Annabel Marsh and Caroline Merrill Cross Country Run 1984 – Runner’s World

Long distance running was considered by many to be an unhealthy, even dangerous activity for women . But thanks to trailblazers like Bobbi Gibb and Kathrine Switzer, and the changing rules of major sports bodies—like the passage of Title IX in 1972, and the addition of the women’s marathon in the 1984 Olympics—more and more women were joining the ranks as long distance runners.

While the names Marsh and Merrill aren’t as well known, they’re trailblazers, too, as they pushed the boundaries in a sport during a time when women were just beginning to be afforded the same opportunities as men. Marsh had 100 marathons to her name when she passed away in 2008 at the age of 85, and Merrill, who resides in San Francisco, has continued to stay active in her mid-70s.

“If you really want to do something, you just set out and put it together and go do it,” Merrill told Runner’s World. “Nothing is going to stop you, except yourself.”

The Spark That Lit the Fire

Like many innovative ideas, the spark for the cross-country trek came up on a run. During a Saturday morning group run in Golden Gate Park, Merrill told Marsh about a Valentine’s Day card she sent to her parents in Michigan. In it, she congratulated them on their 50th anniversary—and told them she’d run home to help them celebrate.

To Merrill’s surprise, not only did Marsh approve of the idea, but she wanted in, too.

By this time, Marsh had been running for years, well before the “running boom” of the 1970s. At first, she would only lace up in the early morning hours when no one would see her—a testament to her passion to run, since those were the years the Zodiac killer was still on the loose in the city.

But her confidence grew as she progressed from a single block to a mile and then to marathons. She had even been tossing around the idea of a cross-country run for years before Merrill brought it up that day in the park, though her idea had never come to fruition.

As Merrill and Marsh continued their Saturday-morning run, their enthusiasm grew. Merrill had only been running for six years at the time, but it was something she knew she could do.

“We were back-of-the-pack runners,” Merrill explained. “But you have to have that attitude, ‘I can do this.’”

As they downed their favorite postrun drinks—a Pepsi for Merrill, a beer for Marsh—the idea became a spark that caught fire: Why stop at Michigan when they could run clear across the country? They could begin with the Boston Marathon in April and continue West until they reached the Golden Gate Bridge, just in time to run the San Francisco Marathon in August. It would be Marsh’s 50th take on 26.2.

In her book, In the Long Run, which Marsh printed only for her family and friends, she remembers being so excited that night that she couldn’t sleep. The idea was unimaginable, but she had pushed passed that kind of barrier before.

“Didn’t I run my first marathon, even though my husband said I could never run that far because I was too old? I showed him. I ran my first marathon when I was 48 years old,” she wrote. “Didn’t I become a long-range planning analyst at U.S. Steel, when Ben said I didn’t have what it takes to become part of the management team? I showed him then, too. Ben, my husband of 23 years, now deceased, wouldn’t be here to tell me I couldn’t make it, but nonetheless, I would show him.”

Planning the Journey

Once their idea was set, they recruited two other people: Marsh’s workout partner, June Wydler, 48, would serve as a third runner, and her boyfriend as the driver of their supply van.

“The Egyptians build the pyramids with three sides because it would afford the strongest possible configuration,” Marsh wrote. “If one side became weak, the other two would become stronger to take up the load.”

Then, with the help of Don Bajema, the coach of their local running club, the Dolphin South End Runners, they planned out what their runs would look like on the road: Fifteen miles in the morning and 15 more after lunch—17 minutes of running interspersed with three minutes of walking. They’d do this six days a week.

Once the logistics were figured out, training took center stage as they upped their mileage from 40 a week. They started completing three-week cycles, where they would run 80-mile weeks for two weeks, and then 30 miles for six days a week—a 180-mile week—on the third.

The training was intense and time-consuming. Marsh, who had taken early retirement, had the time to dedicate her entire life to the training. She did this with vigor—she was so tenacious with her training, after all, that she had previously earned the nickname “iron balls.” Merrill quit her full-time job as an executive assistant at an engineering firm to work part-time so she could train with fervor, too.

Following the advice of long distance runners in the area, Marsh and Merrill competed in any local marathon or ultramarathon they could gain entry into. On one occasion, they competed in the Reno Marathon and drove to Stockton to run that marathon the following day. Marsh even completed an organized group run from Los Angeles to San Francisco—a 382-mile trek—during the training build-up.

For two years, Merrill and Marsh sacrificed and dedicated their lives to the goal in order to be prepared for the rigors ahead. Even with hours of planning and thousands of miles on foot ahead of them, Merrill and Marsh never wavered in the pursuit, which was about to take on an even bigger meaning.

“That’s part of how you do things, you become devoted to it, and train and seek out advice and listen to it,” Merrill said.

Starting the Trek

In February of 1981, the International Olympic Committee announced the inclusion of a women’s marathon at the 1984 Olympic Games. The news inspired Merrill and Marsh, who dedicated their run to honor that event.

So on April 14, 1984, Marsh, Merrill, and Wydler took their first steps on the 3,261-mile journey on the streets of Boston—not on the route of the Marathon, as they originally hoped, but at the local Greyhound station instead.

“Starting our trek at the Greyhound station instead of the race turned out to be even better,” Marsh wrote. “We were singled out, unique, special. We were not at the back of the pack, we were the pack!”

But after they set out, tensions rose among the group, and physical injuries popped up, too: Shin splints, foot problems, severe blisters, and even a broken tooth are just some of the issues the group dealt with throughout the trip.

But despite the physical and emotional toll the miles took on the runners, the mission remained at the forefront.

“Thinking about the aches and pains we’d already sustained on the road, things that would have kept us from running at home for two weeks, we laughed,” Marsh wrote. “Now we just got up and ran the next day….We never thought about not running.” As Merrill said, they simply dealt with whatever problems they had.

As they ran West, they passed hosts of women who were inspired by their journey—like the older woman from Indiana with arthritis in her knee who told them, “You’re doing this for me,” and a grandmother in the Midwest who took her grandchildren out to see because she “wanted them to see history being made.”

Then, with just over 1,000 miles remaining in the trek, Wydler suffered from an injury that derailed her journey. By the time they reached Salt Lake City, she and her boyfriend flew back to San Francisco so she could heal. Merrill’s sister stepped in as the driver, but Merrill and Marsh were on their own running for the rest of it.

But that wasn’t a problem for the two women: They developed a bond well beyond that of running partners. They shared a room every single night and never entered into an argument that couldn’t be resolved quickly.

“We worked as a team with our goal always in mind,” Marsh wrote. “Caroline would bandage my blisters and I would tape her feet for her shin splints. She would get dinner if I couldn’t move off the bed, and I would do the same if she was extraordinarily weary. She never complained about her physical problems, and I tried to suppress mine.”

Finishing Strong—and Looking Toward the Future

Just as women across the country were inspired by the journey, Merrill and Marsh were getting their own dose of motivation, too. With just a few days left on their journey, the first ever women’s Olympic Marathon was held on August 5, 1984 in Los Angeles. While Marsh and Merrill braved the unbearable heat in Nevada, Joan Benoit Samuelson made history in Los Angeles as the first women’s Olympic champion in the marathon.

“It was ironic that the mini-TV I had brought along had not worked at all in these mountains, but today at our break, we turned it on, and for some reason, the reception was perfect,” Merrill wrote in her journal that day. “We saw the finish of the women’s Olympic marathon and the spectacular win by Joan Benoit. We could not believe it, and our run took on greater significance.”

By the time they reached the end of their trip, Marsh was so excited she couldn’t sleep, kept awake with thoughts of all the people she cared about who helped her through it—Merrill in particular.

“Something of this magnitude is successful only because a lot of people cared, and I knew it,” Marsh wrote.

But once the Marsh and Merrill broke the ribbon in San Francisco, their story didn’t end. In the years that followed, the two friends worked together to create more opportunities for other female runners. Both were instrumental leaders in the “Peak Busters,” a running group that encouraged women to train for and compete at the Pikes Peak Marathon.

“We’d get over a 100 first-timers coming to our meetings wanting to do it,” Merrill said. “And so we really, really encouraged women to train. If you want to do something like that, it’s challenging, but you can do it.”

Marsh, who passed away on November 26, 2008 at the age of 85, went on to complete a total of 100 marathons in her lifetime—including her last at San Francisco when she was 73. According to her obituary, her final wish was for her friends and family to remember her by taking a hike or joining the Dolphin South End Runners for a run.

Merrill remembers her friend as the confident, passionate runner who made her dream a reality.

“She turned 61 en route, and I watched her take every single step. And to this day, that was a real accomplishment at her age, and she did it,” Merrill said. “To me, that is still the most amazing thing. It was her love, and by gosh, she did it.”

As for Merrill, she kept running long well after her cross-country journey, completing 30 marathons during her running career. Now, at 78, she’s done pounding the pavement, and instead has turned to hiking, tackling ascents like the Grand Canyon in Arizona, the Camino de Santiago in Spain, and Mt. Whitney, among others.

Just as running was for so many years, hiking has given Merrill a transformative opportunity–to set and accomplish new goals, no matter the scale.

“No mountain really scares me, as long as you train for it,” Merrill said.