Reporter’s Notebook: Jogging with Jimmy

Jimmy Carter has met countless reporters in his life. But I suspect I’m the only one to ever barf in front of him.

The former president, a peanut farmer and governor elected in 1976 who left office after losing the 1980 election to Ronald Reagan, celebrated his 100th birthday on Tuesday (Oct. 1) in Plains, Georgia.

In November 1984, I was a 23-year-old cub reporter on the health and education beat for The Gainesville Times, a tiny daily an hour north of Atlanta. The editors asked me to drive down to write about a health care policy conference that Carter was leading at Emory University.

The conference, titled “Closing the Gap,” was aimed at preventing premature death. The dozens of speakers seemed incredibly boring, at least to me, a recent college graduate. So, when the organizers asked who I’d like to interview, I requested a meeting with the only person not being offered — Jimmy Carter.

The next morning, I went to a basement classroom. I was dressed in a coat and tie. At the precise moment of the appointment, Carter walked in with two handlers. 

“I’m Jimmy Carter,” he said. I introduced myself. We shook hands. 

He couldn’t have been kinder to a terrified and awed young reporter, patiently answering the questions I’d written on my yellow legal pad. 

People always talk about Carter’s smile, but I was most impressed by his eyes. He looked at me with intensity and seemed interested in every word.

When the interview was over, he asked me questions. He had met my father and knew several of his friends. He seemed genuinely interested in this unknown reporter from a Gainesville newspaper. I remember thinking that this was why he became president. It seemed like anyone who met the man would love him. 

As we finished, Carter said he planned to jog in Piedmont Park, near downtown. He invited me to join him at 5:30 p.m. at Colony Square, a block from the park. 

I arrived wearing a sweatshirt, shorts and running shoes. I wasn’t the only person he invited. There was also a member of the Atlanta Track Club and a United Press International (UPI) reporter wearing street clothes and heels. 

At exactly 5:30, Carter left his hotel wearing a long gray T-shirt, orange jogging shorts and a pair of red, white and blue Nikes. He was with a U.S. Marine, an overweight Atlanta police officer and a Secret Service agent riding a motorcycle. 

He smiled and asked, “Are you ready?” 

Off we went. The UPI reporter and police officer made it less than a quarter-mile before dropping off. 

As we ran, Carter held forth on world leaders he had run or walked with, including Egyptian leader Anwar El Sadat and French President Giscard d’Estaing. A more experienced reporter would have brought a tape recorder. I tried to take notes while running. I still have the notebook, which the president signed. 

Carter ran fast. While serving in the U.S. Navy, he said he once outran a Korean military platoon. 

“Would you like to do some hills?” he asked.

I don’t recall how I responded, but I’m certain I didn’t want to do any hills. I was feeling woozy. I ran cross-country in high school and was in decent shape, but this 60-year-old man was killing me. I told myself, “Please don’t throw up. Please don’t throw up.”

A moment later, I said, “Excuse me, Mr. President” and leaned against a tree and barfed. Carter kept going. I wiped my mouth with my sleeve and scurried to catch up.

 “Are you all right, Joey?” he asked.

“Yes, Mr. President. I’m fine,” I said. And I was.

After 3 miles, we returned to the hotel. It was dark by then, and Carter began pointing out constellations. 

I didn’t know it, but the UPI reporter had brought a photographer. A photo of me running with the president while taking notes ran in newspapers nationwide, including in Miami, where my editors were at a conference.

For months, I received comments and calls from friends who had seen the photo. When they asked what the 39th president was like, I said he was in great shape and charming, even after I threw up on that poor tree.