Dean Juipe: Feet, miles fail to deter LVIM champ

Monday, Feb. 10, 1997 | 11:59 a.m.

BLOOD HAD soaked through Zoltan Holba's left shoe, but it was a wound on his right foot that had him concerned.

Sitting silently and alone, the Las Vegas International Marathon winner gently pried off his right shoe and located the source of his discomfort. Finding a brief massage insufficient, he poked at a blister with a pin that earlier had held his race ID number (3) to his shirt.

So this is how marathon champions celebrate.

An obviously quiet man by nature, Holba looked ambivalent and almost withdrawn after successfully defending his title Sunday in the 31st annual race that culminates at Vacation Village. The outward expressions of joy that usually accompany victories and champions in other sports were completely absent.

There were no high fives.

No gloating.

No need to make himself the center of attention.

Holba crossed the finish line to applause, of course, and jogged a few more paces before melting into anonymity. He was led back to the press tent in virtual silence, his lack of English no doubt something of a factor although even his Hungarian-speaking support group had little to say.

Their man "Zollie" had won again but instead of cheers they merely patted him on the back.

Given the language barrier and his unobtrusive ways, his debriefing had its limitations. No, he said, there really hadn't been any drama on the 26.2-mile run, as he merely kept his focus ahead and his thoughts on beating his personal-best time.

He did it, by a minute, and that appeared to be his greatest satisfaction. Winning the race may have been somewhat incidental.

"Maybe I could have run a minute faster," was one of his few successfully translated remarks, as, like last year, it seemed as if his interpreter -- in this case former elite distance man Laszlo Tabori -- needed something of an interpreter himself.

Holba didn't push himself to run a minute faster because his competition wasn't pushing him. As was the case in 1996, he steadily whittled the lead pack down and down, this time with a series of 10 consecutive miles under five minutes each that initially separated the pretenders and eventually eliminated his few remaining contenders.

By the 22nd mile it was Holba, virtually alone, running his own race at a pace no one in the field was close to matching. He may not be the world's greatest marathoner, but this 28-year-old professional runner proved again to be vastly superior to anyone who paid the entry fee in Las Vegas.

But when it was over he looked just like everyone else who had participated: tired and in need of fluids. A little later he was overcome by a sudden chill and began to shiver, although that passed without any notable concern and after dealing with the press he applied himself to the task of examining his bleeding feet.

"That's him?" a race official said, surprised at seeing the champ in total isolation, jabbing a pin at a blister, not the slightest sign of fanfare to be found.