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One of the hardest things about running the Olympic Trials Marathon is assuring other people that you’re happy—thrilled, in fact—with 68th place.

Saint Paul resident and mother of four, Bev Boddicker Docherty, 81BS, 81SE, 83MA, recounts a common scenario: “Kids and parents at the school where I teach ran up and asked, ‘Did you win? Are you going to the Olympics?’ When I said no, but I was really, really happy with 68th place, they just kind of said, ‘Oh.’”

Being a teacher, Docherty devised a simple mathematical explanation to ease her discomfited supporters’ minds. “This year, 144 women qualified. I was seeded 108th and finished 68th,” she said, emphasizing the progression of numbers. Happiness reigned. Until one of the students looked puzzled again and asked, “Wait, how far is a marathon?”

	Broken ribs, Minnesota winters, and the demands of family and career—record-breaking veteran marathon runner Bev Docherty takes them all in her stride.

A marathon is 26.2 miles, about the distance between Iowa City and Cedar Rapids. Hundreds of marathons around the country attract more than a million people annually. Last year, the Chicago Marathon alone attracted 40,000 runners, who had probably 40,000 different reasons—such as weight loss and fitness, rising to a challenge, or being part of a social group—for putting themselves through such torture. Most of the marathoning masses just hope to finish, and on average they do so in about four hours, though the bragging rights last much, much longer.

“Extreme” sports such as marathons and triathlons are attracting more and more participants—at a time when most Americans spend a great deal of time and money trying to make their lives easier. Yet, to state the obvious, running a marathon isn’t easy. That’s part of its appeal.

A marathon is akin to a religious experience and, like enlightenment, there’s no shortcut. First of all, 26.2 miles is a long way—even if the sun is shining, the runner is adequately trained, and the planets are aligned. The corollary to the long distance is the generous amount of time for things to go wrong. Muscles do not become less tired, blisters do not go away, and a slight chafing does not become less irritating over time. Minor annoyances can become significant over the course of a marathon.

Even under the happiest of circumstances, every runner—first-timer and elite athlete alike—is out of ready energy stores, at least slightly dehydrated, and extremely fatigued by the 22-mile mark. If she actually listened to her body, the marathoner would stop immediately, take some aspirin, and lie down.
Instead, she must tap into some other source of inspiration. And even though the fatigue is a lot like pain, finding this hidden strength is so beautiful, surprising, and captivating that it overrides the discomfort. It’s the ugly duckling discovering she’s a swan; it’s Clark Kent discovering he’s Superman. This revelation of power and beauty is available to both the five-hour finisher and the front-runner. That’s why a person runs her second marathon.

For elite runners, the aim is not so much finishing as finishing within a certain time. To qualify to run the Olympic Trials Marathon, a woman must complete a certified marathon in less than two hours, 48 minutes. Over a period of 23 years, Docherty has run more than 25 marathons and is the only person in the U.S. to qualify for six Olympic Trials Marathons.

Most recently, she ran a qualifying time of 2:46 at the Austin Motorola Marathon (alongside former Iowa runners Jenny Spangler, 86BS, and Ann Dobrowolski Flynn, 86BS, 90MAT). Seven weeks later, on April 3, she finished in 68th place at the 2004 Olympic Trials Marathon in Saint Louis in a time of 2:52, or 6:56 minutes per mile. Such a feat invites comment about speed, endurance, determination. Instead, as a 45-year-old mother, wife, teacher, coach, and volunteer, Docherty talks about balance.

“I don’t feel like I’ve sacrificed any part of my life. I don’t think I’d be a better runner if I didn’t teach and I don’t feel like I’d be a better mom if I didn’t run,” she says. “In fact, one makes the other possible. I love my family, I love teaching, and I love running. It gives me balance to have all these things in my life.”

Many elite-level runners require a coach, a special diet, physical therapy, aerodynamic gear, and winter training alternatives. Docherty uses a calendar. It reads like this: “Danny soccer 5:30-8,” “Jenny game @ 7:30,” “Laura basketball,” “Kevin piano,” “Allergy 4:00.”

“Mom is always back [from her run] in time to get everyone ready for school. Sometimes she gives up some sleep to get everything done,” observes Jenny, the oldest of the Docherty clan, who runs track in the spring.

Of course, there are a few other factors that facilitate the efficacy of the calendar—Docherty now teaches part-time, she runs only one or two marathons per year, and she couldn’t tell you who was kicked off the Survivor island. Most weeks, Docherty runs about 40 miles. When she’s training for a race, she revs it up to an hour a day, covering about 60 miles a week.
Jim Docherty, 79BS, a former Iowa 800-meter standout and current regional manager for Nike, acts as his wife’s sounding board and biggest fan. “Even though she has marathon preparation down to a very efficient and effective system, I’m still amazed that she consistently finds the time to do it,” he says. “Nothing much stops her.”

Docherty runs outside through Minnesota winters, though she recently joined a health club and hits the treadmill in particularly vile conditions. She’s never suffered frostbite, but once fell on ice and broke a rib a week before an Olympic Trials Marathon. She wrapped the ribs and carried on. She credits her work ethic and passion for physical fitness to growing up on a farm in Iowa and playing basketball. “After you’ve walked beans and detassled corn,” she says, “running a marathon doesn’t seem that hard.”

Like many successful marathon runners, Docherty fell into the sport because she was cut from another. “Basketball was my first love, but at 5’2,” my future was limited,” she says. “Luckily, my high school basketball coach required us all to run track for fitness.”

In her five years at Iowa, Docherty played basketball as a freshman (she hadn’t quite accepted her destiny as a distance runner) and had four years of eligibility for cross-country, which the university established as a sport her sophomore year. She ran her first marathon at age 22 with a college teammate “just to see if we could hold seven-minute [per mile] pace.” She did—and placed second among women.

The word in marathoning circles is that a runner has ten years after her first marathon to continue to improve. Docherty, who has cast long shadows of doubt on that concept, figures time off for pregnancies and injuries enabled her extended run of success.

Having participated in the inaugural women’s Olympic Trials Marathon in 1984, Docherty has always found special significance in the event. “The Trials is always such a celebration of women and women’s athletics,” she beams. “I’ve met all these really neat women—women who have overcome obstacles, who are so upbeat and positive, who are doctors, lawyers, moms, and fantastic runners! And it’s such a small field, it feels like a party.”

In fact, for most of this select party, the Marathon Trials is an end in itself, since only about 20 of that group are serious contenders for a top-three finish and subsequent place on the Olympic team. Spaced at four-year intervals, these trials are photographs of Docherty’s life circumstances.

“Not that long ago, the longest distance for women at the Olympics was 1,500 meters, which is less than a mile, because the general consensus in sports was that women simply couldn’t run farther,” she explains. “In 1988, my first child was a year old and I was working full-time but I thought, ‘I’m really going to go for it.’ I didn’t do that well and was hugely disappointed at first. Then I looked at how full my life was and thought that maybe doing really well in the trials wasn’t that big a deal. And it hasn’t been since then.”

Docherty is perhaps most proud of her 1992 performance, even though her time was some 15 minutes off her best of 2:38. She had three children, the youngest of whom was only four months old and still nursing. She qualified between pregnancies and despite the fact that the standard was tougher that year (2:45). “Another new mom and I were dead last for at least five miles, but I slowly caught people and finished as high place-wise as I ever have (54th place). I had to buy a bigger singlet that year,” she remarks ruefully, thinking of her nursing mother physique.

In 2000, she ran with a broken rib in the stifling heat and humidity of South Carolina. She recalls, “All the kids came to that one because I thought it might be my last.”

It wasn’t, but the road to the 2004 trials was full of potholes. Injuries, bitter winter weather, and two heartbreaking shortfalls put her determination to the test. She made the trials-qualifying mark with less than two minutes to spare.
Despite two demanding races in the space of two months, Docherty feels quite limber. “I hope to be running for the rest of my life,” she says. “As far as Olympic Marathon Trials go, as long as I’m enjoying my running, it only takes a few more hours and a couple faster workouts per week to be competitive.”

She plans on taking it easy for a few weeks, which is probably a good thing since report cards are due, she has a track meet to organize, and the kids’ sports are in full swing. The balance thing again.