By Davy Crockett You can read, listen, or watch Read the full story of Frank Hart in my new book: Frank Hart: The First Black Ultrarunning Star By late 1892, many of the original six-day professional pedestrians had left the sport, using their winnings to establish other careers, some of them pursuing illegal activities. Frank Hart had another terrible health scare during a six-day race in Wisconsin. News had spread across the country that his running days were finally over, that "he will never be seen on the track again." But running professionally had been part of his life for fourteen years. At the age of 36, now referred to as an "old pedestrian," Hart was determined to continue to compete and prove his doubters wrong. Get Davy Crockett's new book, Running 100 Miles: A History (1729-1960) This definitive history of the 100-mile races presents the rich history of many, both men and women, who achieved 100 miles on foot. Part one of this history includes tales of the trail-blazing British, the amazing Tarahumara of Mexico, and the brash Americans. Many of the early legendary, but forgotten, 100-miler runners are highlighted. St. Louis Six-Day Race Hart recovered and showed up in St. Louis for Professor Clark’s Six-day Tournament held on December 19-24, 1892, at the Natatorium (swimming and gymnasium hall). People were astonished to see him a week before the race. "Frank Hart, the famous colored ped arrived in the city yesterday, a living contradiction to the rumors that had been circulated about his ill health. He denies that he coughed up a lung and part of his liver.” He trained with other competitors at the Natatorium and was seen reeling off mile after mile.  He indeed started the race and looked good in the field of fifteen runners. “A new lease of life appears to have been meted out to the old-time colored pedestrian." Hart reached 100 miles on the first day but then another alarming health scare took place. “He acted like a maniac while covering the last mile but returned to sensibility and resumed the race.” He had picked up a stool-bottom chair which was at the edge of the track, walked in front of the music stand, and threw it at the pianist with all his might. The musician dodged it, and the police came quickly. “They knew Hart had no reason in the world for acting as he did and thought he had gone daft. Hart emphasized this feeling himself by yelling more than a dozen times in a perfect frenzy, ‘You want to run a man crazy!’ He was finally pacified and resumed his journey around the ring.” Hart reached 128 miles during the first day, soon took the lead, and had a great battle with Gus Guerrero, of California, on day three. “Frank Hart is as graceful as of old and came in for his proportion of the liberal applause.” He soon looked haggard. “Frank Hart is virtually out of the race although he occasionally appears upon the track. As he laid prostrate upon his couch last evening, he presented a sad spectacle. His limbs were swollen to nearly twice their natural size, his eyeballs were sunken deeply within their sockets, and the pedal extremities, which had traveled so many miles, were ornamented by large blood blisters. The colored champion will probably never again be seen in a race of this description, as he realizes that the time is at hand when he must acknowledge his younger superiors.” On day five, he was rolling again, but far behind. In the past, he would always quit in these circumstances, but he pressed on. He finished with 425 miles, in sixth place, enough to have a share of the prizes. But because of poor attendance, he did not win much. At least he proved to America that he was not dead yet, and his running career was continuing. At the end of January 1894, he competed in a 27-hour race in Buffalo, New York, where he finished third with 121 miles but received very little money for his effort. “The dividend for the contestants was hardly perceptible und...