8601180090
DETROIT FREE PRESS
860422
Tuesday, April 22, 1986
METRO FINAL
1D
MITCH ALBOM
Copyright (c) 1986, Detroit Free Press
GHOSTS OF MARATHONS PAST HAD THE LAST SCREECH IN '86
BOSTON -- He was running alone before it was halfway over. No one breathing
down his neck. No footsteps to worry about. The other 4,738 runners in the
Boston Marathon were all behind Rob de Castella, way behind him. So for the
last hour of the race, right to the finish line, his only companions were the
police motorcycles and the press truck. It was a sterile victory. But then,
the whole thing was sterile, wasn't it?
This used to be an event where winning was glory enough, it had to be
enough, because there was no money. You crossed the finish line after 26.2
miles and entered a parking garage under the Prudential Building. They gave
you a laurel wreath and a cup of yogurt. Only if you won. Otherwise, no laurel
wreath.
But, you know, change, change. So when de Castella came across Monday in
2:07:51, first place, a Boston Marathon record, he was marched around the
corner where a new blue Mercedes Benz was waiting. Prize No. 1. He sat in it
while photographers snapped away. Then he got out, and headed for Prize No.
2. A $60,000 check. He walked across the street, past a massive outdoor TV
screen, and a massive sound system, and giant inflatable yellow Nike shoes
hanging from the side of the Westin Hotel, none of which had ever been at a
Boston Marathon before.
Coming the other way was a man named Bill Rodgers, who has won this race a
few times -- back before the $30,000 winner's check, and the $25,000 bonus for
breaking the course record, and the $5,000 additional bonus for finishing
under 2:10:00. Rodgers is probably too old to win here anymore. But he ran.
And now he gazed at de Castella, the toast of the Australian sports scene,
and said, "Fantastic, fantastic."
"Where did you finish?" de Castella asked.
"Fourth," Rodgers said.
"Great race," said de Castella.
And he kept walking.
Tradition was first victim
So much for memories of the past. This event tastes corporate now, sweetly
coated, marshmallow-filled. De Castella, 29, is maybe the biggest name in
marathoning -- he has won in the World Championships, in Rotterdam, in Fukoka
-- but he never ran here before because there wasn't any money. He felt a
marathoner only gets two or three races a year, and why blow yourself on one
that doesn't pay when there are so many that do?
Tradition wasn't enough. Not for him, and ultimately not for the race
organizers. So the Boston Marathon finally went modern this spring, adopting
prize money and a corporate daddy -- John Hancock Mutual Life Insurance Co. --
after 89 years of pure amateurism. And hel-lo. Along came Rob de Castella.
World-class champion. His time Monday was more than six minutes faster than
last year's victory by Geoff Smith (2:14:05).
You get what you pay for.
De Castella, a trained biophysicist who looks like a cross between Clark
Gable and Sean Connery, ran an intelligent, steady race. And after he'd run
through Hopkinton and Framingham, past the Wellesley co-eds and the Boston
College crazies, after he'd streaked past the leafless trees and curled into
downtown Boston and broke the tape and the course record, he was ushered not
into the garage but into a grand ballroom in the Copley Plaza hotel, where the
ceilings were trimmed with something gold and eight chandeliers gazed down
from above.
There weren't any chandeliers in the garage, if I remember correctly.
Never enough wheels
De Castella talked about his race. It was a fine race. An impressive time.
"My legs were sore during the last few miles." That was about it.
His wife, Gaye, sat in the front row, watching. She is a triathlete, as
well as a commentator for Australian television.
"Do you need the Mercedes?" she was asked.
"Well, yes," she said. "We have a Subaru here in America. And he has an
Alfa Romeo back in Australia. But we could use it."
OK. It's not that de Castella did anything wrong. Of course not. He won.
It's not that Ingrid Kristiansen, who won the women's title, $30,000 and a
Mercedes, did anything wrong.
It's simply that this event has changed. Anyone who's ever been here before
could feel it. It has jumped up in class, maybe insured its survival. But it
has traded in the idea that someone could endure 26.2 agonizing miles of
running just to say he'd won it. And it got chandeliers in exchange.
Toward the end of de Castella's press conference, someone pulled a fire
alarm and a horn-like screeching made the ballroom sound like a submarine on
red alert.
De Castella looked around, confused. The horn kept screeching. Finally, de
Castella laughed for what seemed like the first time all day. "I hope we
don't have to make a run for it," he said.
It was the only moment of spirit in this suddenly plastic environment. The
only moment anybody really let go. You know what I think? I think the ghosts
of Boston Marathons past pulled that fire alarm. That's what I think.