"Amy--

"I just read with delight your recent installment of the "Lanterne Rouge," and it got me thinking about last-place finishes through the years.

"I guess that I've been lucky, as well as worked my butt off to maintain a performance level that has usually resulted in me finishing near the top of any given field. Sure, there have been a number of humbling middle-of-the-pack finishes when my day and race just didn't go as planned. But last place finishes?

"Once."

I was running on my college cross-country team in a race in the late '80s. We traveled a few hours to an invitational race in Omaha, Nebraska. Usually, when you think of Nebraska, you think of terrain that is pancake-flat. Not this course, which was a park situated high on the hills and bluffs overlooking the Missouri River. There were NO flat sections on this 3.5km loop that we would run three times.

Although it was late October, the sun decided to beat down on us this day, and temps were in the mid-80s—plenty hot enough for us. The humidity was skyrocketing, too. We set off at the gun, ready to rock.

The casualties began early. I dropped to the rear of the middle of the pack early, my typical place as a NCAA Div. II team walk-on. But I pressed on. Soon, I saw teammates and rivals alike, collapsed trailside, clutching their stomachs in pain and gasping for breath. It looked like a war zone out there. I distinctly remember one guy, rolled up in the fetal position and sobbing softly. Still, I ran on.

About halfway through the race, my feet started to burn. I had purchased new spikes a few days earlier and was wearing them for the first time. As was customary, I ran sockless, and the new shoes were grinding away at the skin on my feet. As the burning sensation intensified, I looked down to see the horror of blood seeping through the fabric on the shoes. My once-white spikes now sported a pleasantly pinkish hue. I couldn't take the pain any longer, so I stopped, took off my shoes, and threw them to a female teammate of mine who was watching the race from the sidelines. In true African fashion, I ran on, unshodden.

Now, my pace slowed to a mere crawl, wilted by heat and with feet unprotected from
stones and thorns. I was now running in last place, but something told me that I needed to finish. I crossed the finish line in "DFL," and later heard my coach comment to one of my teammates that "it looked like he was running a suburban 10k out there." This was after our coach blasted the team for its terrible lack of preparation, all the while praising me for my perseverance. I don't think I ever got as many slaps on the back from my teammates as on that day...even though I finished dead last. The team went on to really kick some butt the next weekend at a different race. I like to think that we all learned a good lesson that day...run to the finish, deal with setbacks as best you can, and prepare for the unexpected.

This also reminds me of one of my favorite quotes: "Excellence is perseverance in disguise."

So, I think the upshot is that we can all take something from last-place finishes, whether they're found on the sunflower-lined roads of France or on a dusty hillside in Omaha.

Thanks for helping me bring the memory of that old race out of the attic and into the living room.

NOTE: Greg Pressler is the editor of CitySports Northwest magazine in Portland, Ore. and a buddy of our Lanterne Rouge, Amy White. On Wednesday, he wrote her a note sharing a memory sparked by her latest column. She thought so much of what he had to say that she begged him to let us publish it. He said yes, and it follows. Greg, by the way, lives in Portland with his family. He's a three-time Ironman finisher who's been racing since 1985.