Orange Bowl 1983

By Coach Adolfo Salgueiro

I’ve written about my first marathon in bits and pieces throughout this blog, but I’ve never written anywhere about my entire recollection of that 1983 Orange Bowl Marathon. This upcoming January 22nd will be the 39th anniversary of my race. So, before my memories keep fading away, I better put all I can recall into paper (or digital format).

I was a 17-year-old high school senior living in Caracas, Venezuela. I always kept active by running, practicing karate, baseball, soccer, tennis, hiking, swimming, biking and whatever came along. Running a marathon was a goal somewhere on the backburner, but, thanks to my dad, I got the chance to fulfill it earlier than expected.

I believe we arrived in Miami the day before the Saturday race. We stayed in a hotel in downtown and went to a spacious hotel ballroom nearby, to pick up our bibs. I remember being blown away by the technology of the day, when my bib was printed before my eyes, instead of being ready ahead of time. I don’t recall an expo, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t there. I read, maybe in that day’s Miami Herald, that none other than the legendary Bill Rodgers was the favorite to win.

This is the only picture I have from the race, but it is one of the best running pictures ever taken of me. Check out the detail of the untied shoe with no socks, to which I make reference, later in the post.

I also recall my dad buying me a Casio stopwatch, so I could keep track of my marathon time. I had that Casio for years. I don’t remember how I lost it or when it broke, but I’ve seen it in pictures from the early 90s.

On race morning we met with the Venezuelan runners, most of them where my dad’s buddies, at the hotel lobby. The one thing I vividly remember was asking for a coffee at the hotel bar and getting a gigantic cup of black, diluted, disgusting American coffee. At home, a small cup of good coffee with a generous amount of milk would start off the day.

One of the runners had rented a sports car and somehow, more people than was safe crammed inside for a short drive to the majestic (at lease in my eyes) Orange Bowl Stadium. This is where the Miami Dolphins, who were playing the Super Bowl next week, held their home games.

Before time chips, you had to present yourself and your bib to the organizers, so they knew you were at the starting line. Somehow, we could not find the registration table. We were looking for it like crazy until we realized this was going to be based on the honor system.

I recall nothing about the starting gun, crossing the starting line or conversations along the way. I do remember, though, my dad constantly reining me in because I was going too fast. He also reminded me to take water every so often, as the humidity was exceedingly high.

My dad has one indelible memory of the race. After a rainy patch along the way, we found ourselves running next to a woman with a drenched, white outfit that left nothing to the imagination. At  17 and with raging hormones, I couldn’t but get distracted by the magnificent side show. My dad had to bring me back to the race at hand. There is no marathon talk in my household where this story doesn’t come up.

The course had two in-and-out segments (Coral Way and Coconut Grove). Both times, as we were going in, the pack led by Bill Rodgers, was coming out. For a 17-year-old kid from Caracas, seeing the legendary Bill Rodgers, running in the same race within a few meters from each other, was the highlight of the event. It was the equivalent of participating in the same Monaco Gran Prix with Niki Lauda or playing in Veterans Stadium, side-by-side with Mike Schmidt. It was that improbable.

Sometime during the Covid lockdown of 2020, my friend Starr Davis invited me to participate on a Zoom call with Rodgers. At the end, I had the chance to asked him what he remembered form the 1983 Orange Bowl. Surprisingly, he recalled a lot. Starr recorded the interaction with her cellphone. I invite you to check the video, which I have included right here.

Most of my memories of the 1983 Orange Bowl Marathon are from the last 7.2 kilometers (4.5 miles). I recall them vividly because I suffered miserably. My dad and I agreed to run together for 35 kilometers (21.8 miles), and from there, each one would run his own race. By kilometer 35.1 he had already left me in the dust. I slowed down and started walking. I was drenched, tired, hungry, and questioning what the fuck was I doing there, instead of being at home in Caracas, maybe getting ready to play baseball with my buddies.

At one point, it had to be closer to the end, I took my shoes off and started walking on my socks. The shoes were heavy, and I considered just tossing them to the side, but then I thought of my dad getting upset, as they were the shoes he let me borrow, so I decided to keep them. Wise choice.

A friend of my dad, the late Jose Ortega, saw me close to the end and ran a bit with me with words of encouragement. I promised him I would finish so I discarded my socks, put on the shoes, which I did not tie, and started running. The next memory I have is of my dad and some Venezuelan runners at the entrance of the stadium, cheering me on. As I hit the grass, I started sprinting like crazy. To this day I can’t figure out how my shoes didn’t fly off my feet. Check them in the accompanying picture. Not only untied, but open at the top.

37 years later, I got my hands on a medal from the race

I lifted my arms as I crossed the finish line and, one way or another, I found my dad and collapsed. My first thought was: “When are we doing the next one?”

I knew my time was around 4:11 but I did not know for sure. I wouldn’t find until months later when I got my finisher’s certificate in the mail, that my official time was 4:11:11. I also got a proof of one picture in case I wanted to order it. It is the only image I have from the entire experience. Thank God is one of the best pictures ever taken of me running.

In those days, medals were not ubiquitous or for everybody, and I did not get one. In September 2020 I found one on eBay and jumped on it. If you care to read about the 37-year medal saga you can check the blog post I wrote about it by clicking here.

Sorry if this blogpost ran longer than usual, but I am trying to recall as much as I can. Yes, I could have waited until next year, the 40th anniversary, but by then, I may forget something else. And I can always repost.