Sweat Home, Alabama: My 90 Year-Old Mom Demonstrates Staying (Literally) on Track Into Your 6th Decade

Posted on July 23, 2025 by gretchenwing

Look carefully at the number on my mom’s back.

USATF Master’s Nationals, Huntsville, Alabama, July 19 2025

That “W 90” means what you think it means: the person wearing that number is a woman at least 90. I only saw one other “90” at the meet, and that was a man.

All weekend, people kept approaching my mom, Martha Klopfer, to tell her how inspirational she is. Her response was generally something along the lines of a shrug and an “All I do is keep going.”

Waving at her fans? No, probably just loosening up before the start of the 800.

Exactly.

Here she is, “keeping going” in the 800, at one p.m. in July in what felt like a caricature of a steamy Southern summer day:

And here are the results:

As you can see, she just nipped under the 6-minute mark. This was almost 30 seconds slower than a year ago. Just as she’d kept reminding us, Mom hadn’t been training as much; COVID, then the chaos of the death of their farm’s last two equines (the Brown Boys) had pulled her off her schedule.

That race earned her the rest of the afternoon off. The younger part of her support team–me, my oldest sister & her husband–took our GIANT rental car…

Couldn’t resist this picture of the hood, which a storm decorated with a tiny snippet of pink crepe myrtle!

…to Huntsville’s main tourist attraction, the U.S. Space and Rocket Center.

My brother-in-law kept coaching me: “Not a ‘rocket,’ Gretch–it’s a Saturn V!”

Even for a non-space-geek like me, it was pretty cool.

Next morning, the 1500 was blessedly scheduled before the heat took hold. Since I’m my mother’s daughter when it comes to competitiveness, I had to give myself quite the talking-to, not to hope for a national record in this longer distance either. (After all, she ran a 10:55 last year, and the record is 11:30!)

The 15 starts around the turn, so we had to watch them line up via Jumbotron.

Sure enough…she ran her hardest…every step an inspiration…

…and finished strong, at 11:59.

And I do mean strong! She beat at least two women–maybe 3?–in younger age groups.

Was she happy and proud? Were we all, especially her coach, my dad?

Go ahead and call her “inspirational,” as I did–reminding her that simply seeing her out there was the inspiration–records, shmrecords.

She’ll laugh and shrug.

Next week: Wait, did you say ALABAMA??? Tell me more.

Mamma Mia, Here She Goes Again, Again…Again! When You’re 90, a World Record’s Beside the Point

Posted on July 14, 2025 by gretchenwing

Here’s what my mom, Martha Klopfer, said about the upcoming USA Track & Field Masters meet in Huntsville, Alabama:

“My intention is to show up and run my best on that day.”

This time a year ago, at 89, she set an American record in the 1500m: 10:55.45.

Now she’s 90. New age group.

Will that mean a world record, in the 800m? In the 1500?

Does it matter?

Here are three moments to take:

Right now, think about what Martha’s race means to women athletes of all kinds.

2. Next weekend, take a moment to cheer: Marth-A! Marth-A!

3. After next weekend, take a moment to tune back in and see what Martha has to say this time.

Mamma Mia: My 89 Year-old Mom Sets An American Track Record

Posted on July 23, 2024 by gretchenwing

(Spoiler alert.)

Also, I need to correct a mistake from my previous post, wherein I stated Mom was going for the WORLD record. That one, turns out, is WAY beyond reach (a ridiculous 3+ minutes faster, currently held by an amazing Japanese woman). But the US 1500 meter record for women 85-89? That’s the one Mom had in her sights.

Yes, my attendance at the US Masters Track Championships in Sacramento was part of a mini-road trip with The Mate. But you don’t want to bother with the road trip now, right? Let’s cut to the chase.

That record: 10:55. One year ago, Mom ran 11:06. But she’s been training.

Up first, though: the 800, not her best event (Mom was always more of a 10k or marathon-type gal). It was scheduled for Saturday afternoon. At 2:15. In Sacramento. In July.

At race time, it was 104.

*not pictured: bleachers that were too hot to touch, let alone sit on*

That’s Mom’s friend Jackie–they’ve known each other for over 8 decades. (The Mate actually took this photo next morning…it was MUCH too hot for posing.)

Actually, she was lucky–by 5 pm, the temp had risen to 109. And we were pretty shocked to find that the organizers had no cooling tents set up for the athletes–no fans, no misting machine. Nothing. Welcome, Senior Athletes: you’re on your own!

“Are we really doing this?” (actually this is a post-race pic, I just couldn’t resist)

But Martha Klopfer is smart; she played it cool. Stayed indoors all day. Stayed hydrated. No need for warmups, right?

Let’s get this party started. And FINISHED. (They run all the women, 70 and up, in the same race.)

For the 800, I took videos, not stills, but really I was just praying Mom’s North Carolina-based heat tolerance would be kicking into high gear. And it did.

She ran a 5:33…breaking the American record by 35 seconds! HOWEVER, that woman in the green up there? That’s Lynne Hurrell. She ran 23 seconds FASTER, and she’s the same age! So extra kudos to Lynne, who got the gold.

Next day, thank GOODNESS, the 1500 was scheduled for 7:30 in the morning. There was SHADE on the campus of American River College, where the meet was held.

The 1500 is harder to keep track of (no pun intended), as it starts on the far side of the track, just past the curve, so you can’t quite tell when they’ve run exactly one, or two, or three laps. I spent the race alternately narrating the action to my dad and my sister on the phone in NC, and cheering so loud Mom said she could hear me on the back stretch.

Coming around the turn for the bell lap. (Both those ladies she’s passing are in the 80-84 group.)

Her splits seemed even…but slowing slightly. Would she break 11:00? Not without a kick.

Just in case it made a difference…I screamed myself hoarse. (j/k; I couldn’t help it.) And Mom crossed the finish line in 10:54.45. She broke the record by less than a second.

I had to give up running before 60, thanks to my knees and back. My mother has literally outrun me. When I’m asked about her ongoing running prowess, I sometimes say, “Good genes, good habits, good fortune.”

But usually I just say I how proud I am to be the daughter of such an inspirational lifelong athlete.

Way to go, Mom. Now how about those 90-94 records, next year?

[Next post: the actual road trip!]

Road Trip XII, Days 24-30: Some Things Old, Some Things New, One Thing Carolina Blue

Posted on March 16, 2024 by gretchenwing

No matter the weather when we get to Tierreich Farm, where I grew up in the Piedmont of North Carolina, we always go find the trout lilies.

Warm as this year is, they were past their peak, though we still found plenty down at New Hope Creek. And, as with almost every constant-seeming aspect of our stay here, they got me musing on how much continues, 6 decades on…and how that background throws into relief anything new.

Constant: my folks’ ridiculous driveway, which never bothered me before I drove a 22-foot-long van.

Don’t worry, Vanna. We’re parking you on this side and walking across. Because of…

Constant: my 93-year-old dad’s enthusiastic curiosity about ALL new gadgets, including Vanna herself. New: these days he needs a golf cart to go see things.

Actually, Dad’s a perfect combo of constancy and novelty. The fact that he had a stair-elevator installed in our basement stairs = a surprise. The fact that he really enjoys it = not at all a surprise.

Another example: he was one of the first I know to avail himself of the amazing technology in electric-assist tricycles (new). And he uses his just as he used to use his legs when he was marathon training: 20+ mile loop, with stop for a treat along the way.

I had to work hard to keep up with this guy!

My 88 year-old mom’s constancy exhibits itself in her physical fitness, her dedication to the woodsy life, and, I have to say, her beauty.

Speaking of Mom’s fitness: click here to read about last summer’s Master’s International track meet in Greensboro, NC.

These tiny bluets, also known as Quaker Ladies, always reminded me of Mom, for their simplicity and lack of ego. (Though “Women” would work better than “Ladies.”)

Speaking of Quakers, something new at the farm is this track, built into what used to be our back pasture. Slowly, my folks are donating the remainder of their land to Carolina Friends School; this track is just the latest piece of that evolution.

If you’d like to understand why this land is going to a Quaker school instead of to me and my sisters, click here for a little history.

But Stevie, World’s Cutest Ass, remains as constant (and cute) as ever–thank goodness!

Pushing 40! There’s a reason people say “donkeys’ years”. (Unless they mean donkeys’ ears?)

I adore the ability to know a stretch of woods so well, I can look up into a huge old oak and know that the thick-looking middle part used to be a hole…which, over the decades, I have seen grow in, and close up.

Off course, the most constant part of The Mate’s and my Road Trips is their raison d’etre: ~~worshipping at the altar of~~ watching Tarheel basketball with our fellow Tarheel fan~~atic~~s. Again, for those of you new to Wing’s World, click here for a brief recap.

Some food is also involved. (NC-style BBQ; collards; slaw; hush puppies & fried okra.)

One new thing I noticed, in DURHAM, of all places–home of arch-~~enemy~~ -rival Duke: this supermarket display, featuring Carolina’s AND Duke’s colors.

How open-minded! Maybe this diversity stuff is taking hold after all. Or maybe they just want to sell more soda.

Another new thing, on the disturbing end of the scale: the heat here. 70-degree weather in March is quite common in this part of the state (as is snow and ice storms…click here on that topic). But 80 degrees? When the woods haven’t leafed out yet? That just feels WEIRD.

Pictured here: Gretchen trying to make the most out of too much sun in trees.

Unsettling as climate change is for all of us, I still take heart in this single tiny flower I met down at the creek. Not only is it persevering in the heat…it’s also just about the right shade of blue.

Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Marathoners: Whoops, Too Late

Posted on May 3, 2018 by gretchenwing

I’m a child of marathon runners, and a distance runner myself. But I have managed to keep the marathon bug at bay my whole life–even the half-marathon! Without going into detail, let’s just say I watched my parents train and race enough to decide, at a young age, that this marathon thing did NOT look like fun.

My folks, in the 1970s, finishing a Ride and Tie—a kind of cross-country marathon with horses, and mountains. (Only the finish looked fun to me!)

The Mate’s and my sons are the children of non-marathoning distance runners. And we thought that they had inherited that particular set of genes. But we thought wrong. This coming weekend, Son Two will run his first marathon, at age 26. Apparently marathoning can skip generations. (Thanks, Mom & Dad.)

Son Two finishing a 5k a few years ago

Actually, I’m fine with the whole thing. Son Two is, admittedly, a tad under-trained, but he’s smart enough to take it easy and even quit at the threat of injury. I also admire the way he got into the race: not the usual “I must test myself” stuff, but “yeah, a friend asked me to keep him company, so I said yes.” And honestly? I’m a little bit proud of the family tradition asserting itself after all.

Not only were my parents marathoners, my mom in particular was a very GOOD one. In the 1970s, when the running craze first peaked, she set a national age-group record at 39. And therein lies a tale.

See, Mom chose the Buffalo to Niagara Marathon as her first–can’t remember why; maybe its lack of giant hills. Because Niagara Falls used to be considered the classic honeymoon spot, and because honeymoons USED to be when nice young women lost their virginity, she was struck with the parallel between running one’s first marathon and…you know. So she wrote a little story about it and sent it to Runner’s World.

Would you believe they thought it was too risqué? (Can’t believe those editors missed the chance to call it “too racy.”) So it never got published (except by my folk’s local track club)…

…until now. Without further ado, in honor of marathoners and women everywhere, I present “Honeymoon At Niagara,” by Martha Klopfer:

They stood together by the railing and gazed at the falls. Entranced at the swirling ropes of falling water, she wondered how such continual motion could resolve itself into something so constant, so beautiful. She raised her eyes to his and he smiled and squeezed her hand. Softly her mind shifted from the mystery of Niagara Falls to that other mystery she was soon to encounter. She was aware of prickles of nervousness and wished she could shrug them off. It wasn’t that she was afraid or thought that she wasn’t ready. In fact, she had gone pretty far already, even if she hadn’t yet gone all the way. It was just that you couldn’t really know what it was like until you had done it.

She leaned closer against him and took comfort from his strength. It was easier for him because he had done it before, and besides, he was a man. What was she worrying about, anyway? Certainly, she had read enough about it. She knew all about the importance of timing, and things like that. He had told her that he had trouble holding himself back long enough, but she didn’t think she’d have that problem. She was more worried about just finishing. No! She didn’t want to start thinking about the mechanics now. The most important thing was to relax. After all, one was supposed to enjoy it.

She shivered in spite of herself, and he put his arm around her and suggested that they go back to the motel. This would not be the time to catch a cold, would it? She heard the nervousness in his laugh and felt a rush of love tinged with amusement. His prior experience didn’t make him immune to the jitters either!

At dinner it was even more obvious to her that he was as nervous as she was. They talked about all sorts of unrelated things, but he was playing with his spaghetti more than eating it. Their half-filled plates were carried away. No doubt the waiter was used to that in Niagara Falls, she thought. It amused her, knowing what hearty appetites they usually had.

Back in their own motel room, they quickly got ready for bed. She suggested watching TV for awhile, because it really was so early. She was glad enough to snuggle against him in bed, but she still sought the distraction of their electronic companion. Was she really ready, she wondered?

Then, firmly decisive, he reached over and turned out the TV and the light. Tenderly he kissed her, then said goodnight, and rolled over. They should both try to get a good night’s sleep before the Marathon tomorrow.

Note: She was 4^th of 17 women, 125^th of 420 starters overall, in a time of 3 hours, 22 minutes, 12 seconds; age 39. First marathon, and a North American age record.

Notice that last bit? Told you she was good, didn’t I?

Mom still runs. Here she is in 2015, celebrating her 80th birthday with a mile on the track.

Why couldn’t I have inherited those legs???

So here’s to you, son. And you, Mom & Dad. And to all of y’all with more grit than me, doing what’s hard for whatever reason, because you want to test yourself, because it’s there, or just because a friend asked you to. Thanks for your example. Now, GO!!!