struggle to finish a mile. My legs throbbed and my lungs heaved with that first effort. "Nice job there, turkey," Mr. Brick praised as I dragged myself home. How about another run tomorrow?" "Ahh, sure...I guess," I grimly responded.

It took about 2 weeks, but I finally was able to complete a 2.5 mile loop with Mr. Brick. We went out about 4 times a week, often after an evening of playing basketball. While running we talked about the marathon achievements of Frank Shorter. We talked about football. We talked about my college plans. When the conversation turned to running, my ears strained to catch every detail involving running and training. I admired Mr. Brick because he "acted young" and for the genuine interest he showed in me.

I felt great!! I had lost a few pounds off my chunky frame. As I ran during the summer of 1977, I started to look forward to the first day of football practice. This year I was going to be in shape for the start of practice, which always started with a 3.5 mile run with helmets and shoulder pads. It was the coaches way of finding out who got in shape over the summer. Those that didn't finish the run in 30 minutes were rewarded with extra wind sprints at the end of practice.... this year I would finish strong.

Occasionally I added a second loop to my run to bring my distance up to 5 miles. My younger sister, Seana asked me one evening after my run, "So how far do you think you can run?" "I don't know maybe, 10 miles," I replied, regretting the words the moment they were spoken. That became my first running goal, but with only a week before football practice began, I didn't have much time to prepare.

The mid-August air hung heavy that evening, dampening the cricket's buzzing symphony. I was sweating before I even started. "I'll be here on the front step at every lap and give you ice water," Seana assured me. Mr. Brick joined me for the first two of four 2.5 mile laps. The first miles flew by...I felt powerful ....fluid .... and in control. A car load of college girls passed us, honking and whistling their approval. More inspiration! At the end of the second loop, Mr. Brick extended his hand and called out, "Go get em, turkey - you're on your own!"

Darkness fell during the third loop, the crickets were now barely audible above my breathing and the slapping of my feet on the asphalt. Coming around for the last lap, Seana was there as promised. I took the water from her and poured it down my parched throat. "One more lap, you can do it," she shouted at me as I pulled away. My legs quivered and my pace slowed. My sweat drenched T-shirt clung to my skin and weighed me down with each step. I found myself needing to concentrate to keep moving one foot in front of the other. My mind struggled to work through the uncertainty of not finishing. As I turned onto my street, though, I was home free! The doubts evaporated into the night and the joy of knowing that "I was going to finish" began to hit me. Seana hugged me at the finish "You did it, bro!"

That night I had made a jump from jogger to runner, from a self-doubting kid to a teenager with a reawakened sense of confidence in himself. Senior year was going to be the best year ever. As I lay awake that night, all seemed possible and all seemed right with the world. It was a wonderful moment.

Food for the Soul

John F. Kennedy was a man who often talked of meeting challenges head on and of serving your country and others. I thought about those far-reaching words he spoke at his inauguration as President in 1961. "Ask not what your country can do for you, rather ask what you can do for your country." Service to another takes many forms; the inspiration and support from my best friend Bob, Mr. Brick and my sister Seana is a form of service. Their generous spirit gave me the courage to take risks and to persevere. Likewise, the inspiring words of our local ultra-legend, John Prohira, gave me the courage to dream that someday I would enter an ultra-marathon. The JFK 50 miler had a lot of appeal since it was the oldest and largest ultra-marathon in the country. I had also always admired the ideals that JFK stood for ....and besides I had just turned 40 and was looking for a special event to celebrate the milestone!

Joy Valvano was eager and willing to run her first 50 miler. Joy and I took part in an ultra-cramming session two weeks prior to the race. We combined six hours of running and walking over two consecutive days. We ate solid food, took salt pills, drank electrolyte concoctions and talked about kids, spouses, work and running to pass the miles. The only problem was that we should have been in the middle of a four week pre-event taper! Although we had both run marathons about a month prior to JFK, we still felt unprepared. An ultra-training schedule, consulted too late, called for weekly sessions of two consecutive runs that encompassed up to 9 hours of running! HUH! "I haven't tried that, have you tried that?" I asked Joy. "John said we should run one of those doubles, just to get that feeling of running on tired legs." So in deference to John's wisdom we ran ....in retrospect I'm glad we did because it was a big confidence boost even if it did buck conventional training wisdom. What is conventional about running 50 miles anyway? ....that was part of the appeal.

JFK

Joy, John and I headed down to Hagerstown, Maryland the day before the race ....two "virgins" with their ultra sensei. Apparently an experienced ultra-runner can easily pick out the ultra-virgins at a race. How do they do know? Joy provided nourishment for the body....veggie burgers on REAL bread from Joy's bakery, The Crescent Moon Bakery ....they were great! John perused the JFK entry list ....it seemed like he knew half of the field! What's more he had a story to tell about each one. As the miles rolled away, I thought of what lay ahead tomorrow. I was surprisingly calm; the nervous anticipation and self doubts were noticeably absent. Perhaps that was the nature of the ultra experience.

Race Day

6:15 a.m. at Boonsboro High School. The gymnasium was filled with the sights and sounds of final race preparations. It seemed like every runner I talked to was an ultra-marathon veteran. "Well yes, this is my 15th JFK, also ran the Vermont 100 this summer....your first, hmmm... I kind of thought so." How do they know! "Go easy on the mountain lad, or you'll be toast by the time you get to the Potomac." Advice and stories were plentiful in the gym. Everyone was eager to share their ultra-wisdom. Ultra-runners, even the elite of this group, were more laid back than your typical marathoner ....definitely not the same frenzied experience as at Boston ....and I was thankful for that since it helped me stay relaxed all the way to the start.

A half-mile walk to the start was our only warm-up. Good luck hugs. Joy and I stayed toward the back of the pack. I fought a momentary urge to get up front. John was now nowhere in sight apparently having stopped to talk with friends that he has met through his ultra-running experiences.

The gun went off at 7:00 a.m. sharp marking the start of the 38th JFK. In 1963 Kennedy felt that members of the armed forces ought to be able to complete a 50 mile hike in 14 hours. That year the race was born when four Marines from a starting field of thirteen met the president's challenge. This year over 800 runners began the journey. Many of them were members of the armed services from nearby military bases. I have never been called "sir" so many times!

With temperatures around 50 degrees and a thick layer of clouds blanketing the sky, it looked like it would be a good day for running. Joy and I ran about three quarters of a mile before coming to a hill just outside of town. People all around us began walking. Joy and I ran on, proud Oven Door Runners that we were ...."oh yeah we're supposed to walk these." I heard murmuring from other runners as we passed them: "They must be marathoners." Running up the steep hill gave us away. Joy and I got the hint and began walking. It was a wise choice since the road spiraled upward, often at a steep pitch for over a mile.

After 2.7 miles on the road most of which was uphill, there was the turn-off for the Appalachian Trail. This section of the course was beautiful. The woods retained a few wisps of fall color which contrasted with the shades of gray provided by the many rock ledges and the steel gray sky. The trail followed a ridge heading west toward the Potomac River for approximately 13 miles. A brown blanket of fallen oak, chestnut oak and maple leaves carpeted the path. It would have been a perfect trail ....if it weren't for those #%&*# ROCKS! Rocks littered most of the trail section. Jagged ankle busting rocks that protruded from the fallen leaves at odd angles. At times my tentative steps felt like I was running in high heels, just trying to pick good landing spots. The roughest sections had to be hiked. To avoid falling, concentration was a must: watch the trail, keep some distance from the runner in front of you so you can see the trail, and don't take in too much scenery. After a couple of hours of intense concentration my head hurt as much as my feet. The trail took it's toll-my plantar fasciitis was acting up and I added a couple of black toes to my collection, but no turned ankle.

Joy was just up ahead, moving gracefully and confidently over the uneven terrain. She looked totally at ease on the trail. Behind me were a couple of young Marines, talking with cocky bravado about their post-race celebratory plans for that night. "I brought my pimping shirt for tonight," one stated. Their conversation was entertaining, but their celebration plans were perhaps a little premature since we had only covered 10 miles. Suddenly, there was a solid THUD from behind me. One of the Marines was down. I thought these guys could move like cats....perhaps the poor fellow did his training with the amphibious unit and was out of his element. Are you OK?" "Yes, sir, thank you," he replied as he quickly pulled himself to his feet. Although I observed several scraped knees and elbows during the race, no one apparently broke their ankle, unlike most other years where there was at least one fall resulting in broken bones. One year the JFK was run during freezing rain. I shuddered to think what it must have been like to navigate the rocky terrain that day.

Nearing the end of the Appalachian Trail, I skidded down a series of steep switchbacks that led down to the Potomac River. I breathed a sigh of relief at the bottom ....no broken bones! I spoke too soon; an instant later my ankle turned under ....Ouch! #%&@$! I quickly recovered ....it was a close call, though. There was an aid station just prior to the start of the towpath. I feasted on pretzels, M&Ms and power bar pieces and washed it down with Power Aid, Coke and water. This process was repeated at each of the 15 aid stations. The temperature had risen to the low 60's, but was still quite comfortable. Still I could sense that fluid and salt were leaving my body at an alarming rate so I took great pains to take in as much fluid as my stomach could hold. I estimated that I took in about 20 liters of fluid over the course of the day and only peed once!

Joy had arrived at the aid station a couple of minutes before me. We decided to run together along the towpath. The Chesapeake and Ohio towpath follows the Potomac River for some 185 miles; fortunately we only had to cover 26 miles. Most of the path was wooded. Sycamore trees with their brown and green mottled bark towered over us and stretched out over the river bank to our left. On our right were the remnants of the C&O canal which was actively used in the 1800's, but was abandoned in 1924. With most of the leaves down we had a good view of the Potomac River and the state of Virginia on the far shore. The path passed near several Civil War sites including the bloody battleground at Antetiam and the refuge port of Harper's Ferry. Caves along the route had provided safe hiding places for countless civilians during the fiercest fighting. Since the towpath is now a National Historical Park, there is little development on either side of the river. At times it seemed like we had stepped back in time 100 years or more.

The towpath presented an interesting and welcome contrast to the Appalachian Trail. The rocky terrain of the trail tested one's agility on a fairly demanding technical course. The towpath's challenge was in finding the right combination of running and walking breaks that would get you to the finish. Joy and I quickly settled into a "running groove" alternating 20-25 minutes of running with 5 minutes of walking. The day was broken down into getting from one aid station to the next. "It's time for a salt pill, Joy." "OK Tim, three more minutes and we can take a walking break." "And who is your favorite author, book, movie, food group? ....I wonder how John is doing ....notice how many Marines we're passing .... our spouses are awesome for letting us test ourselves on this adventure" ....and so the miles and hours went. Many of the miles passed in silence, but the one constant was the support and companionship from running with Joy. We passed runners as they walked; they passed us while we walked. A man on a bicycle seemed to be our guardian angel, suddenly appearing every 3 miles or so to wish us well.

One of the nice things about longer events is that there is the opportunity to talk to the volunteers. The connection between runner and aid volunteer is something that just doesn't happen in shorter races, even marathons....since most runners rush by too fast to chat. I was impressed with the volunteers' support and concern and dedication to make sure we were OK. Most would be on the course for the whole day ....just so we could have a good race experience ....how do I show my gratitude - Thank you!

Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and chicken noodle soup could be found at several of the aid stations. Was that Joy eating a PB&J ....on white bread!? ....A brave woman indeed! The protein was a welcome change from the carbohydrate barrage that tended to unsettle the stomach. Sucking on crystallized ginger candy soothed my stomach, a tip that John and Joy shared with me.

"I just have to make a pit stop, Joy." I ducked into a portable toilet. It felt SOOOO GOOD to sit for a moment....this had to be the most comfortable toilet seat ever! "Joy, do you think you could find me a copy of that Toni Morrison book you were talking about a couple miles back?" I would have stayed in there all afternoon, but I had another 25 miles to run ....and so on with the show.

Up ahead was the #4 Dam which signaled the end of our towpath journey. We had run a 4:30 marathon on the towpath. At this point I knew we were going to finish. It was the first time I allowed myself to even think about the finish. We left the last aid station on the towpath and headed out onto the road for the last 8.3 miles. Reflective vests were handed out to those who would be finishing in the dark. Since we arrived at the dam a few minutes after 3:00 p.m., we did not need a vest. That was a big emotional boost ....we were going to finish before dark!

The last 8 miles consisted of rolling hills along country roads littered with suburban estates. Joy began to actually pick up the pace, which totally amazed me after 42 miles of running! She gradually pulled away. We were now left to each finish our own race, our own journey ....alone. That was OK ....we had supported each other for hours to get to the point where the dream of finishing had become a reality. Besides, finishing after Joy guaranteed me a cheering section at the finish! Each mile was marked off now....6 miles to go, 5, 4, 3....each marker now was a cause for celebration. I broke out in a smile as Joy and a few others called out my name as I crossed the finish - 9 hours and 24 minutes.... a long day, but one that I will not soon forget. A wave of emotion swelled up in my throat as I collected my finisher's medal. "Nice race, Tim." "Joy, you ran an awesome race, " I replied. I felt just as I had after completing my first 10 mile run as a 16 year-old - all seemed possible and all seemed right with the world ....

Inside the Springfield Middle School gym were warm clothes and food! Feeling no post-race stomach distress, I quickly dived into the fried chicken and consumed a half dozen pieces ....barely stopping to breathe ....grease never tasted so good! After checking out the offerings of chicken soup and M&M's it was time to watch for John to finish. Although neither Joy nor I had seen John since the early miles on the Appalachian Trail, we both knew he was OK and would be finishing soon. "All right John, nice race!" A smile came across his face when he saw us, hugs all around....everyone had finished well.

Although an individual runs a race, like any endeavor you have countless support behind you and by your side. That is what makes the journey so enjoyable. I probably would not have thought that an ultra-marathon finish was an attainable goal, if not for John's example. He has expanded my definition of what it means to be a runner and for that I am most grateful. Likewise, without Joy at my side for mile after mile, I doubt that I would have finished as strong as I did. JFK was all the more enjoyable to be able to share it with such a kind yet strong and confident woman. Of course there are countless others who "served" to make the dream of completing 50 miles a reality. My family-Ann, Audrey and Steve were always in my thoughts ....I realized how blessed I was to have their support.

To Dream

The HF-L modified girls X-country team was running their first race of the season. The meet weaved up and down the rolling, golden fields at Semmel Park in Mendon. The open course allowed Ann and me to track our daughter, Audrey at several points along the course. Audrey was running in her first X-country meet ....Ann and I zoomed in on the action with video camera and SLR. Nothing like a little parent-induced embarrassment to undermine Audrey's pre-race preparations!

Audrey stayed toward the back at the start as the pack headed downhill and out of sight. Halfway through the race, Audrey was visible again on the course and she had improved her position on the field. She disappeared again, and then, a couple minutes later sailed by ....300 meters to go ...."Finish strong Audrey, you're looking great!." She accelerated past a couple more runners ....she was laboring and fighting and sweating on this warm September afternoon. Seeing how she responded to the pressure of her first race with brains ....and heart, I couldn't help but think how proud I was of her. Today, I felt she could accomplish anything she put her mind to ....I hoped she thought that way as well. Audrey's final sprint had her nipping at the heels of the second place girl at the tape. Ann and I rushed over to congratulate her. I embraced my sweaty, flushed daughter ...."Great race Audrey!" No doubt, she had the heart and soul of a runner ....

Driving home from the X-country meet, I dreamed of a day ....Audrey racing in her first marathon with her Dad running alongside.