The country of Mexico has produced a number of famous marathoners
Dionisio Ceron won the prestigious London Marathon three years in a row (1994 in 2:08:53, 1995 in 2:08:30 and 1996 in 2:10:00)
Andres Espinosa was second at the Boston Marathon in 1994 by just 4 seconds. His time of 2:07:19 in that race is the current Mexican national record
The best finishing places by Mexicans in the Olympic marathon is German Silva in fifth place at Atlanta and Rodolfo Gomez in sixth place at Moscow.
In the famous New York City Marathon,
Salvador Garcia became the first Mexican winner of this race in 1991 with a winning time of 2:09:28. Fellow countrymen Andres Espinosa placed second; and Isidro Rico took fifth in the same race.
In 1993, after finishing second in the two preceding years, Andres Espinosa took first place in a time of 2:10:04. Months before the race, Espinosa had replaced the Volkswagen symbol on his Jetta with a Mercedes-Benz ornament, representing the spoils of a New York City victory. Then he went to a forest near Mexico City to train at altitude (9,000 feet to be exact).
In 1994, the race was reduced down to two Mexicans near the end, German Silva and Benjamin Paredes on a hot day. Near disaster struck when German Silva followed a police escort vehicle and took a wrong turn off the course. Fortunately, he recovered and won in a time of 2:11:21. Silva grew up without running water or electricity on an orange farm in Mexico's steamy Veracruz state where he ran to school everyday. According to family legend, Silva took up running after the family mule pitched him off its back one day instead of getting him to class on time. When asked by the Mexican president what he wished for, Silva asked for electricity for his tiny village of Tecomate.
In 1995, in 42-degree weather and windchills, German Silva still ran nearly the same race. He had a competitor at his side most of the way, not distancing himself from Englishman Paul Evans until nearly the 25-mile mark. At that point, Silva sprinted hard and won in 2:11:00 to repeat as the winner.
Perhaps the most memorable Mexican male runner is someone who did not win the race. In 1982, Rodolfo Gomez dueled with the American Alberto Salazar all the way to the end, to finish just 4 seconds behind in 2:09:33. That memorable race coincided with the rise of the marathon as a competitive sport as well as a mass participation phenomenon. At the awards ceremony that evening, Gomez spoke in Spanish, at length and with passion. The only available translator was Salazar's Cuban-born father, José, who simply informed the audience, "Rodolfo says he loves New York, and he loves Alberto." Gomez would go on to become an influential running coach.
What does it take to become a world-class marathoner? Here is the description of German Silva's training program:
While many world-class runners work out near Boulder, Colo., where elevations range from 5,800 to 10,000 feet, the volcano where Silva and his teammates train - Nevado de Toluca - is higher still. The volcano, known as Xinantecatl in the native Nahuatl tongue, rises to 15,387 feet at its peak, making it Mexico's fourth-highest mountain. The weather surrounding it is a study in contrasts - almost always blisteringly hot at the bottom and frigid year-round at the top.
At those altitudes, a flatlander in marathon shape sees white flashes before his eyes while training. Some runners sleep on their backs at such heights because breathing is too laborious on their stomachs.
Silva and his running partners seek the pain that comes with the altitude. They live for up to a week at a time at a hostel on the mountain at 12,300 feet. Every morning, their feet pound against the sinuous, boulder-strewn paths. Every evening they return in subfreezing temperatures to the hostel, which has no heat, electricity or running water.
In between there are no showers, only a change into fresh running clothes, hasty meals of tortillas and beans and time to think about the training regimen ahead - another day's run up to the crater of the volcano, a second run along a plateau to a volcanic lake, and when the day or week is out, a run down the stark mountain.
"It's a place of suffering, more than anything. ... But doing it proves to yourself that you are prepared to endure a lack of comfort in order to be more, to become more,'' Silva said.
"It is a place you have to understand and have respect for. Running it is so hard that every race seems easy in comparison. For me, it gives me strength.''
Ghost in China,
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