SEPTEMBER 27, 1999
Phil Mulkey
Luckily for ordinary competitors with ambitions to win, relatively few former Olympians or other world-class athletes appear at the Senior Games. Perhaps they don’t want to smudge the public memory of their heroic youth. Phil Mulkey, 66, is an exception—a former Olympian who will compete in the Games who has an additional explanation for the absence of other stars of long ago.“Part of the reason may be that they are just worn out,” he says. The ordeals of a young superathlete’s training and competition have an aftermath. “I can tell you that my bones, my joints, my muscles hurt,” says Mulkey.
 A skinny, resourceful farm kid in Missouri, Mulkey used the head of a post maul as a shot put, a plow disk as a discus, a pitchfork handle as a javelin. He cut a bamboo tree into a pole and vaulted onto the garage. That was the beginning of a career that took him to the 1960 Olympics in Rome. Going into the finals in the decathlon, he needed only to clear his usual height of 14 ft. 10 in., in the pole vault to win a bronze medal. But he pulled a groin muscle and had to withdraw.
Despite that devastating defeat, he never lost his passion for sports. Mulkey continued to compete through the ’60s, winning national titles as a decathlete. Along the way, he got married, raised four children, became a school headmaster and later tried his hand at several businesses in Atlanta.
To prepare for the Senior Games, Mulkey sprints daily along the streets of Marietta, Ga., outside Atlanta, and pole vaults an average of three times a week. He then downs a breakfast that would turn a health faddist ashen: scrambled eggs, sausage and biscuits and two hotcakes at a local fast-food spot. Vitamins B and C are the only supplements he takes.
Pain is a constant—sharper on some days than others. “Some things I dread,” he says,” like coming down the runway for the first pole vault. I say, oh, God, I hate to do this. Once you begin to loosen up, it’s O.K.”
Mulkey does not put himself through agony for the sake of fitness or fellowship. He goes to the Senior Games to win. Before and after the competition, he is sociable, but not during. “The adrenaline gets going, and how can you combine that with cordiality?” he asks. “I’m the worst guy out there.” Or perhaps the best. Since 1989, he has won 15 gold medals and has set 14 national Senior Games records in pole vault, high jump, long jump, discus and shot put.
Dale Herring
Mission Viejo, Calif., has a lofty level of Olympic consciousness. Greg Louganis used to work out at the local multipool swimming complex. The bicycle races of the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics ran on its roads. So acute is Mission Viejo’s awareness of sports that keeping athletic talent a secret is impossible. Dale Herring, 53, went out for his usual walk and jog with his wife Kathryn one morning a few years ago; on impulse, he decided to sprint around a curve, something he had not done in 30 years. Inevitably, he was spotted. The observer, a collegiate coach, urged Herring to run competitively.
Once again, athletics are shaping his life, as they did when he was a youthful basketball, softball and track star. He trains as many as six days a week with one or two extreme workouts that include 60-m sprints, a 300-m blowout and leg squats with 275 lbs. on his shoulders. He has a litany of advice for senior beginners: Start gradually and rest at least three days a week. Sprinters who have not run since college can expect two years of training before their muscles, tendons and nervous systems are working at peak. After a hard workout or meet, the body starts crashing; it must take in protein in the next 30 to 45 min. or it will not rebound for the next day’s activities. If you do not start lifting weights by age 50, you will lose 10% of your muscle mass by 60.
As he gets older, Herring gets faster: at 53, he runs the 100 m in 12.2 sec. and the 200 m in 25.3 sec.—comparable to the best high school female sprinters today. One of his best moments, however, had nothing to do with individual triumph. It came during the ’97 Games in Tucson, Ariz. He and his eight rivals in the 50-to-54 men’s 100-m race were approaching the starting line, their thoughts turned inward. They were the stars, the racehorses. They looked up and saw that just ahead of them, the women 85 and older—the slowest contenders on the field—were starting their 100 m. “Spontaneously, we jumped up and down and cheered them on—‘Go! Go!’” recalls Herring. “Then we fell into silence and blasted down the course. When we crossed the finish line, the ladies were there, cheering like crazy for us. It was really great.” That’s senior gamesmanship.
<<BACK | MORE>>
PAGE 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |
