Last-Place Heroes of the L.A. Marathon

There may be as much nobility in being last as in being first, because the two positions are equally necessary in the world, the one to complement the other.

--Jose Ortega y Gasset

Contrary to what you may have heard, the longest day wasn’t in Normandy on June 6, 1944. For some, it was in Los Angeles on March 1, 1987.

“My feet were all blistered, my left toenail was coming off,” Modena MacFarlane recalled. “Even my eyeballs were aching.”

So would yours if you had just spent more than seven hours navigating the neighborhoods of Little Tokyo, Hollywood, Chinatown, Olvera Street, Koreatown, Hancock Park--a living epilogue to the story known annually as the City of Los Angeles Marathon.

This one’s for you, Modena, and the others who didn’t come anywhere near Art Boileau’s winning time of 2:13:08 or Nancy Ditz’s time of 2:35:24. Here’s a toast to those who only missed by about five hours. Some of you wanted to run in the worst way--and that is what happened.

Many apparently have decided that was enough, and hadn’t at press time signed up for this year’s renewal. On the other hand, or foot, a smattering have decided that they will try again next Sunday.

Last year there were 14,937 entrants. Of those, 10,881 finished the 26.2-mile marathon. MacFarlane was No. 10,863.

“The officials at the finish line were getting ready to pack up,” MacFarlane recalled. “The race had started at 9 a.m., and here it was around 4 p.m.

“But my husband, Otis, had walked down the street where he knew I was due. He yelled to them that I was getting near.”

Of necessity, since the streets along the marathon route can’t be closed for the entire day, those of the rear guard who finish, do so on the sidewalks.

“That means you wait for the stoplights,” MacFarlane said. “It does give you a chance to pause. But it also means that there are curbs, and my feet were so sore that I had to ease down them like a very old person.”

Life of Quiet Retirement

Five days earlier, MacFarlane had been living a life of quiet retirement in Riverside, age 63, her working years as a reports analyst behind her.

“I signed her up,” boasted her sister, Dina Mae McNichols of Los Angeles. “I knew that once she was in the race, she would never drop out.”

MacFarlane had previously tried three marathons, all in Palos Verdes. In the first one, in 1977, she found herself able to go only 15 miles. In 1978 and 1979, however, she completed that course.

But if there were any runs since then, it was only in her stockings.

“I hadn’t trained a bit,” she said. “But once I got started, I knew I would finish even if I had to crawl. I remembered that (marathon champ) Bill Rodgers once wondered how the people at the back could stay out there so long. Believe me, it isn’t easy.

“When you are running on the sidewalks, you really start hurting--and little things help, such as when somebody in a passing car sees you and yells: ‘Go for it!’

“After the finish (7 hours and 8 minutes later), I couldn’t even talk. But I refused to collapse until I got into the car. When I got home I soaked in a bathtub of hot water for 45 minutes.”

After about 14 miles last year, she had said to herself: “Never again!” But already this year she is signed up, and this time is training on the paths of her Riverside neighborhood--8 to 10 miles of running a day.

For Robert Morris of Altadena, the City of Los Angeles Marathon this year, his second, is again expected to be a mixture of fun and poignancy.

Once again he will be running in honor of a close relative.

Last year there probably weren’t many bystanders who understood the message on the T-shirt he wore: “For my brother, Skookums.”

But it was that memory that saw Morris through his first marathon as he persevered through 7 hours and 4 minutes, finishing No. 10,852.

“Skookums is what we called my brother, James,” Morris said. “Two weeks before the marathon he died of a drug overdose. He was only 30.

“I entered and I ran because I guess I was trying to get everything out of my system. I wanted somehow to go through the kind of torture that he did. He was on my mind all the way.”

Pulled a Muscle

And completing the 26.2 miles was more than just a mental ordeal. “The day before the race, there was an All Sports Day at the elementary school of my 8-year-old son, Chad. I was talked into participating in a sprint by the dads, and I pulled a muscle in my left leg.

“The next day I hobbled the entire distance. When we started up that rise on Sunset, I almost wanted to cash in. About halfway through, the leg became numb and I had to concentrate the rest of the way on trying not to fall down.”

Perhaps it was a smile along the way that helped:

“For about eight miles I was just a couple steps ahead of the mechanical street sweeper following everybody,” Morris remembered. “Sometimes I got accidentally sprayed.”

Even when the back of the pack had to get off the streets, Morris found a way to put that to his advantage: “I ran on the lawns as much as I could.”

This year Morris, a 45-year-old Allstate Insurance agent, is running a few miles each day in preparation, and said he won’t be sprinting on All Sports Day.

And this year the T-shirt he will be wearing will be in honor of his nephew, 18-year-old Dwayne Bell. Last year, according to his uncle, the youth borrowed a motor scooter, collided with a van, suffered severe head damage, and has been in and out of comas.

The T-shirt will read: “Wake Up, Dwayne.”

“It was just something I wanted to try,” was the explanation given by Ahmad Cook of Los Angeles, who checked in last year in his first marathon at 7 hours and 7 minutes, finisher No. 10,858.

“By the time we had reached Hollywood, I had hit the wall,” he explained. In marathonese, “hitting the wall” is the point at which the runner feels he or she can’t go further, and must find a second wind in order to continue. This commonly occurs at the 20-mile mark. In Cook’s case, he said, it was considerably sooner.

“I hadn’t done any training and my legs started knotting up on me,” said the auto repairman, now 18. “Another runner I had never met before, and haven’t seen since then, was near me, and we began pacing each other. If I was going too fast, he’d tell me to slow down, and vice versa.

“People were shouting: ‘Hurry up--they’re still waiting for you at the finish.’ ”

Cook said that afterward he took a hot bath, and walked quite a bit the next day.

“This time I am doing a little training,” he said. “Every day I jog a little and do stretching exercises. I’m hoping for five hours.”

William Satz of Canoga Park was finisher No. 10,849, in 7 hours and 3 minutes, and better stand back if you plan to joke about it.

Previously, he had participated in and completed 11 other marathons, all with respectable times.

“In fact, in New York City in 1979, I did 3:43,” he boasted.

In September of 1986, however, he required arthroscopic surgery on his left knee.

“The doctor said he didn’t want me to run in the marathon last March,” Satz recalled. “I told him I don’t tell you how to run your life, don’t tell me how to run mine.”

Or, more precisely, don’t tell Satz how to run, period. Now age 53, and a wholesale core supplier (he buys used auto parts for automotive rebuilders), he had never before had any problems during marathons.

“But after about seven miles, my knee (the one operated on) locked up. I couldn’t even bend it.

“I limped over to what looked like a M.A.S.H. unit and saw about 50 people sitting on the ground. I said to myself, never mind, keep going.

“I pretty much walked the rest of the way in. My leg would lock and unlock. From time to time I had to stop and shake it.”

When he finally made it to the judges in front of the Coliseum, Satz said, he was embarrassed to take his medal--as the few people still remaining broke into applause.

Then, last August, he required surgery on his other knee. And--are you ready--he is nevertheless training to go the route again next Sunday.

Why? “It’s something I have to do.”

Satz said he tries to run every day, “but sometimes the pain takes over in both my knees. It’s like hot oil was being poured inside.”

But be warned, you officials at the finish line. “It may take until Monday morning this time, but they better wait for me.”

Finally, if you want a definition of perseverance, consider Bill Taylor of the San Bernardino County town of Hesperia.

Taylor, a teacher of the learning handicapped at Victor Valley High School, said he has run just about every day since he was a child, and gave the first City of Los Angeles Marathon a hearty try, finishing somewhere in the middle.

“Last year, however, I was out with the flu for almost the entire week before the event, and I wasn’t able to get in any running. All I was able to do was stretching exercises at home.”

And the marathon began. “In the beginning, your adrenaline is working overtime,” Taylor explained. “You feel so good, it carries you along.

“I felt relaxed and strong until about four miles--then I began to feel heavy. It seemed as if my whole body was heavy.

“I had made the mistake of attaching a Walkman radio to my shorts. I thought the music would give me rhythm for running. But right before I got to Olvera Street, that radio felt like it weighed two tons.

“I tried holding it in my hand, thinking that would help, but it didn’t. So I began scanning the onlookers for someone to give it to. I looked for a kid.

“When I saw one, I put the radio in his hand and said, ‘This is for you.’ He looked puzzled, and then he smiled.”

For the next few miles, a lighter-feeling Taylor went breezing along until he more than hit the wall--because of the effects of the flu, he began having respiratory problems, and at the same time both his knees began hurting.

“Somewhere in Hollywood my right knee gave out and I collapsed right in the middle of the street. I rolled out of the way of everybody, and over to the curb. A nice lady came over and asked if I needed a medic. I said no, I’ll run. I lay there about 25 minutes, and every five minutes or so she would come over and bring me a cup of water.

“When I continued, I had to hop on my left leg all the rest of the way--about 12 miles. Every so often, I had to stop.”

Taylor did finish and did get his medal, completing the course in 6 hours and 58 minutes, placing No. 10,837. Already he is making plans for this year’s competition. But the icing on the cake last year was yet to come.

“My right leg still hurt, and I had to drive all the way home with my left foot on the accelerator. Try that sometime.”

The agony and the ecstasy, and the agony again.