The Marketing of Grete Waitz : Born to Run and Set World Records She Is Talented Honest and Beloved in Her Own Country. But, Will She Sell?

‘In Oslo, everybody knows me. One time I had some errands to do in town and I had to go to the toilet. I went into a public toilet and two people came in and said, ‘Is it really you?’ I said, ‘Yes.’ They said, ‘And you are going to a public restroom?’ I said, Why not? I have to go. They thought I was too good to go to the bathroom, that I couldn’t do that. My God, I thought, relax people. I’m just like everybody else. I have to go to the toilet, too.’--GRETE WAITZ

‘As a person, I’m still the same way. I like it when I can close the door. At home, my door is never open. In Oslo, I really care for my privacy. In Norway you have all these magazines to show how famous people live. I said to them, ‘No, not for me.’ I asked them, ‘Would you want people in your apartment?’ and they said ‘No.’ ‘We are the same,’ I said. Why should I do it? That is what I try to explain to people, that even though a lot of people know my name and I have been on TV, I am just a normal person.’

--GRETE WAITZ

A mishmash of agents, marketing planners and public relations people are sitting around the pool at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Everyone is talking at once. They call that brainstorming.

These trendily dressed people are plotting a marketing strategy for the next biggest sports splash in the history of hustling. It’s not Mary Lou. It’s not the Refrigerator. It’s . . . it’s . . . Grete Waitz.

What’s the matter, can’t quite place the name? She’s a sports figure whose name is regularly mangled, “Oh yeah, that marvelous runner, Gretel Weight,” in a sport (marathon running) that is routinely ignored and comes from a country (Norway) that is usually confused with one of those other cold places, you know, Sweden, Denmark, Finland.

How do you market a woman who values her privacy more than her world records and medals? How would you sell a product that has no image, little name recognition and little sex appeal?

These are the head-scratching questions being posed by the people who are bringing us the dynamic new Grete Waitz, 32, the woman who has largely dominated women’s distance running for the past decade. This must rank as one of the year’s marketing challenges.

The marketing of athletes is nothing new; the Wheaties cereal box serves as a pictorial history of the genre. The 1984 Olympics brought us Mary Lou Retton, the biggest marketing oversell since the mood ring. Mary Lou was a particularly easy sell because she got a head start on her agents and began selling herself even before she became a product.

William Perry is a different plate of potatoes. The Refrigerator is the walking, blocking definition of media hype. The Fridge didn’t have to do much beyond growing to jumbo proportions to become a star. He has been smiling his gap-toothed smile and remained his down-home self all along. At first, he was too slow to keep up with his bandwagon, but sports writers have kindly slowed it for him. On the way, he hasbecome a role model for the full-figured among us.

So, what do you do with Grete Waitz: neither self-promoter nor media-promoted. She has set the world marathon record four times and won the New York City Marathon seven times. She’s been the world cross-country champion five times and in 1983 won the first World Marathon Championship. She was the marathon silver medalist at the 1984 Olympics.

She is a virtual merit-badge sash of fine characteristics; Waitz is honest, hard working, drips with integrity, and is totally lacking in pretense.

She also is difficult to market. A campaign to sell Waitz to the American public may, if handled in a glitzy, splashy manner, die a painful and costly death. Waitz is the type of athlete, such as baseball’s George Brett, who can’t be shoved into just any type of promotional situation. Don’t look for Waitz on Merv.

With the release last month of her “Running Great with Grete Waitz” training tips video, the full-scale media campaign is on. She’s done the television shows, standing in the studio in her running suit patiently demonstrating the proper knee lift to Gary Collins. Waitz even did a few minutes on Dr. Ruth Westheimer’s radio call-in show. Tactical error. A blushing Waitz bailed out when the cheeky Dr. Ruth up and asked, “Grete, what is your advice to women who want to know if they should have sex the night before running a marathon?”

Q: Grete, are you the most popular person in Norway?

A: “Well, I don’t know how to put it, but everybody knows who I am. Even the small children and drunk people recognize me.”

Grete Waitz is the most recognizable Norwegian export. Bigger than Thor Heyerdahl. Bigger than sardines. She is wildly popular in Europe, where she first became known as the world record-holder in the 3,000 meters. Lest they forget Waitz in her hometown of Oslo, there’s a 20-foot bronze statue of her in front of Bislett Stadium, capturing her in mid-stride, pigtails trailing behind.

Another Norwegian, Ingrid Kristiansen, inspired by Waitz’s success, is the current marathon world record-holder. She is well known in Norway. She is popular. But nothing like Waitz.

“In Oslo, everybody knows me,” Waitz said. “One time I had some errands to do in town and I had to go to the toilet. I went into a public toilet and two people came in and said, ‘Is it really you?’ I said, ‘Yes.’ They said, ‘And you are going to a public restroom?’ I said, ‘Why not? I have to go.’

“They thought I was too good to go to the bathroom, that I couldn’t do that. My God, I thought, relax people. I’m just like everybody else. I have to go to the toilet, too.”

No one barged into her bathroom when the unknown and very shy 12-year-old Grete Andersen ran every day on a grassy patch near her home. After much discussion with her parents, and no small amount of begging, she was allowed to join the local athletic club, Vidar. Also a member of Vidar was 18-year-old Jack Waitz, an established middle-distance runner.

“When I first began to be serious about running, I didn’t have any problem with (social) acceptance, but my parents did not support me,” Waitz said. “I had two older brothers. When they finally got the girl, they wanted me to be the girl-girl, with the pink ribbon in my hair. I can remember my mother, she always dressed me up in a pink dress with a pink ribbon in my hair. I was always afraid to get dirty. I had to play piano for 10 years; she wanted me to get the best marks at school and play piano and be the best girl. Well, I didn’t grow up that way.”

Waitz grew up with an intense desire to please others and to excel at everything that mattered to her. School mattered, so did running. Waitz also grew up Norwegian, that is, in a culture that called for privacy, dignity and restraint.

Gloria Averbuch, a New York writer who collaborated with Waitz on “World Class,” the Waitz biography to be published in June, has gotten Waitz to open up more than any other writer. Still, Waitz, Averbuch said, could not reveal all.

“She’s very much a part of her culture, there is that longing for simplicity,” Averbuch said from New York. “We spent a lot of time together, but there were some things that I didn’t have the guts to ask. She never entirely got over being uncomfortable. She had to be doing other things when I was asking her questions; she had to be driving a car or cleaning her kitchen floor. If we were sitting face to face, she usually squirmed or she’d turn red. But I can tell you, as a result of what I learned about Grete doing the book, I have quadrupled the respect I had for her.”

Waitz made the 1972 Norwegian Olympic team at 18. She qualified at 1,500 meters. It was the first year the race was added to the Olympics for women, and was the longest distance available.

“It was in the ’72 Olympics where they first had the 1,500,” Waitz said. “I was running the 1,500 in Munich. Then they added the 3,000 at the European Championships in 1974. I ran in the race. People were saying, ‘Oh, where will this all end? Women are running 3,000 meters!’ Nobody could believe it. They thought we (runners) would all fall down and die.

“Of course, if somebody had told me then that in 10 years I would be a marathon runner, I would have said, ‘No way.’ ”

Waitz made the 1976 Olympic team, again at 1,500 meters. Norway boycotted in 1980. It would not be until 1984 that women would be allowed to run longer distances in the Olympics. The longest distance Waitz was running was 10,000 meters, and with great success. It was her performance on the track, by far, that made her name. She was dominating middle distances internationally with the same certitude that she later applied to the marathon.

“Sometimes when I talk to reporters, they think I came from nowhere in 1978,” she said. “I have to tell them that I was on the Norwegian track team in 1970, running the quarter-mile and half-mile. They don’t seem to remember that. But I have to forgive them, it’s history now.”

And well known history, at that. It was 1978, and Waitz was a Norwegian high school physical education teacher who was trying to make time to train. It didn’t seem sensible to continue running. She thought about quitting. Her husband, Jack, and a friend who was a Norwegian 10,000-meter runner, began to tell her about a fantastic race in New York City, a marathon.

“It will be our only chance to see America,” Jack Waitz said. Grete said she would think about it, but told nearly everyone around that she thought people who ran the 26.2 miles had to be “madmen”.

Jack persisted. They contacted Fred LeBow, New York’s race director, and asked for plane fare for both of them. LeBow first said he would only pay Grete’s way, but changed his mind.

LeBow looked at Waitz’s track times and decided she should be the rabbit, the race’s pace-setter. He could not believe that she had never run a marathon. Waitz didn’t tell LeBow that the longest she had run before that had been nine miles.

The marathon’s pace was too slow for Waitz, much slower than she was used to on the track. Jack, who also is Waitz’s coach, had told her to stay with the leaders, but on the Queensboro Bridge the impatient Waitz ran ahead. Miles went by. Waitz was tired, she kept looking for a forest, because runners had told her the race would end in a park (Central Park). She kept asking people in the crowd, “How far to the finish?”

Waitz was tired and she was very angry that Jack would ask her to run such a race. She had never felt such pain.

When a pig-tailed woman wearing No. 1,173 crossed the finish line in world-record time, no one knew who she was. Waitz didn’t stop to tell them. She stalked off the course, walked up to Jack, who was waiting to congratulate her on the record, yanked off her shoes and threw them to the ground and yelled, “Never again!”

It was the day before the 1984 Olympic marathon and Waitz was being very quiet. Waitz was sharing an L.A. apartment with Jack and her brother, himself a marathoner who often runs with Grete. In the apartment, Waitz was in quiet agony.

The night before the apartment’s air conditioning had broke. Because her brother’s room was the coolest, Waitz slept there and her brother and Jack shared a room.

Waitz awoke the next morning unable to stand straight. Jack noticed her shuffling around the apartment and asked what was wrong. “Nothing,” she said. “Of course there is something wrong, tell me what it is,” she recalls her husband saying.

She broke down, sobbing. “I can’t stand straight, something is wrong with my back.”

That afternoon was spent in physical therapy attempting to stop muscle spasms in her back. When much of stiffness had left her, Jack and Grete returned to the apartment. Grete put on several heavy sweaters, loaded a backpack with seven pounds of weights and she and Jack took a 40-minute walk.

Waitz woke up the next day feeling well. At the start of the marathon, she chatted with Kristiansen. It was going to be a warm day, they thought. Waitz wished her American friend, Joan Benoit, good luck.

She would not wear a stop watch because she was confident she would be running with the leaders, in sight of the pace truck, which displayed the time. Waitz had never lost a marathon she had finished.

Benoit took off after three miles and left the rest behind. Waitz thought Benoit would tire as it got hotter and would drop off the pace. But Benoit got faster and farther ahead.

Waitz ran most of the race with Kristiansen, who was wearing a watch, and Kristiansen read out the mile split times.

About the middle of the race, Waitz began to accelerate. She was able to gain a little distance on Benoit but she knew it was not enough to catch her. Waitz knew she was racing for the silver medal.

Benoit ran into the Coliseum first, to the roar of more than 70,000 spectators. Waitz entered the stadium as Benoit was taking her last lap. Benoit and Waitz hugged after Waitz finished, both women smiling broadly.

As Benoit was being congratulated by family and friends, Waitz stood on the infield, peering into the darkness of the tunnel leading into the stadium. She was looking for Kristiansen. Already Rosa Mota of Portugal had won the bronze medal. At last, Kristiansen came into view. Waitz cheered her on as Kristiansen circled the track.

When Kristiansen crossed the finish line, Waitz brought her water.

In the post-race press conference, the questions to Waitz went something like this, “Grete isn’t this the most terrible and bitter disappointment in your life?”

Remembering this brings a smile to Waitz.

“People asked me if I was disappointed,” she said. “I said, ‘My God, I can’t be disappointed with the silver medal in the Olympic Games.’ Of course, I hoped to get the gold, but there is only one gold medal. Joan Benoit was better than me on that day. It’s very tough here in America. If you are not No. 1 all the time, it’s like you are dead.

“It could have easily been me who had been fourth or fifth and not get anything. It’s four years until the next time. People don’t believe me when I say this. The only people who knew that I was very, very happy were my brother and my husband. We went home to Norway for a celebration, and even there people said to me, ‘You must be disappointed.’ All I can say is, ‘You may be disappointed, but I’m not.’ ”

No small amount of disappointment was registered by those who hoped to make money off Waitz’s Olympic success. Those people have since fallen by the wayside. The people handling Waitz today know. They know their client is choosy about what she will endorse. Waitz has had a long association with Xerox and the adidas shoe company. Waitz, whose yearly income including appearance fees and various bonuses, is in the high edge of six figures, is not compelled by financial need to endorse products she doesn’t like. Jack Waitz, when he is not advising Grete, is adidas’ Norwegian representative.

She endorses an electrolyte replacement drink in Norway and that’s about it. She even turned down milk.

“If I shall endorse a product, it must be a product I use myself and that I know is good. I have been offered to endorse products like Kentucky Fried Chicken, but I said no. It is not healthy and I don’t eat it myself.

“Do you know this snack, Goldfish? In Norway, they are starting to make it with less fat and they want me to endorse it. They tell me it is healthy because of the less fat. I told them they could talk for hours but they would never convince me it is healthy. I will not be involved. They had a hard time to understand that.”

That Waitz is making herself understood these days is less a tribute to her overcoming her shyness than conquering the English language.

“I am the same person,” she said. “Why people think I have changed is because when I first came here in 1978 I came for a couple of races and I didn’t spend much time here. I felt very insecure because I had to speak another language. I was so afraid that I would not understand what people would ask me. I was afraid of using the wrong words when I talked to people.

“So, I didn’t talk more than I had to. But now, after spending much time here, I have found that people don’t really notice if I say, ‘He were’ instead of ‘He was’, or if I use present time instead of past time and things like that. I was very worried those first couple of years. Jack said it was because I was a schoolteacher and hooked on speaking correctly all the time. I’m more relaxed with the language right now.

“As a person, I’m still the same way. I like it when I can close the door. At home, my door is never open. In Oslo, I really care for my privacy. In Norway you have all these magazines to show how famous people live. I said to them, ‘No, not for me.’ I asked them, ‘Would you want people in your apartment?’ and they said ‘No.’ ‘We are the same,’ I said. Why should I do it? That is what I try to explain to people, that even though a lot of people know my name and I have been on TV, I am just a normal person. I do the same things as you do.”

Getting back to normal is a priority for Waitz. For only the second time in her career, Waitz is injured, and that may dictate a more normal life for her. She fell in July while filming the video in New York and twisted the same knee last month while running over snow at a promotional appearance in Seattle. Now in Bermuda for what was to be a few weeks of training in good weather, Waitz is not sure of her schedule this year.

She said she definitely will not run in the March 9 Los Angeles Marathon, but, depending on the progress of her injury, she may run in other spring marathons, such as Boston in April.

Waitz estimates she and Jack spend half of the year away from their seven-room home overlooking Oslofjord. That will change.

“I miss home, home dear home,” she said. “I miss my bed, I miss my kitchen, I miss my laundry, I miss everything. We have decided that ’86 will be a time when I spend much more time at home. I miss the everyday things, the normal things you would miss about your home.”

Normal. It’s back to the old problem, marketing Jack and Grete is like marketing Donny and Marie. Here’s a woman whose idea of a good time is 2:19:45. She’s the wallflower at the international banquet honoring her.

“She may be beige, but she still has the power, in a six-minute speech, to make people stand up and cheer,” Averbuch said. “I wouldn’t know how to attach an image to her, but whatever it is, it works.”

Karen Lippert, whose New York public relations firm is handling Waitz, has taken Waitz’s own pickiness to heart and is selectively sifting through offers.

“Grete is a person of tremendous integrity and communicates that quality without being forceful. There’s a certain strength about her. I think a lot of it is cultural. When Grete says no, that’s it. She’s not a person who’s inclined to elaborate for 39 paragraphs.”

No means No for Waitz, whether it’s turning down Goldfish-Lite or deciding to retire. Maybe she can’t be marketed; people this clean are often seen as boring. If she keeps turning down offers maybe they won’t keep asking.

Mary Lou is a good sell because, despite her pint-size, she is big. She’s got a big personality, a big smile, a big voice. Her big energy sells batteries. Her big teeth sells Wheaties. When people see Mary Lou ladling a canoe-sized spoon of the flakes into her mouth, they come to believe they can scamper across a balance beam just like her.

The Fridge is a good sell because he is a swell athlete, despite what you may have heard from the Chicago Bears’ defensive coordinator. Perry is a good sell because he tries to do things people his size shouldn’t. Perry should be saying “No thank you” to that third helping of rack of lamb, but he doesn’t. Perry probably should not be carrying the football during a game, but he does, anyway. Perry is not always successful at these things he’s not supposed to do, but he’s a loveable lug and he seems so nice.

Maybe Waitz can be sold. Marketed or not, Waitz won’t concern herself with matters of her image or if she should consider lip gloss for her next magazine cover. She and Jack can always run away, into a frosty Norwegian sunset, and live happily ever after. Alone.

Now, that’s show biz.