The race of a lifetime

BEMIDJI, Minn. — A northern Minnesota native, Dick Beardsley grew up helping on his grandfather’s dairy farm. However, it was not cows that made him famous. Beardsley began running marathons at the age of 21, and in 1982, ran the race of his life in the Boston Marathon — a famous contest dubbed the ‘Duel in the Sun.’ He finished the race 1.6 seconds behind Alberto Salazar, after running closely with him for miles.

“There aren’t many people, athletes in either a team or individual sport, that have gotten more bang for their buck, finishing second, than I did,” Beardsley said. “At the time, it was the closest Boston Marathon finish, ever. We both broke both the Boston and American records.”

Beardsley’s running career started in late high school. Growing up, Beardsley’s focus was on the outdoors, and long distance running — and even girls — were not even blips on his radar until his junior year of high school, in 1973. Believing that having a letter jacket was the key to popularity with the ladies, Beardsley made a brief and ill-fated attempt at football. Still in pursuit of that letter jacket, Beardsley was directed to the cross-country team.

“I didn’t even know what cross country was,” Beardsley said. “My first practice, the coach said we were going to run around the block. Now, I’d never run before, other than chasing cows, but I thought, surely I could keep up with my teammates around the block.”

Beardsley soon learned that around the block meant 3.2 miles — a distance he had never run chasing cows.

“I had to walk the last mile,” Beardsley said. “By the time I got back to the high school, my coach and teammates had all showered and gone home, but I had such a sense of accomplishment when I got done.”

Beardsley ran on the junior varsity team that year and found an affinity for running.

“The next summer, I ran every single day,” Beardsley said. “I didn’t miss a day. I didn’t run real far, but I ran every day. The first day of practice my senior year, we did that same block. Instead of everyone finishing in front of me, they all finished behind me.”

Beardsley attended the University of Minnesota Waseca, where he continued running.

“When I got to college, I could run 10,000 meters,” Beardsley said. “It seemed like the further I went, the better I was able to do. My coach told me I could become as good a runner as I wanted to be. I never forgot that, but I never thought running would take me where it did.”

That advice stuck with Beardsley, through the lowest moments of his life.

“There were many times I felt like giving up, that it wasn’t worth it,” Beardsley said. “Then I would remember that. I was blessed with great coaches; every one of them brought me to another level.”

Thinking back to the greatest race of his life, the 1982 Boston Marathon, Beardsley still remembers every detail.

“It was 75 degrees, no clouds,” Beardsley said. “Me and a guy named Alberto Salazar — he was the world record holder — had broken away from everybody and were just by ourselves at about 17 miles. I was in the lead, but he was right off my back.”

Beardsley recalled a 4-mile stretch in the course.

“I tried to break him on those hills and I couldn’t,” Beardsley said. “With about 900 meters to go, I had maybe a 5-yard lead on him, but I thought my legs were dead at that point. There were over 2 million spectators that day on the course, 20 deep on each side, with no fences. There was barely room for us to run.”

Eight Massachusetts state troopers on motorcycles were traveling in front of the runners, attempting to clear a path.

“With about 900 meters to go, I put in a hard surge and got a terrible cramp in my right hamstring,” Beardsley said. “It literally made me come to a stop, I was hurting so bad. Salazar went flying by me and he got about 100 meters on me. The troopers must have figured I was done, so they surrounded Salazar. There was a pothole I didn’t see and I nearly fell to the ground. When I almost fell, it popped the knot out, so I had my stride back.”

Beardsley was back in the race, heading to the top of Hereford Street.

“Back then you took a left-hand turn onto Ring Road, about 150 meters from the finish line,” Beardsley said. “I was flying, coming up on Salazar, I was just about ready to catch him. There were two or three state troopers who turned to the right, so they blocked me off and I had to go around them. I got caught back up to Salazar with about 100 meters to go, and then he started his kick just a stride before I did, and that is how it finished — he beat me by 1.6 seconds.”

The nature of the race and its outcome made it memorable for decades, Beardsley said.

“It was two young Americans,” he said. “We went at it, from the time the gun went off until the finish, hammering each other the whole way. That’s what keeps this race alive. Let’s say Salazar hadn’t been there, and I’d run the race in two hours, 10 minutes or something — I guarantee you nobody would remember that. But boy, they remember that race. It was 46 years ago, and I remember every second of that race like I ran it this morning.”

Missing victory by the narrowest of margins, human nature caused Beardsley to dissect his performance in the hours and days that followed. After analyzing every step, he has only pride and amazement at the race he ran.

“I couldn’t think of one thing I could have done differently,” Beardsley said. “I have no regrets, because neither of us left anything in the tank, and neither of us ever ran that fast again. That race took so much out of us. I would love to say I was a Boston Marathon champion. It’s the most prestigious race in the world — but it just wasn’t meant to be, and I have absolutely no regrets.”