In the early 80's, the Great Race road 10K at Stanford had a lot of sponsorship money and some big name participants. I was new to the campus, saw a race poster and decided to hop in. I finished (in around 34 minutes, winning time was 29) and was making my way through the chute when I realized the gentleman immediately ahead of me was none other than Derek Clayton. I hadn't seen him the entire race; he may have shut it down and jogged in. In any event, I was possessed with an uncontrollable urge to say something. What came out was: "Good race, Mr. Clayton." He turned around and gave me a glare as though I were a troublesome insect (which I was, I guess) then turned back without saying a word. I didn't attempt any additional brilliant remarks.