Ever Onward
On the 50th anniversary of his Boston Marathon win, Amby Burfoot, former Runner’s World US editor-in-chief, shares the lessons that have stuck with him
Amby Burfoot on his 50-year running career. He may be slower but his love for the sport is undiminished
MY WIFE DOESN’T LIKE IT when I tell people I was lucky to win the 1968 Boston Marathon [in a time of 2:22:17]. She thinks I should play up the 120-mile training weeks. And sure, they were important. All top runners train hard. But you never really know if you’re going to have a good day or not.
This April 16 marks 50 years since my win and I’m running the Boston Marathon again, though this time there will not be a shred of luck involved, just gritty determination and accumulated wisdom. I’m hoping both will get me, at the age of 71, to the Boston finish line for the 24th time – and that what I’ve learned may also help you to run healthy and long.
Aim high but respect the process
Winning Boston was fantastic – a peak life experience. We should all aim to do our best whenever possible. But that won’t happen every day. I’ve probably run 1,000 races and I didn’t win 980 of them. But those 980 provided many of my most exciting running moments. Sprinting to a personal best in the Fukuoka Marathon in Japan. Running with my muscle-bound, minimally aerobic son into the Panathenaic Stadium in the 2010 Athens Marathon. The Comrades Marathon in South Africa. The Hood to Coast Relay in Oregon. Free fun runs in Stonington Village, Connecticut, near my home.
Every run presents a new adventure, full of great gifts. We
Find a lifelong running friend
don’t have to ‘win’ to receive them – but we have to get out the door. When I started running in 1962, I couldn’t find anyone to join me. Then I met John, three years younger and quite a bit slower, but he always said yes when I suggested a six-miler. John had a wondrous, even temper, though he’d whimper if I pushed the pace. ‘How come when we run as we feel, we always run the way you feel?’ he’d ask.
Fifty-five years later, John and I still run together, and he beats me 95 per cent of the time. He once turned down the guaranteed Boston Marathon entry I secured for him, the only person I know who has done that. He said he’d never run
Boston if he didn’t qualify on his own. Fourteen months ago, at the age of 67, John ran 4:05:32 in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, on a warm, humid day. That beat his BQ [Boston qualifying standard] by four minutes. He’ll be standing next to me on the Boston starting line in Hopkinton.
Make peace with being slower
I now live in the same Connecticut neighbourhood where I lived in 1968 and I even run many of the same training routes. I enjoy that immensely. Except for the fact that these runs take 40 per cent more time than they did way back when.
I’ve yet to meet a runner who’s happy about slowing down. I’m not. But the alternative – quitting – is far worse, so I’ve learned to accept my ever-slowing pace. It takes relentless practice. You have to turn focus away from the stopwatch and towards the ineffable joy of running.
In particular, I’ve learned to love the run-walk routine. In the last five Boston Marathons, I’ve used a 4:1 run-to-walk ratio to finish in about 4:15. If I keep running marathons, I’ll no doubt switch to 3:1, then 2:1. So be it. Keep moving forward.
Celebrate women runners
In 1965, when I ran my first Boston Marathon, there wasn’t a single woman in the field. In the years since then I have met Bobbi Gibb, Kathrine Switzer, Sara Mae Berman, Nina Kuscsik and legions of other sensational women who run. I was lucky enough to be sitting in the LA Coliseum in 1984, when Joan Benoit won the first women’s Olympic Marathon, and a decade later I ran the Marine Corps Marathon with Oprah Winfrey. Women’s running has changed the sport forever, making it inexpressibly fuller and better.
This April, one of my race buddies will be Megan, a strong 40-year-old with a husband, a child, a 2:56 marathon PB and a PHD in molecular biology. You might call her a thoroughly modern woman. I call her a running partner.
Accept that life happens
Five years ago, I was enjoying one of my best Bostons ever. It was the 45th anniversary of my win, making me the oldest returning champion in the field. Then, at 25 miles, I spotted a small knot of runners in the road ahead. It quickly swelled into a large, confused throng. We milled about, asking each other, ‘ What’s going on?’ No-one knew. Finally, several police officers told us the marathon was over, so we wouldn’t be allowed to continue. With only a mile to go? And on my big anniversary?
In the following hours, as I learned of the tragic events of the bombing, I felt ashamed of my hubris. I wanted only to salute the volunteer and firstresponder heroes, and honour the resilience of the Boston community. There would be other years to return to the starting line.
Really accept that life happens
Like almost every runner I knew, I wanted that next time to be April 2014, a chance to champion Patriots’ Day. Then I fell hard on a trail run in October, opening bloody wounds on my knees, hips and elbows.
The emergency-clinic doctors feared infection and prescribed strong antibiotics. These killed off all the good bacteria in my gut and I developed a bacterial infection called clostridium difficile. I lost 15 pounds [1st 1lb] that I didn’t have to spare. Then came the clinical depression. On good days, I made it from bed to sofa.
Four months after the accident, my body turned the corner all by itself. I managed to shuffle two miles. Soon, three. A group of friends rallied around me and we trained for Boston. By April, I was able to cover the distance at an appropriately modest pace.
My lesson: life is resourceful, creative, surprising and always ready to smack us with a new insult. In response, we fare best when we hold steady and true.
Know that there is no finish line
For years, I ran the final stretch of Boston as hard as I could. After all, a runner’s Boston time was his or her résumé for the year and every second counted. Since 2013, I’ve taken the opposite approach. After the left onto Boylston Street, I bask in the splendour of the scene – big sky, crowds, the finish-line banners beckoning. When I reach the point where the second bomb exploded, I switch to a slow walk. Though not conventionally religious, I glance up to give thanks. I turn around to face the runners streaming toward me, and applaud their efforts.
With 50 metres to go, I turn again and resume a leisurely stroll. No rush – I’ve lots of great memories to sift through. And there’s no better place to recall them than right here.
‘ I’VE YET TO MEET A RUNNER WHO’S HAPPY ABOUT SLOWING DOWN. I’M NOT. BUT THE ALTERNATIVE – QUITTING – IS FAR WORSE, SO I’VE LEARNED TO ACCEPT MY EVER- SLOWING PACE’