At age 46 in 1966, my doctor advised me that if I didn’t stop smoking, I probably would not live to see any grandchildren. I had been smoking for 30 years since high school. During World War II, while flying anti-submarine patrols in the Pacific for the U.S. Marine Corps, I would smoke one cigarette after another. At 46, I would light a cigarette before I got out of bed.
I took my doctor’s advice and quit “cold turkey.” I left his office that day and on the way, I tossed my pack of cigarette in the street corner receptacle. I tell this story as evidence that if you quite early enough, you can un-do the harmful effects of heavy smoking for 30 years as I did.
At the same time as I quit smoking, a neighbor told me how much he was enjoying jogging around the reservoir in Central Park every morning before breakfast. He invited me to join him for the next morning, saying, “I will be at your door tomorrow morning at 7am and I will keep knocking on your door until you appear.” This was an offer that was hard to refuse, and I went to the back of my closet and found my black, high-top Keds sneakers.
The next morning, I discovered that I immediately enjoyed jogging around the reservoir. The following morning, I was late and my friend left without me. When I arrived at the reservoir, I jogged clockwise so as to meet him. However, when I saw him in the distance, I left the track and hid in the bushes until he passed me. Then, jumping out and catching up with him, I recognized by his look he was thinking, Jon must be in terrific shape. He caught up with me and he’s not even breathing heavily. Of course, I told him the next morning what I had done, and we laughed and told the story to others many times over.
I progressed from once around the reservoir to twice – and then to the four-mile loop around Central Park every morning, weather permitting. Jogging clock-wise, I started to frequently encounter a group of six-to-eight joggers, going counter-clockwise. In time, they invited me to join them. They were the 72nd Street Marathoning and Pasta Club, started by Carl Landegger, who was an early sponsor of the New York Road Runners Club.
Early on, I met Fred Lebow, who in my view is one of the most unrecognized and unappreciated individuals of the past century. Fred was the father of the running and marathoning movement, which spread rapidly throughout the world and has influenced many people to lead active, healthy lives. Fred and I occasionally ran together and started one marathon together, which of course he finished ahead of me.
Jack Rudin, whose father was an early runner in the 1920s, was among the original founders and supporters of the New York Marathon. Our friendship included our both being trustees of a New York religious institution.
Dick Traum, who founded the Achilles Track Club, serving the needs of disabled runners, created a worldwide network of Achilles track clubs. I have tremendous admiration for him and am proud to call him a friend. I have tremendous admiration for his having made a difference in the lives of so many people.
The New York Road Runners Club was started in 1958 with mainly elite runners. I started eight years later in 1966 at age 46. The first New York City Marathon was held in 1970. My first marathon was in 1977 at 57. To this day, I can recall the euphoria of that day when they placed a ribbon and medal around my neck. Thirty years later, in 2016, completing my 16th New York Marathon at 96, the euphoria was no less. Following finishing the 2016 New York Marathon, I received a letter from Gen. Robert B. Neller, Commandant of the U.S. Marine Corps, saying, “Dear. Col. Mendes, Incredible! Thanks for motivating the entire Marine Corps.”
Two marathons stand out in my memory – aside from my first and last. In 2005, at the age of 85, walking with Carl Landegger and several Achilles Track Club volunteers, we stopped at mile 18 on First Avenue and purchased a beer for each of us to fortify us for the remaining walk. Then in 2010, with Carl once again accompanying me together with my grandson, Daniel, at mile 23 I experienced severe back pains and withdrew to sit on a bench for about five minutes. Carl and Daniel believed I was through, but I finally got up and continued until we met Carl’s and my family at mile 24 with hot tea for us. I managed the last two miles, just holding on, and I finished in the dark at an unknown time because the clock had been stopped earlier.
My last marathon actually started four years earlier in 2013. The all-time oldest finisher of the New York Marathon was 93, and I set a goal of joining him in that record. However, at mile 6, I experienced severe exhaustion and withdrew to discover I was anemic and was sent to the hospital for a transfusion. The next year, at 94, I withdrew at mile 13 with severe back pains and took a subway home. In 2015, at age 95, I reached Manhattan at mile 16, but withdrew with leg cramps and took a taxi home.
In 2016 at 96, when I reached the Bronx at mile 20 with six miles to go and no pains, I knew I would make it and I did, to officially become the oldest finisher of all previous New York Marathons. In the scheme of things, it was not a significant goal, but a very satisfying one to accomplish. It was miraculously painless. At no time did I experience leg or back pains – only fatigue. Toward the end, my trainer Tom Mangan and Achilles volunteer Art Berman were of enormous help. For the last six miles I held onto their jackets to steady myself. When I arrived at the finish line, about 11-1/2 hours after the start, the marathon director Peter Ciaccia came forward and placed a ribbon and medal around my neck, saying, “Semper Fi, Marine” and this tired Marine colonel replied, “Do or die.”
Thus, ended my 50-year journey to complete the 26-mile New York City Marathon at 96 and become the all-time oldest finisher.
