Frank Shorter

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At the 16-mile mark of a very hot and humid marathon at the Pan American Games in Cali, Colombia, in 1971, I looked over at my good friend and teammate Kenny Moore and noticed something. “You’ve stopped sweating,” I said, trying to sound calm. Kenny looked at his dry forearms, and then his eyes got very big. Ten minutes later he was in an ambulance, incoherent with heat stroke.

We had both expected extreme conditions and had prepared accordingly all summer. But it was not his day, and I went on the win the race. (The next summer, Kenny would finish fourth in the Olympic Marathon in Munich, which I won.)…  Seguir leyendo »