**Post is courtesy of Body N' Sole Blog**
Intro: When I started my running career in the early 80s I was fortunate to meet Barney Hance, and he became one of the major influences on how I approached running and racing. The following is the story of his long running career written in his own words.
Running From Scratch
Whenever someone boasts of a much better time, you should never feel intimidated- until you both run up the same hill, on the same day, caring the same weight on your shoulders. In over 45 years as a competitive runner, this was probably one of my most important lessons.
Note: Barney winning the Crawfordsville, Indiana August 1978 Marathon. Approximately 100 runners. Time: 2:24:58
Before the Distance:
I was born in Danville, Illinois in 1950. Until about the age 14, I was smoking a lot of cigarettes, taking a lot of hikes, and running around town on a bicycle with my friends.
In 1964, I tore a tendon in my right hip trying to do the long jump and running the 220 yard dash. They mummified my hip with a white tape that could tear your hair out, and put some kind of greasy stuff on me called “Atomic Bomb”. This treatment would not only open up your sinuses and help you breath better, but it would also take your mind off the pain of your injury simply by inflicting a different pain.
I think this method was to set you on fire, and make you run faster to cool yourself off. It not only opened your breathing passage, but your injury as well. This treatment also usually shortened your season. I gave up doing three things that year: the long jump, the 220, and smoking.
I had an attention deficit problem in school, and athletics was my way of coping with it. I wanted to be good at something. So, if I couldn’t be smart, why not make myself tough?
My dad, who was a former Illinois Golden Glove champion in the 1930s, told me if I didn’t quit smoking, I would get my butt kicked by some kid that had more wind. So, I gave up trying to look tough and started exercising more.
Dad also told me that champion fighters would get out of bed before school and run sometimes 2 miles and more. I needed something to keep me active.
Hearing About It:
I read a comic book ad about a body builder who claimed he could run 10 miles non-stop.
We didn’t have cross country in junior high back then. I actually thought the mile run was the longest running event. Like most kids, I was only aware of what was in front of my nose. It was hard enough to run the 220 yard dash without blistering your feet or getting injured, so how do you run 10 miles?
It was hard to believe someone could do that. “How cool would it be,” I thought, “ to have that ability?”
I liked boxing and wrestling, but long distance running was something you didn’t hear about much. I was told very few did it, and it was a tough, lonely sport. You train outside in the cold, and if you didn’t find the right shoes, you blister your feet a lot.
It seemed like a good enough challenge because no one in my school was out there doing it.
Meeting The Challenge:
In the Fall of 1965, I decided to meet this challenge and train for the mile. I turned off an old wind-up alarm clock set for 6 a.m.. I put on gray baggy cotton sweats, canvas gym shoes, and started running before school.
I ran anywhere from 2 – 4 miles at a time throughout winter of ’65 and ’66. I remember my feet crunching on icy sidewalks and frozen snow being the only sound I heard at times. I would often wonder if some early riser would look out their window and see me run by. This was my stage- and they either thought I was crazy or pretty tough. I always pretended it was the second one.
This was the start of my career as a long distance runner, and covering over 125,000 miles over the next 48 years.
The Mile:
I won the city junior high mile championship in the spring of 1966 wearing a pair of cut off thin canvas tennis shoes. You wore your own stuff in that first meet. I had on a pair of basketball-like shorts and wore a red sleeveless t-shirt. You didn’t get a pair of thick leather black spikes until you made the all-city traveling team.
This event was held on Danville High School’s cinder track. There was no understanding of how to pace yourself in the mile. To us, it was an all out run. I remember learning how to race for the lead and crawl for the finish, which was not good tactics. I experienced burning lungs, spells of blindness with swirling spots, and hearing loss in the final lap. This made running anything farther seem almost impossible.
I finished with a time of 5 minutes and 14 seconds for my first and last mile race of the season. I ran the first quarter mile in 65 seconds. I was lucky that everyone who followed was as ignorant as I was, or I probably wouldn’t have won.
The 880:
This experience was enough to make me appreciate transferring over to the 880 yard run, known as the 800 meter dash today; but almost a second longer.
Our half-miler failed to show up at our first away team competition in Urbana, Illinois. I was supposed to have run another one of those painful miles, but a thunderstorm was moving in, and our coach wanted to score points before they canceled the meet. There was time to run the half-mile, so they put me in.
Note: Barney gutting it out on Danville High School pear-shaped cinder track in his fancy white leather spikes. 880 yard run 1968 in 2 minutes flat.
Unfortunately, when I look back, I kind of wish this never happened. I found this race to be an easy victory for me, and got stuck with it clear on up through high school; this, and anchoring the mile relay.
You couldn’t double in the longer runs like you can today. I only got to run the mile twice in high school; and to this day, I think once I mastered the pace, it would have been a better event for me.
Whatever you could win, that’s where they kept you back then.
Cross Country:
My high school cross country career was plagued by athletic induced asthma, which they knew nothing about in those times. I was blamed for over training, and even having a girl friend. This allergy would strike when the leaves started falling, right during the finals. I always ran strong at the first of the season, even setting our course record. But, was never allowed to run fast at the end of the season.
First Road Race 1967:
I ran my first road race in the winter of 1967 in a five-miler down south of Charleston, Illinois. I got second place overall against a college kid. This gave me faith that I was still a distance runner. I found that in this race, I not only could breath better, but had more time to position myself as well.
I failed to get a varsity letter in cross country that year, but on the roads and track I seemed to have shined a lot better and got back at my team mates who beat me in cross country.
I had a great coach my sophomore and junior year at Danville High. His name was Larry Burgess, and he was a great motivator. He introduced me to road racing and running distances longer than two miles.
First Running Shoes:
I found a pair of specially made canvas running shoes that cost less than $8.00 at a downtown Danville sporting goods store. They were the first shoes that I found that were actually labeled “Running Shoes” with no spikes. They were white with three colored stripes on the side, and I thought they were cool. By the time I was a senior in high school, I was running races up to ten miles long. Those shoes held up pretty good.
Note: The super shoes of the time. Read it. Then, ask yourself why running was a tough sport back then.
The Track Club I.T.C.:
The Illinois Track Club in Champaign, Illinois used to host a lot of runs in an open field area called the South Farm Roads. I remember paying $2.00 entry fees and running our legs off out there.
Most runs were from 2 to 8 miles long, sometimes hosting two events at once. There were usually less than forty runners showing up. Everyone was there to race. No one ever heard of a fund raiser or fitness jog.
Sometimes a guy named Dick King would come clear from the Chicago area to run in these events. He was in his early 40′s, and we thought of him as an old man. He probably thought he was too. He usually got last place. But, I don’t think he ever trained.
Only the top three runners got awards, and the rest got white certificates about 5” X 7” in size. If you got an award back then, it didn’t sit on the same shelf as a bowling trophy. I have seen guys almost puke their guts out for one- even me.
I can remember many times traveling from Danville to Champaign and looking for a parking place. As soon as you arrived, the first thing you would do was look out the car window to see if someone showed up who would make you run your lungs out.
There were guys like Phil Davis, for example, who made a science out of it; forcing you to run out all you had. Then there was Dike Stirret, a runner with a head on a set of legs. You might as well hand him the trophy at the start. Guys like that were world class material, but never really had enough time or resources to reach that level of recognition.
Running In Illinois:
I think central Illinois is a tough place to run because the weather is always changing between a lot of extremes. When you run in open cornfield areas your window for calm days is usually short. When I ran in extreme cold, it just meant more layers of clothes.
I would say that over 95% of runners were men who trained outdoors on hard concrete. There were no electronic devices to run indoors on. There were no specially designed trails. I ran outside when it was 100 degrees, and I ran outside when it was below zero. Why? Because I figured that the other guy wouldn’t.
It wasn’t hard to be a tough runner, because all you had to do was run. My dad was right, it was a tough sport. It was a bit lonely, and there was no gym to hang around and talk about it with anyone.
First Runners World Magazine:
The first Runners World magazine I ever saw was in the late 1960′s. It was not in color, featured two pairs of shoes, and was mostly stories or race results of the world’s best. The only tip you got was for you to decide if you wanted to train like they did. You weren’t advised on how to train; you had to decide.
I remember once putting a pair of farm boots on and running ten miles because I thought it would make me a lot tougher. I did things like running every day for 8 ½ years, even on injuries. I got stuck out in a blizzard twice, and I would run up to as much as four hours straight without drinking water. I ran a mile around a living room couch with 104 degree fever, because I didn’t want to miss a day of training. There was more fear of getting out of shape than knowledge of how to train right.
1969:
In 1969 I had less than two minutes to prove to my hometown I was champion material, but failed. I finished 7th in the state IHSA 880 finals. But, there were only five medals given out, with no separate school size divisions like they have today. The half mile was a race that neither defined you as a sprinter, nor a distance runner. You were defined as being a little of both. But, I wanted to be more. The heart breaking defeat in high school just meant I needed to find something else.
The Marathon:
Why not challenge a marathon? My buddy, Paul Marana, talked me into it just a few days after graduation. I didn’t know what a marathon was, but when he told me about it, I actually thought if I could win an award for something like that, I wouldn’t need a state medal to prove anything. There were plenty of track and cross country awards around, but who runs a marathon?
The Freedom Challenge:
On July 6th at 7 a.m. in Monticello, Illinois we both stood on the starting line of a 26 mile 385 yard foot race alongside some fifty or so other guys. Some of them were already sweating and the gun hadn’t even gone off. We paid a whole $5.00 entry fee.
The competitors in this event looked like a different breed of runner, who didn’t eat much and strained themselves a lot. There were no digital watches back then, and to see someone look at his two- handed watch made me wonder if it was a race of brain over brawn. There was more talk about feet blistering than fear of not finishing. Someone announced that there was a guy entered that broke three hours once. I was ignorant enough to think that three hours was plenty of time to run a foot race.
Note: How many runners today can push themselves for 26 miles in a field of less than 50 runners? How many can sip from a Dixie cup on the 4th of July weekend? This course was a little tougher than the one moved to the Fall. They took out the little stair climb thru the Sun Garden.
The Experience You Faced:
When the gun went off, you were on your own. There were no books or magazines that explained what you were getting into. No one was around to tell you how to prepare for it. You had to trust in you own training and pace. There was no one along the way to spoon feed you. The race officials had to trust in you as well. No one hosts a marathon on the 4th of July weekend today. But what did they know? Back then no one knew what the limit was. I sure didn’t.
The Course:
This event was put on by the Illinois Track Club. It was called the Freedom Marathon and Run through the Allerton Park sun garden, featuring a short stair climb and trail. It was run mostly on park road surface. The lack of hills was replaced by the July heat. It was later moved to the fall in the 1970′s and the sun garden portion was taken out.
The Experience You Felt:
I remember passing up the limited aid stations during the first few miles because we actually thought back then that stopping to drink would lose your momentum and get you behind. They had little green paper dixie cups to sip water out of, and that was it. If you missed your cup, it was like looking for the next watering hole in a desert.
You could find yourself out there alone in some spots, because there weren’t a lot of people around in that race. I almost went the wrong way at one point because the sun reflected off the white painted arrows on the road.
When I reached the 20 mile mark, I didn’t care that I had to stop and gulp water, and I didn’t care about winning an award. I just wanted to make it. At the 24 mile mark I was forced to finish because someone yelled that I was in second place. I was running on legs that felt like a couple of sticks, but I managed to make it to the last mile.
Someone yelled at me that Dike Stirret was about 2 minutes ahead, and at this point all you had to be was one tenth of a second to beat me. It was like I was running in some kind of echoing tunnel and I was looking for the light at the end.
Finishing:
I don’t remember the finish, but somehow my dehydrated self made it. I didn’t come to my senses until someone told me I won a 2nd place trophy, and that Dike and I both were well under the three hour time by at least 5 minutes.
Paul Marana only missed the three hour time by 15 seconds. But again, these weren’t the best conditions for trying to reach it. All finishers got that black and white certificate with place of finish and time on it. There were no t-shirts back then, and you had to be in the top three to get that award.
There weren’t enough runners around in those days to have division awards. I would say that over 90% of long distance runners back then seemed to be from age 16 to around 30 years old.
Most people thought they couldn’t do it, but in reality, most people didn’t want to or didn’t know how. There just simply wasn’t anything to make it more comfortable to train with, especially in the footwear.
Hecklers:
Some people thought of us as odd balls, sometimes throwing things and heckling. “Jog-Jog-Jog!” seemed to be the famous war cry of the hecklers. When you run anything under a 7 minute mile, the word jog doesn’t sound good. Deep down inside they had to know it was tough to be out there; and, we thought maybe making fun of us was a way of coping with not being tough enough to do it themselves. I liked this image and it motivated me to dot it even more.
Receiving an Award:
The award ceremony at the marathon was short. There wasn’t a lot of stuff to give out. The trophy they handed me was about 7 inches tall. It wasn’t the size of the award that mattered. It was what it stood for and the moment you received it. I had seen a lot of running awards, but this was the only marathon I had ever heard about at that time.
I thought maybe I had something pretty rare; and actually, back then, I kind of did. Paul Marana and I both never knew of anyone else from Danville ever running one before this.
Hopeful Dreams:
Being a half-miler who finished second in a 26 mile race somehow made me feel like a local mountain climber who made the top of something big without a trail to follow. We both thought there would be a pretty good story written on it back home.
Reality:
We made the sports page all right, but it was written up like a usual 5 mile road race, in second place. It might have been a little bigger if I had won. Looking back, I realize now that most sports writers cover things that people can relate to. Marathon running was not that. If that race would have been ran from Champaign to Danville, for example, we might have taken up the entire front page. People can relate to how far they drive a car.
The Freedom Marathon was the toughest event at the time that I had ever been in. I don’t think everyone made it to the finish, because someone said they were going to send the “meat wagon” out. That was an expression for picking up those who couldn’t make it. Some say they are still out there today…
Looking Ahead:
Shortly after finishing the Freedom Run, I remember someone asking me if I was going to Boston. What the heck would I be going to Boston for? Then I was informed that I qualified for it by breaking 3 hours. They said the Boston Marathon in Boston, Massachusetts was the most elite marathon of all time.
Boston:
The following April of 1970, I found myself standing on the starting line of this race with 1100 other people who qualified under 3 hours. This time another great friend of mine, Les (Skip) Cox, and I, both from Danville, would be doing something no one from our town ever did. Skip qualified earlier that spring in a marathon in Des Moines, Iowa. It was Skip who talked me in to going to Boston.
Note: My father in the middle. Me on his left. Les Cox on his right. On our way to the 1970 Boston Marathon. Two corn-fed Illinoisans.
At 7 a.m. on April 20th , it was kind of a chilly, drizzly day. I remember wearing a clear plastic trash bag over my chest to keep the cold damp drizzly air off. I thought it would give me an advantage. I don’t remember what I had on my feet back then, but I remember trying to find the lightest shoes I could. One thing for sure, whatever I had on them, I could never wear today.
My feet did blister some during the race, but after 22 miles, my legs and feet were so numb I couldn’t feel anything. In this race, there were people speaking different languages, and you were never out there alone.
I remember coming across the finish line on the same sticks as the Freedom Marathon. The long drive out to Boston in Skip’s Ford Mustang took 2 days, and that made your hamstrings tight. Most runners today are smart enough not to do this.
You couldn’t hear any mile splits in this race because of the people yelling along the route. There were no digital devices. This was only my second marathon, and so it was still about putting trust in how you felt.
I wore that plastic bag all the way in. I finished around 158th in just under 2 hours and 50 minutes, which I considered not too bad for my second marathon. I think some people back home thought I was going out there to try and win. Even my dad, who went with us to watch, called us corn fed Illinoisans; thinking we had something special in us. We got more recognition for going out there than coming back.
Skip Cox had to drop out at mile 22. I think his having to drive out there and qualifying so late was a bit too much. We weren’t exactly written up as local sports heroes. That was over before we started.
A guy named Ron Hill from England won the race in 2 hours and 10 minutes. This shattered my illusion that you only had to run under 3 hours to be considered one who specializes in this event. I had a long way to go.
Real Marathon Runners:
Ron Hill inspired me to run as much as 4000 and 5000 miles a year and more starting in 1971. Increasing mileage was the only thing I ever knew about, and the only coach for the marathon was me. Believe me, this method of training works to a point. It got me near the front row at Boston in 1975, but the only national record I may have set is the most running injuries over a decade. I try to teach young runners today to do what I did, but not as much- and not what I did wrong.
Lessons Learned:
I found that each runner has their limitations and obstacles to compete against, which even sometimes depends on which direction the wind blows. I gave it my best shot, and that’s what made it a tough sport and a good challenge.
Each marathon course is different and in every race there are different things to compete against. Back then it was more about challenge than speed, and every gust of wind and hill helped determine what kind of time you ran.
I actually found the Boston Marathon to be one of the fastest courses I ever ran, despite the famed “Heart Break Hill”. I ran one of my most uncomfortable races ever there in 1975. But the wind was behind my back and I still recorded my fastest time. I would say my fastest effort was run on a hot summer day on a very hilly course.
Speed is speed whether it’s up a hill or down. But toughness, I found, is measured with a different stick.
Beyond The Marathon:
On May 14th, 1977, I decided to go beyond the marathon because I didn’t make the Olympic trials like I dreamed about. I was married with our first baby on the way. I was working a temporary job carrying buckets of water to water trees as a groundskeeper for a grumpy old man. I was cranking out 100 mile weeks before and after work. I decided to challenge an ultra 50 mile race, and run on ignorance. It was held up in Aurora, Illinois.
After the gun fired, I went through the 26 mile mark in 2 hours and 53 minutes feeling strong. There was not a lot of shade on this route. I had to walk and jog the last 9 miles on cramping legs. It was 85 degrees by the time I finished. I tried to run it non-stop just to say I could. I still managed to somehow win the thing in 5 hours and 58 minutes.
The Times Magazine:
I was informed by my friend Les Cox, who was occasionally driving alongside me, that I couldn’t drop out, “No matter what,”. He motivated me through the last suffering miles. “The Times magazine is here,” was his cheer. He said they were doing an article on the new “Challenges of Ultra Marathoning”. He said this would even be better than making Runners World magazine. He warned me that I had better not quit.
Sure enough, they gave me an interview and asked me to jog back across the finish line looking like I was finishing, because they missed a photo. I could barely pick my legs up and was worried about more cramps. But somehow, I managed. I was dehydrated and smelled like crap because of an upset stomach that I was too weak to control. Whatever I ate to prepare for this race, I’m sure it isn’t recommended today.
Who knows what dumb things I said in this interview, smelling like crap? I wasn’t mentally all there. One thing for sure, I didn’t tell the magazine people that I was motivated to finish because of them being there. Somehow, I had the disillusion if I finished, I would be famous. An article from them might give me credibility for something; other than a water boy. But to the Times, it was just another story.
Hard Times Are Nothing Special:
A few weeks later, the article came out with a picture of some guy holding a sponge on his head, who they said dropped out at 17 miles. The race director sent me an apology for having to run across that finish line again. He told me that the Times magazine wrote him a letter congratulating me for winning but “The article was not about fine young runners like Mr. Hance”. It was about guys who work in offices and white collar jobs who meet such challenges. There were no race results in this story.
Almost Fired:
Most marathon runners have to live two lives. I never got any money for winning that race, but I could have used that article. You see, I took a day off work without pay to recuperate from aches and pains. That grumpy old guy almost fired me; especially after seeing a little article about me in the sports page winning a 50 mile race. I went back to carrying buckets of water and cranking out more 100 mile weeks.
We all know there are some things you just can’t buy with money. Sometimes a little acknowledgment has to be earned with a long hard struggle. For some, I think this is the Great Spirit’s way of telling you to keep going and that there are other things ahead.
Intangible Rewards:
When asked today if it was worth running all those miles and suffering so many injuries, I can only say I never made any money at it or became any world class runner. I didn’t seem to make any hometown history book either. I did however, go on many long outdoor adventures, over and over again, and picked up a lot of intangible rewards along the way. One important lesson along the way that I learned was that speed is easy to measure. But toughness is measured with a different stick.
Pride:
I found out the hard way that the old saying, “You can achieve anything you put your mind to if you work hard enough,” is a bunch of crap. It depends on which way the wind blows while you are working. I didn’t really reach any of the big goals I had in running. However, I also found out that what Mick Jagger from the Rolling Stones sang was true, “ If you try sometime you just might find you get what you need,”. I have always been proud to be a runner; and as for those that could beat me, I was proud to have made them sweat. I learned that being a runner was not about how fast or how far. To me, running was more about testing the limit as to how long I could stay on my feet. It always gave me a sense of self-discipline and hope for better days ahead. When people ask if I still run today, I tell them “Yes, I’m just hanging on to what’s left”.
What I See Today:
Today, it seems just about anyone can do it but no wonder! I see so many runners out there today that I think some people forget that it is still a sport. I’m seeing some people pay more than $100 to enter a race as short as 5K. I just recently met someone who hired a personal trainer to get him in shape for the Illinois Marathon in Champaign, Illinois. He was wearing running gear and a digital device that cost almost $500. He boasted about listening to his favorite music and running 8 miles on his personal treadmill costing around $3000. It was raining outside, and he wasn’t about to get wet. His goal, he claimed, was to get a medal and run under 4 hours. He asked me if I had ever run a marathon. I told him “I’ve done my share”. Then he asked me if I was going to run this one. I responded, “Why?” He explained it was for the fun. This is when I realized that it was a very expensive medal that guy was going to earn “just to have a good time”,
I was just proud to be able to look him in the eyes, and know that it only cost me $5, and I did it in a pair of $8 shoes made out of canvas and rubber. I explained to him, that I couldn’t see the fun in it and that it would be cheaper for me to do it at home. To us, running a race was serious business. To be able to look him in the eyes and know how we used to have to do it, now, THAT was fun. I wished him good luck.
Barney L. Hance
In today's society convenience and instant gratification are common themes to everyday living. Technology allows for people to live in comfort, interact socially, and satisfy almost any craving or impulse they may have in an instant. However, the true pleasures in life are not granted by living everyday in comfort and satisfying impulses. True happiness is more often found through hard work and long-term dedication than through convenience and the search for immediate comfort. Finding your ambition in life, the thing that motivates you to keep working consistently over the long-term is where satisfaction and happiness lie. I would argue that to truly enjoy life you have to make sacrifices and say, "no" to the things that keep you from getting there. Decide what your highest priorities are, and have the courage to pursue them. 
