One More Time Up Heartbreak Hill

At high noon on Monday, April 15, in the village of Hopkinton, Mass., some 9,000 runners will gather next to the town common, at Ash and Main streets, for the 95th running of the Boston Marathon. Situated 26 miles, 385 yards west of Copley Square in downtown Boston, Hopkinton is a quaint, Currier and Ives kind of scene, complete with a white-steepled church and a redbrick school. But each Patriots Day—the Commonwealth of Massachusetts holiday commemorating the Revolutionary War battles of Lexington and Concord—the town serves as a vibrant stage for the sights and sounds of the world's oldest annual marathon.

As runners fill the road, jockeying for prime starting positions behind the seeded entrants at the front, one spot, marked by a green shamrock wreath and the number 60 painted on the course, will be left open until 83-year-old Johnny A. Kelley arrives. Kelley, the Ancient Marathoner, plans to run his 60th Boston Marathon this year—ergo his number—hoping to go the distance for the 57th time. Nobody epitomizes the race's tradition more than the indomitable Kelley.

"I guess I have a gift from the good Lord above and I'm afraid to stop," he says. "Anyway, I don't want to give it up. If I drop dead from running, so what?"

Born on Sept. 6, 1907, in the shadow of the racecourse in West Medford, Mass., Kelley (not to be confused with Johnny J. Kelley, who won Boston in 1957) saw his first Boston Marathon at age 13. He first ran it as a 20-year-old in 1928 but didn't finish, dropping out at 20 miles. He waited until 1932 to enter again, and he couldn't complete that one either, even though he was among the leaders at the halfway point.

It seems he has been trying to make up for those two disappointing performances ever since. During the dark days of the Depression, through wars and police actions, past beatniks, hippies and yuppies, and now into the '90s, Kelley has been on the run. The only year since 1932 in which he didn't finish was 1956, when he pulled up lame after 17 miles, and the only race he missed competing in over the years was 1978, when he was recovering from surgery performed a month earlier.

A sturdy man with knobby knees, a shock of white hair and an infectious smile, Kelley is a national treasure, a 5'6", 130-pound monument, proving, he says, that "the best part of growing old is growing." He has endured for so long, however, that he threatens to diminish his own achievements through longevity. Lest he be written off as a sweet eccentric, consider his credentials as a world-class athlete.

?He is a two-time Boston Marathon champion, having won in 1935 (in 2:32.07) and '45 (2:30.40). He has been runner-up an unprecedented seven times, and he finished in the top 10 on 19 occasions. Heartbreak Hill, the most famous landmark on the course, was so named because Kelley had his chances for victory dashed, and his heart broken, so often at that point, 21 miles into the race.

? Kelley made three U.S. Olympic marathon teams and was the only American to finish the 1936 race, in Berlin. (He came in 18th.) Kelley qualified for the 1940 Games, which were canceled because of World War II, and he was on the '48 team, which competed in London. He finished 21st.

?In 1980 Kelley became the second marathoner inducted into the U.S. Track and Field Hall of Fame. The selection committee waived the requirement stipulating that an athlete must be retired for at least five years because, it reasoned, correctly, Kelley would never retire from running.

"I run because it's a part of me," says Kelley, who lives in East Dennis, Mass., with his wife, Laura. "If I don't run for a few days, I feel as if something has been stolen from me. This is my therapy. When I'm out there in the forests or running along the Cape Cod beaches, I have time to think and solve problems."