
<DOC>
<DOCNO>
WSJ910326-0090
</DOCNO>
<DOCID>
910326-0090.
</DOCID>
<HL>
   He Paints Still Lifes
   But John Kelley, 83,
   Is Still on the Move
   ---
   He Lives for Boston Marathon
   Which He'll Be in April 15,
   Running His 60th Race
   ----
   By Joseph Pereira
   Staff Reporter of The Wall Street Journal
</HL>
<DATE>
03/26/91
</DATE>
<SO>
WALL STREET JOURNAL (J), PAGE A1
</SO>
<IN>
RECREATION, ENTERTAINMENT, TOYS, MOVIES, PHOTOGRAPHY, SPORTS (REC)
ENTERTAINMENT AND LEISURE (ENT)
</IN>
<LP>
   EAST DENNIS, Mass. -- It's 5:30 a.m., an icy rain is
falling from an indigo sky, and there's a stiff northeaster.
This Cape Cod country road is deserted, but for the sweaty
silhouette of John Kelley.
   Bounding up a hill in his thin green Windbreaker, with
sand from the beach blowing into his face, Mr. Kelley shouts
over the howling gale: "This isn't too bad, you know," he
says, though the wind chill factor is about 20 below.
</LP>
<TEXT>
Mr. Kelley is in training for the Boston Marathon -- his 60th Boston Marathon. And even at the age of 83, he probably will finish ahead of a large number of the 13,000 runners expected to compete -- officially or unofficially -- on April 15.

Bill Rodgers, a four-time Boston Marathon winner who plans to run again this year, marvels at Mr. Kelley: "It's incomprehensible that a man his age is doing what he's doing. I'm struggling at the age of 43. . . . This isn't golf."

Even the thought of running a course of 26 miles and 385 yards leaves some of Mr. Kelley's rivals of yesteryear gasping. "Aghast is more like it," says Leslie Pawson, 86, a three-time Boston champion who ran against Mr. Kelley half a century ago. "My doctor says: `No running, whatsoever.' I can't even remember when I ran my last marathon."

John Adelbert Kelley is a throwback to a time when marathoners did it for glory and cab fare. A two-time winner in Boston (1935 and 1945) and runner-up seven times, Mr. Kelley is to be the oldest competitor in the race this year -- as he has been for 15 years.

Mr. Kelley is such an institution that Hopkinton, Mass., where the race begins, has made him an honorary citizen. ("That means I don't have to pay taxes there," he jokes.) Two state troopers will run alongside the 5-foot-6, 130-pound Mr. Kelley into Boston so he won't be trampled by "groupies," as he calls them, clamoring to shake his hand. Last year, five Japanese runners were waved away by the bodyguards, as they sidled up to the old celebrity during the race. Recalls Suni Tomomitsu, one of the runners: "At first we thought, `Oh, wow, he's like Mafia man.' Then we said, `Oh no, this is nice Johnny Kelley.' In Japan, he is awesome."

Though he isn't the oldest person ever to enter the Boston Marathon, Mr. Kelley is the oldest to run it. Peter Foley, who was born in 1859, was a regular until he was well into his 80s. But he walked the course. Starting at dawn (six hours before the official noon start), Mr. Foley would eventually saunter across the finish line in the moonlight.

Of course, Mr. Kelley -- not to be confused with the other John Kelley, who won the Boston Marathon in 1957 -- isn't the runner he was in 1935 when he won the race, in 2 hours, 32 minutes, 7 seconds. His best time ever was in 1945: 2 hours, 30 minutes, 40 seconds. Last year he finished in 5 hours, 5 minutes. He hopes to do better in 1991. "That's not a prediction, just a goal," he says.

When John Kelley first toed the line in 1928, George Bush wasn't yet in kindergarten, Joe DiMaggio was an unknown and Nike was the winged goddess of victory, not a running shoe. In those days, Mr. Kelley recalls, he ran in black leather high-jumping shoes that he cut open at the toes with a razor blade. "I would have loved to run with the worst pair of sneakers on the market today," he says.

Back then, the sport didn't have much of a following. Today, of course, the Boston Marathon is a big deal, covered by TV from start to finish and offering $402,000 altogether in prize money.

"The winners get a medal and $55,000," says Mr. Kelley. "I got a medal and beef stew. God bless them," he adds. "They deserve it."

The rosy-cheeked, supple Mr. Kelley is a medical wonder. Each year, he visits the Cooper Clinic at the Aerobics Center in Dallas for a battery of endurance tests. "Physiologically, whatever that means, I got all A's," Mr. Kelley reports of his checkup four months ago.

"What that means," explains Kenneth Cooper, the physician who wrote "Aerobics" and several sequels and is now at work on a book on elderly athletes, "is that Johnny has the body of a man 23 years younger. He's going to be one of the stars of my book." Mr. Kelley's resting pulse rate -- 60 beats a minute -- is well below the average person's 72 beats. (That's good.) On the stress test the clinic gives, Mr. Kelley holds the endurance record for his age group.

A mechanic for Boston Edison Co. before he retired in 1972, Mr. Kelley started running in the evenings after work more than six decades ago. His only purpose was to relax and have some fun. "All day long, I did what my boss told me to do," he recalls. "But when I ran at night, I felt free. I ran till I was exhausted."

In 1928, when he was 21, he entered his first Boston Marathon but didn't finish. He dropped out three-quarters of the way through the race. Then, in 1933, he finished 37th in a field of about 200 runners. In all the years since, he has missed the race just once, in 1967. (He has competed, all told, in 112 marathons, including the 1936 and 1948 Olympics.

Mr. Kelley well knows the jagged course from Hopkinton to downtown Boston:

The first challenge comes five miles into the race, where a set of little hills can get a psyched runner to waste energy charging up the slopes. A mile and a half later, there's new reason to beware: The smells of Cavanaugh's Bakery can set off hunger pangs.

An Exxon station in Wellesley marks the halfway point. A steep descent into Newton Lower Falls can jar a tired runner's bones. Then, at the end of a long column of oak and maple trees, is Heartbreak Hill, his nemesis. It cost him at least two victories, he says. And finally there's the Haunted Mile, a stretch where many runners have collapsed. Boston's skyline, 2 1/2 miles in the distance, can seem so far away.    Though still going strong, Mr. Kelley acknowledges the marathon gets tougher each year. To compensate, he trains harder. He used to start preparing in earnest at the end of January. "In recent years, I've been in training 12 months a year," he says, though the serious stuff -- a daily one-hour run, sprints on the track and long, 2 1/2-hour runs every other week -- begins in December. (He doesn't count the miles he puts in, as many long-distance runners obsessively do, but he says he wouldn't object to an estimate of about 50 miles a week.)

Mr. Kelley always trains at 5 a.m., and alone: "It's a quiet time, no traffic; the air is fresh and sweet." His routes vary. In January, he prefers the frozen sands of the beach. With the approach of spring, he takes to the alder and scrub-pine hills and bluffs where the sun can be seen rising over Cape Cod Bay. After his morning run, he spends a couple of hours painting (still lifes and Cape Cod scenes), a hobby he took up about 25 years ago.

Unlike many runners, Mr. Kelley doesn't bother with stretching exercises before he runs in the morning. "This is my warm up: I empty the dishwasher, I set up the coffeepot, but I don't plug it in. I set up the breakfast table. Then I check the outside temperature to see what clothes to wear." He and his wife, Laura, live in a two-bedroom ranch-style house here in East Dennis, with more than 350 trophies, medals and sweat-stained marathon numbers scattered about. He isn't particular about brands of shoes ("I wear them all") or what he eats ("I never eat broccoli, but I love steak and ice cream.")

Mr. Kelley aims to run till he is at least 100 years old. "He's a strange man," says Laura Kelley, in awe of her husband's vigor. The 82-year-old Mrs. Kelley adds, "I just try to stay in his shadow, but I have a hard time even doing that."

In a rare moment of reflection, Mr. Kelley explains what makes him tick: "I paint because I like it. I run because I like it. If for some reason I don't finish the marathon, I don't owe an apology to anyone. But I'll tell you, the Boston Marathon -- with all those people waving -- is better than my birthday."
</TEXT>
</DOC>

