Date: Sun, 6 Sep 1998 19:42:25, -0500 Subject: Saga of Cold Miner Dick at LT100, pt. 3 Part 3: Heroes, Heroes Everywhere (And None of Them Play Baseball) Well, you can't expect me to be hanging around the office water cooler today. Today is Sunday, day before Labor Day, so I really should be hanging around the pool. But no. In the midst of all this Midwestern heat, I'd rather be suffering inside here with you. All of you. All, what, 900 of you on this list? All indoors with me in this stuffy little room surrounding this antique, slow moving computer. Talk about body heat! Talk about odor! Tell you what. Let's cancel today's episode and all go out to the pool instead. "Last one in is a Divine Madness member!" No, I promised last time this time to extol the heroes of Leadville--sure, the most likely ones that EVERYBODY loves and looks up to--but especially the little-known or not-often-thought-of heroes, without whom my personal little odyssey through the woods would be a whole lot less guided. These are the "real people" who are not so far above ourselves that we can't reach out and touch them, or whose example can't fail to reach out and touch us. Sometimes, they might be the person on the hill just ahead of us; and, when we reach up to grab them to help us climb, we bring them right--smack!--down to our own level. Possibly hurt them in the process. Ruin their day. Injure them so they can't go on. Hold them back so they miss the cutoff. Take them right out of the race. (Gosh. It sure is a wonder why these fine folks put up with us, huh? If they didn't have to worry all the time about inspiring and leading us by their example...why, heck, I bet they'd cut two hours off their time and be already finished when next we'd see them.) One of these fine, inspiring people is Stan Jensen. (I promised Stan at Leadville I'd give him top billing in my saga. Of course, you'll have to pardon me for being so late with this, but I knew Stan wasn't in any hurry to read it.... So, I took my time and finished relocating my boxes and furniture to the third floor. To an even stuffier room!) [Note to Stan: This is as good as I give, Stan. Third paragraph of the Part 3 episode. Believe me, this is all the "top billing" you'd care to handle anyway.] The first time I met Stan Jensen, I didn't even meet him. Out of the clear blue (of my computer screen) one day, I get this message from him saying he took my picture at Western States and, if I'd care to e-mail back my postal address, he'd send me a copy (or two or three). So, prior commitments to Hughes Photography of California notwithstanding, I gladly took him up on his offer and suddenly, lo, here in my mailbox comes my photos. And I was real anxious to tear open the envelope and see who this amazing benefactor Stan was, but of course upon doing so I suddenly realized that I was not going to see the man behind the camera. The pictures were of me only (and another guy, possibly not understanding what I was saying at the time because he was smiling too much; I think he was German). So, anyway, I sent Stan my thanks and wondered forever afterward what the heck the guy looked like who snapped my picture coming out of Robinson Flat. And I didn't find out until Vermont--this year--when I was crewing and pacing Sue Norwood, after which we were sitting around in the barn for the awards ceremony and they called Stan's name. I watched very carefully who would respond to the page and made it my business to shake his hand on his way back to his seat. And he, interestingly enough, remembered me as "Pecos Phooey." (Sue, by the way, would have to qualify as yet another "little-known or not-often-thought-of hero" because she did a darn fine job in her very first hundred at Vermont, and then turned right around and reciprocated the favor at Leadville. She paced me for FIFTY MILES! I think I'll refer to her throughout the rest of this saga as "The Unsinkable Susie Q.") So anyway, Stan had long before included my Western States story on his Web site, and maybe if he reads this present little example of my shameless kiss-upped-ness (and likes it) he might possibly repeat the favor by sticking this, too, on his site. So anyway, because of these large favors rendered to one so small, I had immediately decided even before I met him that he was my hero. Just like, I'm sure, any other writer idolizes the first publisher who gives him (or her) a break and puts the book out there for all to see. [And by the way, Stan, if you help me get to Human Kinetics, there's a percentage in it for ya!] But then--oh ho!--I learn that this year Stan-the-Man is hitting "The Grand Slam." Wow! Take my Little-Leaguer eyeballs right out to the National League Ball Park! (And buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack, while you're at it.) Hey, anybody that hits the Grand Slam, in my book, is hero enough, and probably--if Pete Rose got into the mix--able to start SELLING autographs. Of course, Stan-the-Man isn't playing professional baseball; he's merely running FOUR of the TOUGHEST 100-milers out there, and in one and the same season! And look at how close together some of them are: check the time from Western States to Vermont and from Leadville to Wasatch! What? TWO weeks apart? Give me a break! Give me a hero! "WE WANT STAN-THE-MAN!!!!!!!" Imagine my horror, then, when I come waltzing into Twin Lakes (the first time) and there sits Mr. Musial himself. Stan-the-Man is out of the game. He's got this HUGE ice pack (or something) wrapped all over the front of his ankle and shin. An' I'm hysterical: "Stan!!! What happened?????" "Something snapped coming out of May Queen. On those big boulders on that part of the trail." "You broke your leg???" "Well, a tendon, I think." Or, something like that. Anyway, it was patently obvious that Stan wasn't going finish Leadville this year, and therefore his Grand Slam was out the window as well. But, now, you know why this man is still my hero? It's precisely because he was sitting there at Twin Lakes, cheering the other runners and encouraging ME! He was NOT sulking in a room somewhere back at the Delaware Hotel. He was still out there with us, in spirit AND in body. And! He had the most positive attitude about the whole thing I'd ever witnessed. He said: "I'll just have to try it again next year." And next year, mark my words, he'll do it! Do you remember Gwyn Coogan? Remember how, at the women's Olympic marathon trials, she finished fourth? And remember how, you know, all those commentators were saying how fourth place is THE WORST place to finish? So when they interviewed her after she crossed the line, those commentators would have us believe how horrible she should feel? Hmmm? Remember that? WRONG! She was a perfect delight! She was beaming! Smiling ear-to-ear and so positive that tears came to my eyes. She said, "I feel good today. I know I did my best today. I feel good about my race and my time. And if I'm not going to the Olympics, I know someone who is! Now I'm going to work to help him get ready!" What a wonderful attitude! She was referring to Mark, her husband, who finished his trial race in the top three, along with Kempainen and Brantly. Of course, all three of them did lousy (I was in Atlanta and saw it) and, furthermore, Jenny Spangler (who ran the race of her life to beat Gwyn et al. at Charlotte) bailed out early in her Olympic debut. For my money, I just know Gwyn would've done much, much better. It's why Gwyn's my enduring hero and Jenny isn't. Maybe that's going a little far afield, but I'm going to tie that attitude in now with that of another ultra hero of mine--Marge (Adelman) Hickman. At the second Kettle Moraine 100, where I was serving to pace yet another hero (Chuck Bundy, practically my neighbor), I stood there waiting for my runner while Marge flashed past. Zip! Into the aid station and out. She was the first woman. And she looked good, damn good. I was in awe. (I'd like to look that good when I get to be her age. Oops! I am her age!) She also had the craziest flashlight I'd ever seen--a kind of bathroom medicine-cabinet lighting fixture, fluorescent even, which she wore around her waist. Craziest contraption I'd ever seen. So, guess what we talked about when, just coming out of Half Moon (the first time) I suddenly realized--wow!--I'm running along with Marge Hickman! And, oh boy, she still looked good, damn good! So I mentioned Kettle Moraine and her crazy light and she was, perhaps, mildly amused. She still sings its praises, though. Apparently the bathroom fixture works great for her. "Now," you should be asking, "what's a sluggard like this doing running along with an elite runner like Marge?" Well, Marge was having a bad day. I believe it was her back that was giving her terrible trouble. She could only run a while and then she'd have to walk. It's the only way I could ever have caught up to her. She was saying, when I got there, how she just couldn't move well today. And here she is--still--the ONLY woman ever to have completed TEN Leadville Trail 100s. I had the privilege of meeting her, formally, at the pre-race dinner, and she was wearing this HUGE belt buckle they give you for doing ten Leadvilles. But the latest thing was, I guess, is that there's this very special hand-sewn jacket waiting to be given to the first woman who finishes ELEVEN Leadvilles, and they told Marge at the dinner that they're tired of holding onto it, that she should hurry up and claim it at the end of her race. And so I was talking to her about that too, as we trotted along. She was having a lot of pain (I could tell) and was talking already (at Half Moon, the first time) about maybe not being able to finish the race. She thought maybe it's better to drop than to miss a cutoff. But did that sour her attitude? Heck no! She was just as sweet and nice as anyone could be. I remember marveling at the time how this person is every bit as mellow as other joyful runners at the back of the pack (those of us with no reason to complain because we're just damn glad to BE there) but that...whoa! This is Marge Hickman! This woman runs at the FRONT of the pack! And here I was starting to feel bad for her, because I know where SHE knows she should be running, and yet here she sits, back here in the back with me. I walked with her for quite a while, and finally started to run again with the words to her that, you know, "You're gonna get that jacket, Marge! It's got your name all over it!" She never once lost her attitude. She kept up positive motion the whole time. She smiled and carried on a very pleasant conversation. It was killing her to have to go so slow, but she never complained. She did the best she possibly could do. When I left her, after awhile I looked around and didn't see her anymore. I felt sad. Normally, a guy like me LOVES to be able to say, "Hey, I beat an elite" (like I--and everybody else who finished--once did at the Chicago Marathon when Cosmos Ndeti dropped at mile 20 with blisters) but not this time. I found out later that Marge DNF'd, and that made me even sadder. What I really love is for the REAL runners to be waaaay out there in front, kicking butt, the way they're supposed to; because that then gives people like me something to shoot for--the way it's supposed to be. I feel best NOT when I come in ahead of somebody superior to me, but when I narrow the gap behind. I only like to beat someone I know I'm close to (pacewise). And then only when both of us are having good days. But Stan and Marge (and others) are still my heroes no matter what. They both typified the kind of attitude I myself hope to maintain: Being positive in the face of adversity. Retreating, perhaps, one day, so as to be able to rise again to fight another. It's how we won the Revolutionary War, isn't it? Isn't that where our "Yankee spirit" comes from? All right, all right. Your Yankees are doing better this year than my White Sox. And the St. Louis Cardinals are pretty pathetic too, overall, even with that guy McGuire. But, I'll tell you this: You put Stan-the-Man in the field and Marge Hickman managing the dugout, and I guarantee you-- next year we win it all! Eleven-year jacket and The Grand Slam. They're in the bag. Just let me keep trotting on the trail behind you. Besides, I still don't have your autographs! Come back again next time, and I'll tell you some more about heroism at Leadville in Part 4. And now look. The local swimming pool is closed! And the smell in this room is incredible! (Think I should put my shoes back on?) Rich Limacher The Ultra Nutty Troubadour RDJT76A@prodigy.com