I have an inordinate affection for JBS. I have ever since I saw her being pushed down the hotel hallway – in a laundry cart – at the Houston Marathon in ’82, thereabouts. Laughing and squealing. I was laughing and she was squealing. Many years later and now many years ago, I visited her at her home. She had the most completely dust-free, beat-to-crap treadmill I have ever seen, placed in front of the picture window overlooking the water. Later, I asked her how she was doing. Bent over, hands in the dirt, she responded, “My garden grows, but I have no time to weed.”
From Track & Field News, April 1988. – JDW
Every time I fail, I assume I will be a stronger person for it. – JBS
I am trying to imagine what it’s like to be Mrs. Joan Benoit Samuelson right now.
With just a few weeks remaining before the Trials Marathon, what’s this woman up to? What’s she doing in her spare time?
Late at night on a Monday after she’d been outatown for a while, I finally reached her. Just that a.m. I’d caught Joanie on her way out of the house, so I asked if I could call her tonight.
“Uh, Jack, I’ve got three other people already calling tonight.” Then she paused and said, “2 o’clock. Call at 2:00.”
Damn, I didn’t think and called at 2:00 my time. My time. No answer. No answer. I went for a run and when I got back I sharpened eight #2 pencils, popped the top off a 16-ounce Coors and called again.
Busy. The line’s busy, and it finally dawns on me I should’ve called at 2 o’clock her time. Geez. And I realize she’s probably got three writers on the phone asking her all the same questions – about her baby and her running and the Olympics – that she doesn’t want to answer necessarily. The line’s busy for over two hours and I just know she’s been answering the same old questions. I just know she’s not going to be in the mood to chat.
When Mrs. Joan Benot Samuelson answered on the third ring, I stammered out an apology about my egocentrism re time zones and the lateness of the hour.
I wanted to ask about her training and what it’s like to have a baby and the Olympics and can a 41-year-old guy understand what it’s like to be the defending marathon gold medalist and a new mother. That’s mostly what I wanted to ask. I figured Joan was about the only woman in the world who could tell me what’s it’s like.
She was tired. I can’t really remember what I asked, but I’ll never forget her answer.
“Jack, I just started running last week. I hurt my back. I took six weeks off. Just started again.”
I can’t really express my disappointment, the sense of loss I began to feel as I replayed that phrase on the brain… “Just started again.” It was soon to be March 15.
“You had a baby. You’re America’s hero. The Olympics are coming up. You’re somebody I care about. So, what does this mean for May 1?” I inquired.
I prayed for good news. I can’t tell you how much I wanted to find Joan Benoit in the best of shape. I’ve kinda had this image of her as Super Mom winning that second gold in Seoul, then coming home to help Lee Iaccoca sell Jeep Eagles to the people who are sick and tired of coming around a tight bend to find not one but two Hyundais in the left lane. And you got to know she’d be a better President than George H.W. Bush.
I think Joan Benoit is special.
So, you have to believe I was, well, slightly shattered when I heard “just started again.” Joanie deals with her injuries better than I do.
“Well, Jack, I believe in miracles,” she offered, like another blow upside my head, “but your guess is as good as mine.”
Aarrrgh! I can’t believe it. Is this really necessary? Aren’t Mota, Martin, Kristiansen and the Commies enough? Can’t she at least please be injury-free?
“How bad is it?” I asked. And so we began to talk. I couldn’t bring myself actually to interview her.
Joan Benoit is injured. “Lucky if I can run 6 miles,” she said. And I could barely hold up my end of the conversation.
She sensed my disappointment, and despite her fatigue began to try to cheer me up.
“It’s not so bad. The limp is almost gone.” 46 days until the Olympic Trials and the limp is almost gone?! Somehow I am not consoled. So Joanie kept pumping me with positive thinking.
“Six weeks ago, I could barely walk,” she said. “I’m swimming a lot. I’m staying fit. I’m seeing someone for my back every day. It’s getting better every day.”
“Well, that is encouraging,” I conceded, without much enthusiasm.
46 days.
“You know,” she went on, “it only took me a month after delivering Abigail to get back into the same shape I was before I got pregnant.”
“I was impressed with that 34:42 10k just three months after giving birth,” I said.
“Well, Jack, if I can run 15 miles by April 1, and get three 20-milers in before the Trials,” she said, “I should be able to toe the line. First of all, I need to get healthy. That’s the most important thing.”
“Then what?” I wondered.
“If I’m coming on strong, I’d go for it.”
She did cheer me up. I started to get excited. Yes, this was Joan Benoit after all. This was the woman who came back 14 days after arthroscopic surgery to win the ’84 Trials, then waltzed away into the sun to win in L.A.
Sure, she could do it. No problem.
But… 46 days?
“I don’t want to go to the Trials to run a marathon unless I have a reasonable chance to make the team,” she explained. “It’s frustrating. I’m feeling strong; I’m feeling motivated. And the U.S. times just aren’t competitive and that’s a little hard to swallow.”
“That’s true,” I replied. “The last time I looked, the fastest qualifying time was 2:31 something. Can’t you just go to Pittsburgh and give them The Benoit Look?”
She didn’t know what I meant. “Can’t you go and be Benoit and psych them into submission?”
“Jack, I don’t think it’s going to work that way. There are a lot of women who are working hard and have dedicated themselves to making the team. I’d have to earn it.”
I didn’t think to ask her if she’s been doing some of her legendary workouts on the exercycle. And I saw no sense in asking about her training.
“But, you’re still going to try, right?”
“Jack, that Olympic moment was so special to me that I don’t believe I can ever capture it again. But I’d sure like to try.”
Joan might not get to do it. She might maybe the team in the 10k. Personally, I’m visualizing a gutsy, but not debilitating 3rd place finish May 1. Then a summer of problem-free, painless training. At Seoul a series of surges between 18-21 miles causes Kristiansen snap like a dry twig and Mota’s stomach cramps; Dorre is caught on a bad day; only Martin is a threat. I’d settle for a silver.
But, 46 days?
I still don’t know what it feels like to be a new mother and defending gold medal winner. (I’m sure Joan will tell me someday.)
One thing I do know about is wanting to run an important race and being injured, unable to prepare properly, wondering if you’ll even be able to give it a decent shot, wondering if you should even try.
I do know something about that. And it’s not fun.
46 days.
