"First one, kid?" Standing in front of Baltimore's Memorial Stadium, December 6, 1976, just moments before the start of the Maryland Marathon, I must have looked like a rank beginner. Clad in double-knit shorts, knee-high socks, and a basketball singlet (because all REAL runners wore singlets), I was mostly proud of my new flashy racing shoes. Now some guy had spotted me as a beginner -- how embarrassing.

Talking my parents into buying the racing shoes was a real coup. I had only been running for four months, and they wanted to be assured that I was going to still run long enough to justify paying for the shoes. "But this is a marathon, you have to have racing shoes!".

My approach worked. The night before the marathon, along with several high school teammates who were also running, I bought the most high-tech racing shoes of the day -- Nike Boston. Bostons can only be described as lace up pieces of nylon, with a little sliver of heal padding and a thin gum rubber sole.

By today's standards, most slippers are better padded. However, in 1976, Nike Boston's were the state of the art. Mine were about a size and a half too big, but they were racing shoes, and the next day I was running my first road race, the Maryland Marathon.

I didn't know any better, and didn't think a marathon would be tough.

Arriving at Baltimore's Memorial Stadium, eager but scared, I was not even sure of the exact distance of the race. I knew it was around 25 miles. But I knew I was ready to run the race. After all, I had been running for over four months by the time I came to the starting line of my first marathon. Coming out of a season high school cross country, I continued running beyond the running of the state championships. Our team's preparation for States consisted of 220 yard repeats, and a few slow miles.

Coming across a flyer for the Maryland Marathon, I suggested that as a good way to get ready for the indoor track season. I didn't know any better, I had never run any road races and didn't think a marathon would be tough.

After getting to Memorial Stadium the excitement began to build, there were so many people who we very serious about this race. They spent the time before the race discussing the course, training, and race strategy. Not knowing anything about any of those topics, my teammates tossed a football in the parking lot. I spent the time doing strides in my flashy shoes to show everyone that I was serious.

During one of my strides I noticed TV cameras being setup. Great! My mother was going to see me on TV! All the limited racing wisdom I had gathered that morning was gone at that moment. My strategies shifted from running the marathon to just getting myself onto TV. I determined that the only time I was going to be anywhere near the cameras was at the start, so that was my only chance. I planted myself directly on the starting line, onto of the stripe down the middle of the road. I figured that would be the prime TV location. The race didn't begin for 40 minutes and I was the only one lined up, but I already had the best spot.

As the remaining traffic and runners buzzed around me, I steadfastly maintained my position. After 30 minutes passed, there were but a few minutes until the start and my one chance at fame. So far, everything was going according to plan, but it was growing increasingly difficult. I was determined to keep my front row position, and through the use of elbows and being stubborn, I held my ground.

With a minute to go, the front row began to settle. The runners were almost all in position, when disaster stuck. A sort, thin, rather geeky looking runner was headed straight for me. From the look in his eyes I could tell he was sizing me up for a way to take my spot. He approached me and very politely asked if he could start next to me. I reluctantly slid one of my feet over to give him a little bit of room. He quickly took advantage of my kindness by putting me into the second row, and out of the camera's view. The little creep!

As I silently fumed, all the surrounding runners began to shake hands with the guy. I thought, "Big deal, the guy's some Baltimore hotshot!". Someone tapped me on the shoulder and whispered in my ear, "That's Bill Rodgers!". Blindly showing my running ignorance, I exclaimed, "Who's Bill Rodgers?". Hearing this Rodgers turned around laughing and checked me out. He did not seem impressed by my double-knit shorts, knee-high socks, basketball singlet, or even my flashy new racing shoes. He looked at me, smiled and said, "First one, kid?".

The others around chuckled as this Bill Rodgers guy proceeded to dispense some unsolicited advice. "Just go slow, you'll make it." Surprisingly enough, it had never entered my mind that I wouldn't make it.

Still scoping for possible TV angles, I tried to see which had the best view of my position. Determining my only chance was to go out fast, I put my cross country training to good use. From the sound of the gun I burst past the surrounding crowd, finding myself 30 yards into the race, shoulder to shoulder with that Rodgers guy for the lead of the race.

Rodgers glanced over my way - checking out the competition

Rodgers glanced over my way, checking out the competition, and then in a very forceful tone told me, "Slow down, NOW!". His advice, combined with the first signs of fatigue only 30 yards into the race caused me to slow to my normal pace. Besides, I had passed all the important TV camera locations anyway.

As the race progressed, I found the advice from Rodgers valuable. I also determined that my all-time longest run of 11 miles may not be enough. Nearing the 16 mile point, located at the crest of one of many long grueling hills, I heard someone in the crowd say the race was over. Someone had crossed the finish line. It caused me to be a bit jealous, I would like to be at the finish too. It was beginning to hurt, but I somehow survived. I dragged my limp, spent body across the finish in 3:56:56.

Hobbling into Eastern High School for the post-race meal, I looked for the people I came to the race with. I shuffled painfully along, only to have that Bill Rodgers guy stop me. He had remembered me from the start and asked excitedly, "How did you do?". Excited to finally have someone ask me about my race, I proudly mumbled, "I made it, 3:56:56!". He was telling me how great that was and how he had confidence that I would make it. When I finally asked how his race went he said, "Oh, I won."

I was too brain dead to say much, but as my teammates began to gather in the cafeteria, I introduced them to my newfound friend, Bill Rodgers. He hung out talking to our limping collection of sixteen-year-olds for nearly half an hour before leaving to go to the awards ceremony.

Rodgers had impressed us with his friendliness by talking at length to a bunch of high schoolers who had no idea who he was. We later learned that he had shattered the course record, and was the American record holder for the marathon along with being an Olympian. No wonder everyone laughed at me.

My memories of Bill Rodgers come to me with every marathon I attend. His advice for me to slow down has been repeated many times. Each marathon I attend, I see someone who looks much as I must have looked and I smile. I only hope they can look back on their first marathon as fondly as I remember the day I battled Bill Rodgers for the lead of the 1976 Maryland Marathon.

By the way, I did get on TV.

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