Johnstown YMCA Marathon

October 4, 1998

The seeds of running this race were planted in warmer times -- on a summer vacation along the beaches of North Carolina. The villa where we stayed had structured activities for the kids and by the time we left, I had at least 26 new friends under the age of seven. Two of them insisted that since I ran marathons our family just had to come up to Johnstown, PA. It was only two hours away! Their house was on the course and they'd watched the runners come by for as long as they could remember.

Even longer ago, twenty years ago in 1978, I was starting high school cross country. That year, a lot of people were starting to run and Steve Alpert made the film "Marathon Fever" about the journey of four marathoners attempting to finish the Johnstown YMCA Marathon. The film collects dust but the race survives as one of the longest running marathons in the U.S. Now in its 31st year, this marathon has settled into a small race category, hovering around the 100-runner level. Today, I find it unfortunate that so many athletes are again jumping into "marathon fever" but thinking that the Marine Corps Marathon or Walt Disney Marathon or some other deep-pocketed entity is what the marathon is about. Perhaps I cling too doggedly to the romanticism of "the loneliness of the long-distance runner," but I believe that races such as Johnstown are the bread-and-butter staples of local running scenes and should be supported by us. In this case, we also had organizers who clearly cared about the runners and a very worthwhile benefactor. The local YMCA received over $15,000 in support from all the races. Director Denny Arnold and race committee were obviously doing some behind-the-scenes fund raising, too, as the cost for this marathon was a mere $20.

A full Saturday morning the day before the race included nice weather for watching the start and taking pictures at the Great Allegany Run 15k near my house and then coaching 5-year-olds in the finer points of soccer. Western Maryland was crisp and clear but by the afternoon when we crossed the Mason-Dixon Line for the Springs Folk Festival, the temp had dropped at least 15 degrees in cold, miserable mist. From there, we continued to Johnstown and a steady rain fell by the time we found the downtown senior center to receive my packet.

Could this marathon trip get any more dreary? Yes. Our cheap hotel did not have any TV reception or heat. It did have brown water and mold in the bathtub. Our sons were crying.

Time for action. I got on the phone with a Monica at the Holiday Inn. I reserved a new room for twice as much money after the most satisfying phone call with a Monica since, well, never mind… The drizzle was still falling but things were definitely looking up. By the next morning, we had the cool weather, and very foggy misty conditions but no rain. In other words, it would not be a great marathon to watch but it looked close to perfect for running.

I had been in the valley of despair and now, hallelujah, I was up on the mountaintop.

That's because two blocks from the Holiday Inn at 8 am, I boarded the "World's Steepest Vehicular Incline" to head up that mountain. The race would begin at the top in an hour, but it was on the way up that the race really began for me. A fellow runner, inclined to talk, was asking intensely about that 2:58 of mine at Erie a month ago. "Was that all out or cruising?," he wanted to know. I was being sized up.

This runner was ultra-marathoner Michael Kichtly, blessing us with his presence four weeks before a 50-miler out west where his expenses were being paid. He said he would run today at straight 6:20s. I told him my goal was to break three. "You know there's a $500 savings bond for winning this thing?," I innocently asked. He most definitely knew.

From the start in the hilltop suburb of Westmont, Mike had a jump on us, with a "Devil Dog," one of the five relay teams, the only one close. Our pack of four waited as we turned willy-nilly through a neighborhood, following a processional of six drivers who fortunately knew the way. At one point, I said to John Goss, a gregarious fellow runner from Puxatawny: "I don't know if I'm running a marathon or if I'm part of a funeral processional." Of the cars, one was from WJAC-TV and another was the 96.5 Mountain Machine, a van which reminded me of the Mystery Machine and got me to humming "Scooby, Dooby Doo, where are you?"

Another canine, our Devil Dog, was panting at mile two and by mile five we had caught ultra-man Mike. From there, we began a long downhill stretch. No one seemed eager to charge ahead, so I knew what would happen next. I love to charge down hills, and I opened up a huge lead, striding to a 5:43 for mile 7. I could almost hear the broadcast, "We have a new leader, Dave Treber from Frostburg, Maryland! Is this the big move? Stay tuned to Mountain 96.5." I was not expecting to be leading. I stayed there with the cars for my company, finishing the downhill and heading back up through a residential stretch. I went through mile 10 in 62:50 and was finally caught by Mike and Evan Sandt, a 28-year-old with Cal Ripken-grey hair, at mile 11. They looked very steady and strong, and I did not make any attempt to stay with them. Third place, and a $100 U.S. Savings Bond, was my goal. I went through the halfway mark in 1:23:36 and was caught soon after by John, yet another ultramarathoner who in his case said beforehand that his goal was a 3:30. "I think you're going to get your 3:30," I laughed. "If I don't die first," he admitted. We ran together for a few miles, then I once again sprinted ahead on a downhill stretch. From here on in, I saw no one ahead or behind.

I heard from several competitors that this marathon has some of the most beautiful scenery of any race. The country tour is definitely much nicer than any of the scenery in the city of Johnstown. We hug the 1,000-foot deep Conemaugh Gap, going out on the west side and coming back east, with the valley in between. This morning, though, the valley and much of the course was shrouded in fog. I felt rather comfortable the entire race but for the gut-check miles of 17 to 21 along Route 403, when we were running straight into a howling wind. Much of this was downhill but the wind was nearly knocking me backward. I ran this whole time alone, wondering what became of John Goss.

Back on level ground, I crossed a bridge and saw a sign for "Johnstown 6." The arrows in the road were quite helpful, occasionally bending left or right to tell me where to turn. The mile marks were also well marked (although some of them seemed to be slightly off) and the water and AllSport stations were welcome sites. One thing I would change: the liquid was right on the mile marks. I would move them slightly before or after to give us a chance to both hit our watches for splits and pick up some water. The weather was also cold enough that the attendants obviously did not want me to splash any water on them when I grabbed it from their hands!

Finally, I asked a water station attendant at mile 23, "Is there ANYBODY behind me?" No one. Third place was mine, and I rather enjoyed the final miles. I never did see the boy and girl or their family that we had met on vacation. Maybe it was too cold this year so they headed back to the beach.

I was running seven-minute miles rather comfortably toward town, over another bridge and through historic Cambria City on to the downtown part of Johnstown. I picked up a step when Point Stadium came into view. That's where the Johnstown Johnnies play baseball and today it was our finish line. But first, I had to do a little loop a few blocks out of the way and come in to the stadium along the right field line. With a big "Go Daddy!" banner, my family was the first thing I saw. Next was the clock, ticking over to the next minute and my final time of 2:56:04. Mike won the race in 2:47:40 and Evan was 2nd in 2:50:16. These times were far off the course records and today we were the only three marathoners to break three hours, with the woman's winner, Mary, running a 3:45.

My wife Karen was waiting with some of the Dean's Chocolate Milk "Chugs" (a great after race treat) and I even thoroughly enjoyed Wendy's Chili. I brought a sweatshirt and jacket but I squeezed a race-provided blanket (a real blanket!) around me tightly. My 5-year-old son John was giddy with excitement when he won a trophy, as large as mine, for winning the Mountain Lollipop Race. I was excited, too; we were both taking home hardware! Denny and volunteers were very helpful but we were probably getting on their nerves by continually asking if we could get our awards and get out. The marathoners kept trickling in. I ran the basepaths, went into the dugout for a massage, chugged some more chocolate milk, even re-enacted "Field of Dreams," (not that John or Sam got it) and then chatted it up with Evan and the Lancaster guys who came. It turns out they had stayed several to a room at the $30 hotel we bagged. "I think," he said, "Mike was getting kind of worried when you opened up that lead."

Any of my hot air was not masking the fact that the air was growing colder and rawer the longer we were out. I gladly left the ball field for a shower.

Back finally at the hotel, the next hotel lobbyist gave John and Sam FOUR bean bag safari animals each - Victoria the Orca Whale, Prince George the Penguin, etc. -- to take home with them. We grabbed a few other samples of Johnstown for the road. By the time we were in Maryland, the fog was so thick we nearly drove off the side of Savage Mountain.

I'd say we managed to squeeze in three decent hours for this race. When I was safely home, I watched myself as "early race leader" for a full ten seconds and then got listed for the top three on WJAC-TV News' 11:00 show. After the typical newscaster babble -- "Ha, ha, Biff, I don't think we'll ever see you out running that far! Yeah, in a CAR." -- I clicked it off and went to bed satisfied. Johnstown had left me with a flood of good memories.