Wanted: a Pit Crew but No Pity

Don Caron of Canoga Park has made running events his hobby. In the past two years he has participated in five marathons (Los Angeles, Boston, Phoenix, Culver City and Long Beach) and about 30 10Ks. He will be at the starting line this morning for the L. A. Marathon.

So what’s the big deal, you ask?

Well, Don Caron can’t run. He can barely walk with the aid of crutches. Caron spends most of his time in a wheelchair.

But that has not slowed him. Just the opposite. Never a runner before his medical problems began, Caron has joined the growing army on wheels that competes in the wheelchair division of many big races.

Emphasis on compete. This is not just a group of people out for a spin to stay fit. This is serious stuff. The $2,000 chairs, built for speed, are made out of the same lightweight material used for aircraft. Caron’s chair weighs only 14 pounds and is fitted with bicycle tires and a special measuring device to chart everything from mileage to average speed.

The figures recorded are impressive. Forget any misconceptions you might have of these wheelchair riders creeping along far behind the runners. In most races now, the chairs are allowed to leave several minutes before the runners and it is rare that a runner will ever get close enough to see a wheelchair competitor on the course. Strong arms and sleek chairs result in speeds of from 13 miles per hour on flat roads to 35 m.p.h. on the downhill. An excellent wheelchair competitor can navigate a marathon course in about two hours. The record is 1 hour, 43 minutes at the Boston Marathon. No marathon runner has ever broken two hours.

So save your pity. These wheelchair athletes are far more interested in the same things other athletes want--recognition, a first-place finish and, perhaps, a little prize money.

In the most recent Boston Marathon, the first across the finish line in a wheelchair received $5,000, with a bonus of $20,000 offered for a marathon record.

The top three wheelchair racers in today’s L. A. Marathon will qualify for a trip to Seoul, South Korea, where the Paralympics for paraplegics will be held after the 1988 Summer Olympics. Wheelchair racing has become big from Europe to the Orient.

“When people see us come in at the end of a race,” Caron says, “they always say we are very courageous. I don’t look at myself as courageous. The fact is, my legs don’t work. All right, what am I going to do, watch TV? The runners in a race work out. We, the guys in wheelchairs, work out. We use our arms. They use their legs. That’s all. I’m just so happy I found something athletic to do.”

He had his doubts for a long time. Caron, 49, contracted meningitis 25 years ago, forcing him to undergo a series of spinal taps. The tragic result was a spinal injury that severely limited the use of his legs. He fought against settling into a wheelchair for a long time, choosing instead to struggle along with crutches and canes.

He was able to keep his job as a purchasing agent for a construction company, but his hobbies were another matter. He used to ride a motorcycle and water ski, but those no longer were options. He decided he would just drive the boat while others skied. But even that became a hardship. As did getting into his camper.

“I had always been athletic,” Caron says, “and I figured there must be something wheelchair people do that I could do. I was not into tennis or basketball.”

Then one day at Woodley Park in Encino, he observed some wheelchair athletes working out and his whole life changed.

“When I met them,” he says, “I found they were not the stereotype you think of when you see a guy in a wheelchair. They were not shut-ins or recluses. There were some world-class athletes. Jim Knaub was a pole vaulter in college.”

It was not long before Caron, who finally gave up his crutches for a wheelchair two years ago, found himself sitting at a 10K starting line in Cypress.

“It was the first competitive event I had ever been in. Ever,” he says. “I found it a lot more competitive than I thought it would be. I finished in 32 minutes, but I wound up with a lot of blisters and I learned a lot. I found I had been sitting wrong. I had my gloves taped up wrong. But everyone helps you and encourages you to come back.”

That he did. Caron, who is now sponsored by his employer, estimates he has finished first or second in 90% of the races in which he has competed, despite the fact that he is nearly 20 years older than most wheelchair athletes.

Caron has found racing alongside him people with injuries ranging from Vietnam War wounds to those suffered in traffic accidents. But he finds most do not talk about their injuries nor do they inquire about his. They are much too busy talking about racing.

One of Caron’s victories occurred last year in the first Hunters Run, a Canoga Park 2K-5K to benefit Canoga Park High and the West Valley Eagles Track Assn. Caron raced the 5K distance (3 1/2 miles) in 15 minutes, 20 seconds. He will return to defend his title March 20 when the second edition of the run begins at 8 a.m. at Fallbrook Mall with an expected 1,500 runners and a line of wheelchair participants.

Racing year around, Caron stays in shape by practicing about eight hours a week, either at Griffith Park or on a stationary bike at home.

“I feel a lot healthier since I started doing this,” he says. “I think my heart rate is equal to that of any athlete and my lungs and upper body have been strengthened. And it’s great psychologically. It’s especially great for kids. So many of them who are injured get into crutches and just want to give up. You really have to work at this. You know how they say there’s a wall out there for runners. Well, there’s a wall out there when you’re racing in a chair, too. It’s definitely out there.”

Still, he reckons, in some ways he is a lot better off than the guys who line up next to him sans chair.

“I think the runners take more abuse to their bodies,” he says. “I think they are the ones who are courageous. I think our recovery time is a lot better than that of the runners. I could do two marathons a month. I don’t think a runner could do that. We don’t take the pounding they do.”

Sometimes they take more. Caron still shudders at the nightmarish conditions in last year’s Boston Marathon. It was cold, windy and misty. About one hundred chairs were at the starting line, ready for the signal that would allow them to take off ahead of the runners. The problem was that the starting line was at the top of a hill.

Off they went and over they went.

The first 20 chairs tipped over in a chain-reaction crash that left Caron and his fellow competitors a minefield of wheels and spokes through which to navigate.

“We made it,” he says, “but it wasn’t easy.”

That was not, however, Caron’s closest brush with disaster. He has tipped over four times, the worst incident occurring in a Los Angeles 10K last year. Turning a corner at 28 m.p.h, he flipped. The accident landed him in a hospital with three skull fractures and 50 stitches on his face.

Talking to a reporter, he proudly shows off scars on both elbows (“This is Phoenix, where I tipped over and still won in 2:10, and this is Los Alamitos”) and one above his right eye (“This is L. A.”).

Tires can be a problem, too. Caron pays $30 for each of his wheelchair racing tires, which he replaces about once a month. He carries a spare kit with him in case of a blowout.

“If you’re fast,” he says, “you can change them in 30 seconds.”

Two years ago, Caron was just trying to find a hobby. Now his problem is finding a pit crew.