Not since Queen Marie of Rumania crossed the land has there been such a transcontinental spectacle in the U. S. One hundred leather-lunged, semi-nude runners jog out of Los Angeles. Judges, timekeepers, trainers, newspapermen, wives, best girls, small brothers jostle along behind the joggers in an enormous motor cavalcade.
Over mountains, across deserts, between corn fields, down a thousand Main Streets goes the jogging army—Arabs, Finns, great Danes, bandy-legged Italians, blackamoors, Kansans, Californians, Georgians, the Tarahumura Indians of Chihuahua, Mexico, whose sandals go clump-hua-clump-hua. ....
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