The Olympics remain the most compelling search for excellence that exists in sport, and maybe in life itself.
~Dawn Fraser
The announcer’s voice boomed over the PA system at the finish of the Senior Olympics triathlon. “And in first place overall…” I heard my name and ran up to the stage to collect my gold medal. As I stood on the stage, I choked back tears, overwhelmed by how far I’d come — from the devastating diagnosis of breast cancer to the winner in the Senior Olympics triathlon!
What a contrast from another day when I heard my name called; only this time it was in a doctor’s office to receive the results of a biopsy. I was positive it couldn’t be cancer because I was the fittest, healthiest person I knew. I was 47, running marathons, and I had been a daily runner for 14 years. I’d given up red meat, eating what I thought was a healthy diet.
When I heard the words, “infiltrating ductal carcinoma,” a wild panic seized me. I wanted to scream, “No, wait a minute. Wait just a darn minute — I can’t have cancer! I’m a marathoner, for Pete’s sake!” The doctor showed me the pathology report. A sinking feeling overwhelmed me, my knees went weak, and my head swam. I barely heard the doctor’s words, something about more surgery, chemo, radiation, and then more tests.
Then I thought back even further — to high-school days back in the 1950s when I took up swimming as my sport. Since I was the only female on the team, I was, by definition, the “best,” which I needed to hear because I was usually last in racing with the boys. From there I entered the State Championships, winning a gold medal. My dreams went soaring! I would enter the Olympics and be an Olympic champion!
After graduating from high school and starting college, I found that between classes and the full-time job required to pay my way through college, there was little time to train. I decided that all kids have dreams of being a champion athlete, movie star or President, but day-to-day working and studying are usually the stark reality. My dream faded over the years.
In 1968, I saw the book, Aerobics, by Kenneth Cooper, MD. I wondered what that word meant since I’d never seen it before — not surprising since Dr. Cooper had just coined the word. Thumbing through the book, I learned about running’s many benefits. In fact, for every ailment I had, it seemed that running was the answer, from head to toe, insomnia to flat feet!
I bought the book and devoured it in one sitting. I finished about 2:00 a.m., falling asleep but determined to start a running program. I woke up at 5:00 a.m., an hour earlier than usual. Jumping out of bed, I scrambled through my closet and found my old tennis shoes, some shorts, and an old T-shirt.
It felt really weird when I started running. I was thankful that nobody in the neighborhood was yet awake because I certainly would have been embarrassed!
I continued to the end of my street, a half-mile away. I was feeling pretty smug, thinking that if I ran all the way home, I would have run a whole mile! I felt so energized, fit and strong that I decided to do this routine every morning. As I got stronger, I extended the turnaround point.
One day, someone mentioned a race coming up, a three-mile Turkey Trot. I thought it might be fun; plus, I wondered how I’d do after nearly five years of running.
As I toed the start line, I looked around and saw nothing but guys. “Wow, I’m the only female here — just like the high-school swim team,” I told myself.
This was 1973, when road racing was just getting started with very few men and even fewer women. Since all I had to do was finish, I came home with a gold medal, an automatic first place. I was excited about my new road-racing career, training to go farther and faster. As women started to enter, there were age divisions. As I got older, I was still winning and racking up gold medals.
The diagnosis of breast cancer didn’t fit, and yet there it was. Then I learned two things that turned my life around. First, foods made from animal products increase the risk for cancer. Second, cancer cells thrive in an anaerobic (no-oxygen) environment. Running is aerobic, so it had to have been my diet. I changed to a low-fat, vegan diet.
Then I saw the 1982 Ironman Triathlon on TV. I decided that just in case running wasn’t aerobic enough, I would start swimming again and add cycling to be really sure. To give me a goal, I sent in my application to do the Ironman. Never mind that no woman my age had ever completed one; never mind that I was now a cancer patient. I trained and got stronger. My goal of becoming an Ironman became a reality. I’d never been this fit in my whole life, and I was in my fifties!
One day, someone said, “Why don’t you enter the Senior Olympics?” My Olympics dream came rushing to the forefront. That old surge of excitement and challenge was almost palpable. The next Senior Olympics was in Las Vegas. I sent in my application, got plane reservations, and doubled my training.
Once in Vegas, I checked the venue of the triathlon course. The street names meant nothing, but thinking I didn’t need to worry about the course, I figured I would just follow the person in front. But, to my great surprise and shock, I was first out of the water and first on the course. I had no one to follow!
Here I was in first place, and I was going to blow it by getting lost. I steadied myself, coming up with a strategy: “When in doubt, go straight.” My heart settled down, but the anxiety was almost unbearable as I pedaled as fast as I could. I kept waiting for the sign, fearing that someone would overtake me, and I’d lose first place. I also thought it would be a tremendous coup to beat all the men, so I wasn’t about to slow down.
Finally! There was the sign pointing to a right turn. What a relief! The relief, however, was short-lived. Where do I go from here? “Settle down, lady. Remember, when in doubt, go straight.” That strategy got me through both the bike and run, and I crossed the finish line first overall!
Standing on that stage, I thought how far-fetched the whole drama was. Here I was 61 years old, and I’d just won an Olympic gold medal. This taught me to never give up on our dreams, even if they are Olympic dreams — Senior Olympic dreams!
— Ruth Heidrich, Ph.D. —