The inaugural 544-mile Sydney to Melbourne Race in 1983 was arguably one of the most grueling ultramarathons of its time. Toeing the start line were some of the most elite and accomplished endurance athletes of the day, and alongside them stood a 61-year-old toothless potato farmer (who lived with his mom).
His name was Clifford Young, and he wore a pair of overalls with holes cut in the legs (for ventilation, he explained). Many thought Young was crazy. “I chase sheep around my farm,” he told race organizers, “I believe I can run this race.” Reluctantly, they gave him a bib.
While the buff and chiseled 20 and 30-year-olds stretched and prepared for the race start, Young removed his false teeth – they rattled when he ran.
The gun fired and a pack of runners surged forward, leaving Young predictably in their dust. Some thought his race was over, but the old-timer just kept shuffling along, unperturbed by his last-place position. He had a peculiar gait attributable to decades of wearing farm boots. It was almost like a short hop and a skip – the technique he used – his stride length being half that of the other competitors. How could he get anywhere using that ungainly lumbering? His shortened steps looked like a sheep in distress.
At the end of the first day, Young was nowhere to be seen. But while many of the other runners slowed and tired during the night, Young just kept shuffling along. Slowly and steadily, he roved with his unorthodox biomechanics until eventually, he found himself in the lead. Many couldn’t believe what they were witnessing, but Young seemed unmoved by his own performance. Several days of running later, it appeared he would win the race. A reporter along the course asked him what he was going to do when he finished? “I’m going to use the toilet,” he told the gentleman.
Sure enough, after crossing the tape nearly 10 hours ahead of the next competitor, Young ran straight for the lavatory. The news cameras had to wait.
Young finished more than 24 hours ahead of what most analysists predicted would be the winning time. When asked how he was able to move so quickly: “I go slow.”
At the awards ceremony, Young received his trophy and was informed that his victory came with a $10,000 purse. He was shocked, “That’s a lot of potatoes!” He gave away most of the money to his competitors.
Cliff’s strange running style became known as the “Young Shuffle,” and an ardent group of ultrarunners have adopted his method as their own, claiming great results. YouTube videos and tutorials explain how to perfect the footwork or, you can always chase some sheep.
In later years, a TV reporter asked Young the secret to his success: “If you don’t exercise, your joints start seizing up like a rusty engine. I reckon you’ve got to keep movin’ no matter what. If you don’t wear out, you rust out and you rust out quicker than you wear out.”
“So, the key to a long life is daily jogging?” she asked.
“Yes,” he replied. “Daily jogging.” Then he added, “and preserved pears.”
Long live Cliff Young.