Old Men Running

I’ve reached the point in running where I look to the old guys for inspiration. One of them, George Sheehan, has been inspiring me since I was young: I first ran across his tough, philosophical running columns in a journal called The Physician and Sports Medicine when I was in my twenties. His writing, and his personal story of starting to run when he was 47, pushed me to get out there and try. Then I found Joe Henderson and Long Slow Distance, “the humane way to train,” and more encouragement to run honestly, at my own pace. Then the other Runners World stalwarts, Burfoot and Yasso, both my age or older and refreshingly human. And Hal Higdon, another old goat with unflagging optimism, wrote the training plan that helped me run a marathon.

Then there are the personal gods at the end of my street. George E., another late bloomer, is 88, and he still runs the Mount Washington ascent every year. Truman H., the same age, is a traffic guard at the local elementary school, and one of the “Old Men of the Mountains” 50-mile relay team. E. didn’t start until he was 48; how can I possibly think I’m washed up at 52?

Tops on my list, though, is Arthur Walker of Portland, Oregon, who I met at the Steamtown Marathon in 2008. Walker is retired military; at 69, he had just stepped away from a physical therapy practice to travel the country and run in a marathon in each of the 50 states. By the grace of God, I sat down next to him on the pre-dawn bus to the start at Steamtown, a nervous first-timer unsure of what lay in store. He immediately took me under his wing, encouraging me to relax and have fun. He seemed genuinely delighted to help.

I saw him twice more—once before the start, a cape of foil around his shoulders to keep him warm, and once early on the course at a porta-potty. Each time he yelled my name and fresh encouragement, a true comrade. We finished within a few minutes of each other.

I have Arthur’s finish photo tacked to my bulletin board at work. He looks strong in his cap and sunglasses and his barrel chest, flashing a grin and a peace sign. He ’s there to remind me what I have to look forward to.