Though it is held on Patriots' Day, the Boston Marathon had been in danger of becoming downright unAmerican. Only one U.S. runner—Ambrose Burfoot in 1968—won the race between 1958 and 1972. In recent years, though, the American passion for jogging has aroused new interest and new hopes for a U.S. victory in the 26-mile 385-yd. race. That was evident when a record field of 1,398 turned out last week for the 77th running of the marathon. While the U.S. had such serious contenders as Olympian Jon Anderson and College Star Tom Fleming, most of the entrants were run-for-fun enthusiasts who pursue their lonely sport despite sneering remarks from passers-by and snarls from dogs snapping at their heels.
Typical of this relentless breed is Dave Sauer, 39, a refrigeration engineer from Pittsburgh. He began running four years ago to stay in shape, soon became hooked enough to enter local races. Just a year ago he started serious training for the Boston Marathon, dutifully logging ten miles each evening in a park near his home. After sending in his $2 entry fee, Sauer withdrew $300 from his "Boston Marathon fund" and flew east for a long, punishing weekend. "Runners like myself don't expect to win," he said prophetically. "We have the competitive urge, but we run against ourselves." His wife Pat, who has learned to spice her menus with such runner's staples as wheat germ and honey, had a different opinion. "You're crazy," she told Dave.
The milling throng that Sauer joined at the starting line in rural Hopkinton, Mass., was motley, to say the least. Along with serious competitors from a dozen countries, there were college kids out for a lark, aging jocks in flowered bathing suits competing on a dare, drinking companions who planned to pace themselves with stops at wayside taverns and—officially for only the second year—women of all ages. Alfred Ventrillo, a sightless, 65-year-old pensioner, was running "to inspire blind people." Author Erich Segal was toting a portable microphone to record his on-the-run comments for a TV show. Sauer danced nervously to loosen up his legs. Later he recalled thinking: "It's finally here. You've been waking up in the middle of the night wondering about it, and here it is such a beautiful day, the nicest atmosphere you can imagine."
When the starter's gun sounded at high noon, the runners crowded their way past the old Congregational Church, wound down a country lane, and then began to string out along Route 135. As the front runners passed through the outlying suburbs and headed toward Newton and its infamous Heartbreak Hill, a wickedly long climb six miles from the finish line in Boston, they were cheered on by more than 500,000 spectators lining the route. Children darted into the street offering slices of oranges and cups of Gatorade; one homeowner charitably placed his lawn sprinkler in the middle of the road to cool the runners as they panted by in the unseasonable 73° heat.