“Yeah, some of those guys run 60 or 61 400s.”

I was walking home from the gym with friends… “Yeah, some of those guys run 60 or 61 400s.”

I was walking home from the gym with friends after working out when we came across two Senior Games competitors, an elderly husband and wife who run track. I’m pretty sure the guy said he was pushing 72, so I figured he was talking 60 minutes, maybe 60 hours. After all, the thought of my grandfather running 400 meters brings to mind images of the new, post-BALCO scandal Marion Jones — it just ain’t that fast. But this guy was serious. 60 seconds! And so began my experience with the National Senior Games.

For a couple of weeks, Pittsburgh was home to a collection of the toughest elderly people you’ll ever meet. Competing in everything from track and field to racquetball to basketball, these folks are the best athletes in their age groups. They’re old, to be sure, but they either a) don’t care or b) are in such good shape they don’t realize it.

Take my track-running friend. He runs basically every day, and has for decades. He explained how he put up with hecklers back when it wasn’t popular to run — we’re talking about 30 years before I was a glint in anyone’s eyes — and was a role model once it became the thing to do. I can understand the role model idea, though I don’t know how inspiring it is to realize that I’m in good shape and this guy could probably still whip me without breaking a sweat. The more he talked, the more I kept looking over my shoulder at the Petersen Events Center and thinking that I should have spent more time there.

However, being a role model doesn’t mean you can’t have role models of your own. This particular athlete was a big Lance Armstrong fan.

“How can you argue with what the man’s done, coming back from cancer like that?” he said to my trio. I wanted to ask him if he’d seen Armstrong cameo in Dodgeball, but figured his answer would be a look more blank than Mike Tyson’s after the sixth round the other night.

The more competitors I talked to, the more I realized that seniors still have a world of fun playing sports.

Take Jerry Wingen from Connecticut, who plays basketball constantly. He admits his game isn’t exactly above the rim — so much for the Nike deal — but he and his friends, who have played together for 35 years, are still good enough to have qualified for the last four National Senior Games.

He’s also another example of the inspirational type, passing the game along to the next generation of Wingens. He and some of his sons play in an adult league together, and his youngest son, Tony, is the head basketball coach at Carnegie Mellon University. Despite the fact that CMU is hours from Connecticut, Tony admits that it hasn’t kept him from following Dad’s progress.

“It’s still fun for me to go watch him play,” he said. “They’re anxious to show off for friends.” What’s more, every time there’s a tournament, the family members that go along get a mini-vacation out of the deal. Everybody wins! But then, winning isn’t what matters at the games.

“Competition’s important,” Tony explains, “but it’s inspiring to see the camaraderie.”

For others, winning isn’t everything for different reasons, like simple Darwinism.

“The competition dies off!” a Michigan tennis player told me enthusiastically. “You just wait long enough and you’ll be number one!” Sure, our conversation came to a screeching, awkward halt, but he makes good point.

Much to the chagrin of people like my tennis-playing friend, however, some people refuse to quit not just sports, but life, too. Case in point: a 103-year-old bowler, who aside from rolling a great game also holds the distinction of being possibly the first athlete to actually be as old as Otis Nixon looks. Forget rolling a ball down an alley — if I’m still breathing at 103, I’ll count my blessings.

The competitors do have some complaints about the games. A couple from Louisiana explained that they were disappointed in the low number of volunteers at the shuffleboard event. Some games, they had to keep the score themselves. It was a coincidence that they were telling this to a guy who wanted to volunteer but didn’t have time.

But generally there were few disgruntled folks among those I talked to. All of them looked ahead not only to competing in the events they had remaining but to next year’s game, as well. Some mentioned hanging up the shoes, but Tony Wingen’s got a pretty good idea of what their decisions will be.

“They say [this is their last games] now,” he said with a laugh, “but who knows what they’ll say when they get home.”

I certainly hope they say they’ll compete again. Because what Lance is to the runner I talked to, Jerry Wingen and the hundreds like him are to me: one heck of an inspiration to never give up the things I love.

Brian Weaver is the assistant sports editor for the Pitt News. E-mail him at [email protected].