From running log:
Cross country practice, ran 7 miles at 7:30 pace on the road. Very hot, 93F. Heat really bothered me. USTFF race tomorrow in Verona. Medals to 15th place, ribbons to 30th. Back in the whirlpool.
30 years later:
The USTFF was the United States Track and Field Federation. It has gone through a few name changes since the late 70s, in efforts to improve it's image. A bit silly, really. They were called TAC (The Athletics Congress) for awhile, which made sense to no one, except maybe the Brits, who refer to track and field as "athletics". These days, the organization is called USATF (United States Track and Field). Whatever it's name, it's mission is to support track and field (and running in general) in the USA, from grass-roots through national championships and international competitive athletes. It does none of this very well, and the new CEO Doug Logan has struggled to find a way to address the organization's poor image and very-frustrated local base of officials and coaches. They've got a long way to go, good luck to them.
The USTFF meet in Wisconsin was the early-season preview of things to come. Running well in this meet set the stage for the rest of the year. I had three things going against me: (1) Despite running over the summer more than I ever had before, I'd done that with no actual plan or guidance, while the others followed proscribed schedules, (2) it was hot hot hot, and I never run well in the heat, (3) look at the workout we did on this day, 7 hot miles on steaming asphalt in the hills of Baraboo, when we should have been doing some light jogging in the cool, shaded woods. Put those three ingredients together, and in retrospect I would predict a sub-par performance.
On the other hand, the season was young and we were not yet in shape. Training through this race makes sense, we were really just getting used to racing. Trouble is, without strong and confident coaching, we had no idea that could even be an approach. A race was a race, you ran all out and you were elated to do well or miffed to do poorly, period. I had my heart set on running a fast early season time and getting my hands on one of those medals!
Monday, August 31, 2009
August 30, 1979 (Thursday)
From running log:
Cross country practice, ran 3.8 miles, including a set of 440s run at 60-64 seconds on the grass field. Hot, humid, 89F. Todd looked strong today in the intervals, amazing. I tightened up. Still hitting the whirlpool.
30 years later:
Did I really run those in 60-64 seconds? I find it hard to believe. Coaches were smart: measured them a bit short, I'm sure.
I was still stinging from the inaccurate article in the previous day's paper, and the non-stop razzing of my teammates. I deserved it, of course. On a more serious note, I was worried that I'd provided bulletin board material for my rivals. "So, Hegley wants conference? When he hasn't ever won a race before? Well, we'll just see about that!" Part of knowing how to deal with the press includes knowing how to manipulate the quotes so that you don't provide motivation for your opponents; it's better to lull them into over-confidence. Stupid me.
Todd Crary floated through this workout on a plane above the rest of us. When he got up on his toes and opened the throttle, he could motor, especially on fresh grass. It was a hot night, and we were all a bit toasted following the workout. I'm not sure the whirlpool was helping my knee much, but the cool water certainly felt good.
Cross country practice, ran 3.8 miles, including a set of 440s run at 60-64 seconds on the grass field. Hot, humid, 89F. Todd looked strong today in the intervals, amazing. I tightened up. Still hitting the whirlpool.
30 years later:
Did I really run those in 60-64 seconds? I find it hard to believe. Coaches were smart: measured them a bit short, I'm sure.
I was still stinging from the inaccurate article in the previous day's paper, and the non-stop razzing of my teammates. I deserved it, of course. On a more serious note, I was worried that I'd provided bulletin board material for my rivals. "So, Hegley wants conference? When he hasn't ever won a race before? Well, we'll just see about that!" Part of knowing how to deal with the press includes knowing how to manipulate the quotes so that you don't provide motivation for your opponents; it's better to lull them into over-confidence. Stupid me.
Todd Crary floated through this workout on a plane above the rest of us. When he got up on his toes and opened the throttle, he could motor, especially on fresh grass. It was a hot night, and we were all a bit toasted following the workout. I'm not sure the whirlpool was helping my knee much, but the cool water certainly felt good.
August 29, 1979 (Wednesday)
From running log:
Cross country practice, ran 5.8 miles at 7:00 pace on the roads to and from the hospital. Knee a little better. Ben looked good today.
Post-script: in an editorial pass, I noticed that I jumped the gun on the publication date of this article. The truth is that I was interviewed on this day, but this article did not appear until September 7. I think that some of the quotes from the coaches must have come later on, perhaps in the days just before September 7. Whatever the actual timing, my embarrassment and worry over how this article sounded remained.
Cross country practice, ran 5.8 miles at 7:00 pace on the roads to and from the hospital. Knee a little better. Ben looked good today.
30 years later:
By "Ben looked good", I wasn't referring to his outfit. I was keen on having a strong team, and whenever one of my teammates had a strong practice session, I noted it in my log. I think it was also a way of building my own psychological momentum. I was determined to make 1979 a successful year, and wanted to notch every positive sign.
In my own personal history, this was in important day in another way. It was the first time that I'd been the headline in a sports article in the local paper. The back story: the local sports writer was Jim Schnetz, a well-meaning if not always accurate reporter. He made his rounds of the high school teams, interviewing the coaches and leaders. As I'm sure you can imagine, football always came first, with a series of articles previewing the season and featuring top players. It was a rare opportunity to get a featured article in the paper about cross country. By the way, the paper I'm referring to is the Baraboo News Republic, which in those days was a daily except for Sunday. Not exactly the New York Times, but it was the local rag and had a decent distribution in Sauk County.
When I sat down to the interview, which had been a couple days before, I was eager and excited. I thought we had a good team, and I thought we had as good a chance as any other team if we stayed focused and avoided injuries. I'm sure that I talked too much and way too fast for poor Jim, who probably couldn't really care any less about a bunch of skinny runners. He was jotting down notes on his pad, but what did I know about talking to sports reporters? I'd never done it before.
When the article came out, I was flabbergasted. Absolutely none of the quotes attributed to me were actual things that came out of my mouth. None, not one, zero. It's like he just made them up! The headline of the article, to my mind, was totally misleading. It came across as cocky and selfish, which is not what I'd tried to convey. Frankly, I was annoyed by the whole thing. My first feature article and I'm misquoted and mis-represented throughout!
I learned an important lesson that day. When talking to the press, you should speak very slowly and say very little. If you want something important to come across, you need one or two pithy, short quotes that you repeat at least twice during the interview, pausing to make sure that the reporter writes it down verbatim (better yet, write it down beforehand and give it to him/her). Always praise your coaches, teammates, and competitors, and downplay your own performance or expectations. Just say that you will do your best and let your running speak for itself as the season progresses. Don't be a motor-mouth, yakking excitedly and gesturing madly while the over-worked, under-rested, and barely-interested reporter tries to scrawl a few lines that will a least allow him/her to craft an interesting story.
Now, 30 years later, you be the judge. Does the article below come across as cocksure and boastful? Also, check out that team photograph; we look like a bunch of rejects from nerd camp! Very funny. We were trying to come across as tough and competitive. I think we just look bizarre. That photo always makes me laugh. I posted the article and photo first, then a cleaned-up version of the text below, still not that easy to read, but try clicking on the scans to enlarge (if you don't know the trick, you can also try Ctrl+= a few times to keep zooming in). I will re-scan these soon, at higher resolution, so if you can't read these come back in a few days and try again.
Here are a couple more scans, a bit distorted but you should be able to zoom in on them to make the text more legible, and to see how goofy-looking we were, particularly because we were trying to look tough for the camera:
Post-script: in an editorial pass, I noticed that I jumped the gun on the publication date of this article. The truth is that I was interviewed on this day, but this article did not appear until September 7. I think that some of the quotes from the coaches must have come later on, perhaps in the days just before September 7. Whatever the actual timing, my embarrassment and worry over how this article sounded remained.
Friday, August 28, 2009
August 28, 1979 (Tuesday)
From running log:
Cross country practice, ran 6.5 miles total on trails, on the 3 mile cross country course I designed for our home meet this year, at 7:30 pace or slower. My right knee was really hurting again. Always seem to be injured, frustrating. This was supposed to be team time trial, but I didn't run it for time because of my knee. Moose won the time trail in 19:28, Nellie ran 20:54. Not too impressive, but that course is really tough. Whirlpooled my knee again, but it didn't help much.
30 years later:
I'm not sure when the tradition began, or if it continued, but in those days the team captain was allowed to design the 3 mile course on our home trails. I had run miles and miles on those trails, and I knew them well. I also knew that what I wanted to design was a tough, tough course using the gnarliest trails and the steepest hills. In fact, my first iteration involved running twice up what we called Cardiac Hill, but both coaches and all of my teammates said it was simply too difficult. So I made a new version with a smaller loop including smaller hills, then a bigger loop with the climb up Cardiac. That hill and most of the trails I used are long gone, made into streets and houses (and they must have been leveled off too, or the houses would tip over). Want to know how tough Cardiac was? It was maybe 300 meters long, climbed perhaps 120 feet, was very a steep singletrack trail that was badly eroded, leaving ruts, rocks, roots, and even one sandy spot. It came up suddenly, as a 90 degree left hand turn just as you emerged from the woods, and the trail twisted and turned on the way up, so you couldn't see the top until you had arrived there. In a word: intimidating. Most of our runners couldn't run up the full thing even once, and they planned to walk it during the upcoming race. In fact, walking it was strategic, because if runners from the opposing teams forced themselves to run up the thing, they'd be so shattered at the top that our guys figured we could blow past them on the ensuing downhills. As for me, I wanted that hill, it would be where I would put the major hurt on anyone still with me, by running it hard, as I did in practice many times. Plus, we hadn't used that hill on our course for several years, and I knew it would take the opposing runners by surprise.
As for the time trial, I just watched. My knee was too sore to push the pace. I expected times to be slow, just not that slow. At least it proved that our home course was a killer, which made me very happy.
Cross country practice, ran 6.5 miles total on trails, on the 3 mile cross country course I designed for our home meet this year, at 7:30 pace or slower. My right knee was really hurting again. Always seem to be injured, frustrating. This was supposed to be team time trial, but I didn't run it for time because of my knee. Moose won the time trail in 19:28, Nellie ran 20:54. Not too impressive, but that course is really tough. Whirlpooled my knee again, but it didn't help much.
30 years later:
I'm not sure when the tradition began, or if it continued, but in those days the team captain was allowed to design the 3 mile course on our home trails. I had run miles and miles on those trails, and I knew them well. I also knew that what I wanted to design was a tough, tough course using the gnarliest trails and the steepest hills. In fact, my first iteration involved running twice up what we called Cardiac Hill, but both coaches and all of my teammates said it was simply too difficult. So I made a new version with a smaller loop including smaller hills, then a bigger loop with the climb up Cardiac. That hill and most of the trails I used are long gone, made into streets and houses (and they must have been leveled off too, or the houses would tip over). Want to know how tough Cardiac was? It was maybe 300 meters long, climbed perhaps 120 feet, was very a steep singletrack trail that was badly eroded, leaving ruts, rocks, roots, and even one sandy spot. It came up suddenly, as a 90 degree left hand turn just as you emerged from the woods, and the trail twisted and turned on the way up, so you couldn't see the top until you had arrived there. In a word: intimidating. Most of our runners couldn't run up the full thing even once, and they planned to walk it during the upcoming race. In fact, walking it was strategic, because if runners from the opposing teams forced themselves to run up the thing, they'd be so shattered at the top that our guys figured we could blow past them on the ensuing downhills. As for me, I wanted that hill, it would be where I would put the major hurt on anyone still with me, by running it hard, as I did in practice many times. Plus, we hadn't used that hill on our course for several years, and I knew it would take the opposing runners by surprise.
As for the time trial, I just watched. My knee was too sore to push the pace. I expected times to be slow, just not that slow. At least it proved that our home course was a killer, which made me very happy.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
August 27, 1979 (Monday)
From running log:
Cross country practice, ran 8.5 total miles, averaging about 7:00 per mile. Ben came to practice and ran decent. My legs are still sore. I've got a singing career.
30 years later:
With Ben now living at my house, getting him to show up for practice was at least bit easier. I remember on this day that he was at the front throughout the run, setting the pace much of the way. He impressed me, and I so desperately wanted and needed to be impressed by my teammates that year. We felt we'd been somewhat humiliated the year before in cross country, and we wanted to come back really strong in 1979 to prove that the previous year's failings were simply a one-time fluke, a stroke of bad luck.
"I've got a singing career" is my very low-key comment about some of us deciding to form a rock band (now is that classic high school or what?). We had Todd on lead guitar, Mark Kleefish on rhythm guitar and Nellie on bass. In addition, we had Gerry Brillowski on drums (he has since shortened his name and made a career with his band Od Tapo Imi), and either Bob Johnsen or Joe Canepa on keyboards. Me? I couldn't play any instruments, but I was a definitely willing to get up on stage, and I could belt out a song (as long as the range was fairly narrow). Plus, for whatever reason at that age my voice through a microphone sounded quite like that of Ric Ocasek of The Cars, so you'll have little trouble guessing which band we covered the most. But we didn't limit ourselves to The Cars, we took stabs at murdering songs by Ted Nugent, Rick Derringer, Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin, Aerosmith, Head East, and Blue Oyster Cult (more cowbell!). I probably shouldn't say "murdered", because both Todd and Gerry were quite accomplished, and the rest of us put our hearts into it, and (at least I was told) we didn't sound too bad. It was fun, it kept us out of trouble (in a way), and we managed to perform a few times at the high school later in the year. It was also just great fun hanging around and laughing together. Some of my most-memorable high school moments were times that we rehearsed or performed, just because it was so much damn fun!
We tried to be clever, and called ourselves "Burnt Toast", which was double-entendre (or maybe triple-entendre) involving - of course - pot, staying up all night, and actual burned toast that Joe made at his house, almost setting off the fire alarm.
You might have guessed that we "never made it big". Well, even that's a complete and total over-statement. We had some fun during the school year, but college came up fast for all of us in 1980 and we all went our separate directions. There was talk of doing a kind of "Burnt Toast Unplugged" at the 20 year high school reunion, but we never pulled it together (although some of us did get hauled up to the karaoke machine to sing along with some old Cars song that we actually never rehearsed or performed, appropriately making fools of ourselves). With the 30 year reunion less than a year away, maybe we can make another stab at it. Although Todd has said in the past that he only plays electric guitar, so I guess we'd have to stay plugged in. Fine by me, I'm sure I still need a microphone and some synthesized effects to make my voice sound anywhere near decent enough for public consumption, even by an inebriated bunch of old friends.
As a funny side note, if you google "Burnt Toast", you'll find it's the name of a band made up of a bunch of teenagers in Palo Alto, California. Rock on dudes!
Cross country practice, ran 8.5 total miles, averaging about 7:00 per mile. Ben came to practice and ran decent. My legs are still sore. I've got a singing career.
30 years later:
With Ben now living at my house, getting him to show up for practice was at least bit easier. I remember on this day that he was at the front throughout the run, setting the pace much of the way. He impressed me, and I so desperately wanted and needed to be impressed by my teammates that year. We felt we'd been somewhat humiliated the year before in cross country, and we wanted to come back really strong in 1979 to prove that the previous year's failings were simply a one-time fluke, a stroke of bad luck.
"I've got a singing career" is my very low-key comment about some of us deciding to form a rock band (now is that classic high school or what?). We had Todd on lead guitar, Mark Kleefish on rhythm guitar and Nellie on bass. In addition, we had Gerry Brillowski on drums (he has since shortened his name and made a career with his band Od Tapo Imi), and either Bob Johnsen or Joe Canepa on keyboards. Me? I couldn't play any instruments, but I was a definitely willing to get up on stage, and I could belt out a song (as long as the range was fairly narrow). Plus, for whatever reason at that age my voice through a microphone sounded quite like that of Ric Ocasek of The Cars, so you'll have little trouble guessing which band we covered the most. But we didn't limit ourselves to The Cars, we took stabs at murdering songs by Ted Nugent, Rick Derringer, Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin, Aerosmith, Head East, and Blue Oyster Cult (more cowbell!). I probably shouldn't say "murdered", because both Todd and Gerry were quite accomplished, and the rest of us put our hearts into it, and (at least I was told) we didn't sound too bad. It was fun, it kept us out of trouble (in a way), and we managed to perform a few times at the high school later in the year. It was also just great fun hanging around and laughing together. Some of my most-memorable high school moments were times that we rehearsed or performed, just because it was so much damn fun!
We tried to be clever, and called ourselves "Burnt Toast", which was double-entendre (or maybe triple-entendre) involving - of course - pot, staying up all night, and actual burned toast that Joe made at his house, almost setting off the fire alarm.
You might have guessed that we "never made it big". Well, even that's a complete and total over-statement. We had some fun during the school year, but college came up fast for all of us in 1980 and we all went our separate directions. There was talk of doing a kind of "Burnt Toast Unplugged" at the 20 year high school reunion, but we never pulled it together (although some of us did get hauled up to the karaoke machine to sing along with some old Cars song that we actually never rehearsed or performed, appropriately making fools of ourselves). With the 30 year reunion less than a year away, maybe we can make another stab at it. Although Todd has said in the past that he only plays electric guitar, so I guess we'd have to stay plugged in. Fine by me, I'm sure I still need a microphone and some synthesized effects to make my voice sound anywhere near decent enough for public consumption, even by an inebriated bunch of old friends.
As a funny side note, if you google "Burnt Toast", you'll find it's the name of a band made up of a bunch of teenagers in Palo Alto, California. Rock on dudes!
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
August 26, 1979 (Sunday)
From running log:
Ran 4.2 miles easy at 7:30 pace in muggy but cooler weather. Both knees are sore on the outside. How long has it been since I ran pain free? I feel tired. Total weekly miles = 35.8
Ran 4.2 miles easy at 7:30 pace in muggy but cooler weather. Both knees are sore on the outside. How long has it been since I ran pain free? I feel tired. Total weekly miles = 35.8
30 years later:
One of the "discoveries" I've made while putting this blog and story together is that my memory (through rose-colored glasses) and fact just don't match up. In my memories of the 1979 cross country season, probably strongly influenced by remembering only the peak experiences, the whole season was a positive progression, from summer training through season-long sharpening until reaching prime condition at the conference meet. If anyone had asked me about injuries or problems, I'd have said that I couldn't recall any. I would have said that it was the one season in which I ran strong without injury throughout the campaign. And I would have been wrong!
We runners are expert complainers, of course. Stand at any starting line with the very runners who will finish in the top 10 of that race, and you will hear nothing but a litany of complaints and excuses: I'm tired, I'm injured, I'm under-trained, I'm not sleeping well, I've got shin splints, my knees are sore, I'm way out of shape ... this list goes on and on. You'd think none of those runners had a chance of even finishing the race! Of course, they all go on to run at or near their personal bests and destroy everyone else in the field. How odd. I don't know if it's part of the ethos of running (should I say pathos, instead?), or if it's a characterological trait of the type of person who becomes a distance runner. George Sheehan liked the old model, created by William Sheldon, of dividing the world of people up into three categories.
- Endomorph: round and soft, big belly, enjoys laughter and gastronomic delights, a follower
- Mesomorph: brawny, muscular, thick-skinned, not a thinker but typically a strong leader
- Ectomorph: thin, fragile, introspective, smart, loner, an obsessive personality
Of course, Sheehan argued that all serious runners were ectomorphs, and thus fragile, prone to injury, and a likely to whine (although, ironically, the whining isn't really meant to seek sympathy, it's more like self-talk, and if anything it's used to push people away, because ectomorphs prefer to be left alone).
I'm not one to buy into any system that rigidly categorizes people. I suppose there are some examples that fit neatly into each of these three types, but I'm fairly certain that (a) all of us have some sprinkling of all three types, and (2) learning + situational variables play a larger role in determining behavior, certainly a much larger role than outward body type.
All of that is a long-winded way to say that I have been mildly surprised that my running log entries from 1979 are actually rife with complaints, worries, anxieties, and injuries (both minor and major, both real and imagined), between which there are moments of success and happiness. When I decided to undertake this little project, I thought it would be a sort of celebration of a flawless season of high school running. Of course, it's turned out to be not quite that simple. It's an honest look back at the events, emotions, worries, complexities, and imperfections of a runner (me), a team, a school, a coach, perhaps even the late 70s in America. The 1979 season wasn't perfect, and most certainly neither was I. But, in a way, perhaps that makes the experiences gained throughout that time all the more special.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
August 25, 1979 (Saturday)
From running log:
No entry, day off. However, on this date in 1979 the song "My Sharona" by The Knack hit #1 on the Billboard charts. It was the first time in over a year that a song hit #1 that was neither a disco song nor a sappy love ballad. Of course, that does not diminish the fact that both the song and the group were awful. It was only a few months later that The Clash ridiculed The Knack with the lyric "phony Beatle-mania has bitten the dust" in their fantastic tune "London Calling".
30 years later:
I was just plain tired after the first week of cross country practice, with the significant increase in mileage and intensity, so I needed a day off.
I remember the "Disco Sucks" wars of the late 70s, culminating in the infamous Disco Demolition night at Comiskey Park in Chicago in July 1979. In those days, I was firmly in the Disco Sucks camp (even though I had happily danced away to the Bee Gees and other empty dance bands at "Devi-Disco" only a couple years earlier. Ah, the folly of youth). Perhaps influenced by teammate Todd Crary, I had recently stacked my record collection with Led Zeppelin , Ted Nugent, and Def Leppard vinyl and memorized most of the songs, imitating Robert Plant's raspy wail as best I could. I'm sure my parents and sisters were rolling their eyes from other rooms in the house. These days my tastes are much broader, although I can't say I'm inclined to listen much to anything that is misogynistic or racist, or advocating violence, or twangy-sounding-good-old-boy-red-neck country music. But I've got just about everything else on my eclectic playlist.
No entry, day off. However, on this date in 1979 the song "My Sharona" by The Knack hit #1 on the Billboard charts. It was the first time in over a year that a song hit #1 that was neither a disco song nor a sappy love ballad. Of course, that does not diminish the fact that both the song and the group were awful. It was only a few months later that The Clash ridiculed The Knack with the lyric "phony Beatle-mania has bitten the dust" in their fantastic tune "London Calling".
30 years later:
I was just plain tired after the first week of cross country practice, with the significant increase in mileage and intensity, so I needed a day off.
I remember the "Disco Sucks" wars of the late 70s, culminating in the infamous Disco Demolition night at Comiskey Park in Chicago in July 1979. In those days, I was firmly in the Disco Sucks camp (even though I had happily danced away to the Bee Gees and other empty dance bands at "Devi-Disco" only a couple years earlier. Ah, the folly of youth). Perhaps influenced by teammate Todd Crary, I had recently stacked my record collection with Led Zeppelin , Ted Nugent, and Def Leppard vinyl and memorized most of the songs, imitating Robert Plant's raspy wail as best I could. I'm sure my parents and sisters were rolling their eyes from other rooms in the house. These days my tastes are much broader, although I can't say I'm inclined to listen much to anything that is misogynistic or racist, or advocating violence, or twangy-sounding-good-old-boy-red-neck country music. But I've got just about everything else on my eclectic playlist.
Monday, August 24, 2009
August 24, 1979 (Friday)
From running log:
Ran 6.5 miles total, including a 4 mile time trial on the road loop (Crawford), which I did in 23:40 (5:55 pace, not bad given that my opening mile - uphill on Connie Road - was a 6:18). Teammates ran pretty well too: Moose 24:00, Todd 25:00, Nellie 26:10, Lane 26:58. I got a sideache during the run, blame it on malted milk balls. Right knee still sore. I beat Coolidge's time from last year.
30 years later:
The "Crawford Loop" was a staple for Baraboo distance runners. It's about 4 miles, with a slow uphill start (up Connie Road) and a couple of steeper hills along the way (up and over Goerks Road and Crawford St.)... but a fast downhill finish (flying down 9th Ave). Running it at sub-6:00 pace was a point of pride, as was comparing times from year-to-year. For me, to run that fast that early in the season on that course was a real confidence-builder.
Reading "blame it on malted milk balls" makes me laugh. Nowadays, you can purchase hi-tech energy bars, gels, drinks, chews, tablets, even electrolyte-laden jelly beans at almost any supermarket, pharmacy, or gas station. In 1979, we basically had Gatorade and ... well, that was about it. If you got hungry prior to a run, you'd reach for a banana or maybe a few cookies. That afternoon, I just happened to have a big bag of malted milk balls. Not exactly energy food, but sure tasted good. Running hard down those hills with the sour taste of refined sugar and waxy chocolate in my mouth and a burning side stitch was a lesson to be learned. Stick with bananas, kid.
Ran 6.5 miles total, including a 4 mile time trial on the road loop (Crawford), which I did in 23:40 (5:55 pace, not bad given that my opening mile - uphill on Connie Road - was a 6:18). Teammates ran pretty well too: Moose 24:00, Todd 25:00, Nellie 26:10, Lane 26:58. I got a sideache during the run, blame it on malted milk balls. Right knee still sore. I beat Coolidge's time from last year.
30 years later:
The "Crawford Loop" was a staple for Baraboo distance runners. It's about 4 miles, with a slow uphill start (up Connie Road) and a couple of steeper hills along the way (up and over Goerks Road and Crawford St.)... but a fast downhill finish (flying down 9th Ave). Running it at sub-6:00 pace was a point of pride, as was comparing times from year-to-year. For me, to run that fast that early in the season on that course was a real confidence-builder.
Reading "blame it on malted milk balls" makes me laugh. Nowadays, you can purchase hi-tech energy bars, gels, drinks, chews, tablets, even electrolyte-laden jelly beans at almost any supermarket, pharmacy, or gas station. In 1979, we basically had Gatorade and ... well, that was about it. If you got hungry prior to a run, you'd reach for a banana or maybe a few cookies. That afternoon, I just happened to have a big bag of malted milk balls. Not exactly energy food, but sure tasted good. Running hard down those hills with the sour taste of refined sugar and waxy chocolate in my mouth and a burning side stitch was a lesson to be learned. Stick with bananas, kid.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
August 23, 1979 (Thursday)
From running log:
Ran 6.8 miles on trails north of the high school at CC practice. Nellie and Ken looked better today. Ben is living at my house for now, trouble with his family, don't know for how long. I whirlpooled my knee again. Left foot also a little sore.
30 years later:
This log entry brings back a flood of memories about my own family. One quality that was always present in our house was the openness and willingness to help others. My father was a high school art teacher, and I think the list of teenagers who showed up for dinner or hung around on weekends or even credited my father with keeping them sane through the stress of high school would be amazingly long. Another mouth or two at dinner wasn't rare, and my mother's worry that she couldn't cook was never an issue ... we were all hungry!
While certainly easy to tease for his absent-mindedness and unorthodox ideas, Ben was still a friend of mine. He had a talent for running, and when he had his stuff together he could run quite well. But he and his father had trouble getting along, and at this point in his life he had basically been kicked out of his own house. Ben ended up staying with my family for many months, sharing my small bedroom with me. Oh, we'd go at it occasionally, like any pair of teenage roommates would, but I can say with pride that my parents never really balked at helping Ben, and I know he was grateful. I don't know if we would have had him as a contributing member of our team if my parents had not opened their door (and refrigerator!) to welcome him as just another part of the family. Perhaps he'd have just quit school and wandered off. I have no idea where he is today, and no one I know has any idea either. If you do, I'd love to hear from you.
I suppose we all have issues with our parents. I dread the day when my own sons might rattle off their complaints about me, either to their friends or (someday) spouses and in-laws. We do our best as parents, most of the time it works out. I know that my parents did their best, and they certainly instilled a core set of values in me not just by words, but also by deeds. These would include:
Ran 6.8 miles on trails north of the high school at CC practice. Nellie and Ken looked better today. Ben is living at my house for now, trouble with his family, don't know for how long. I whirlpooled my knee again. Left foot also a little sore.
30 years later:
This log entry brings back a flood of memories about my own family. One quality that was always present in our house was the openness and willingness to help others. My father was a high school art teacher, and I think the list of teenagers who showed up for dinner or hung around on weekends or even credited my father with keeping them sane through the stress of high school would be amazingly long. Another mouth or two at dinner wasn't rare, and my mother's worry that she couldn't cook was never an issue ... we were all hungry!
While certainly easy to tease for his absent-mindedness and unorthodox ideas, Ben was still a friend of mine. He had a talent for running, and when he had his stuff together he could run quite well. But he and his father had trouble getting along, and at this point in his life he had basically been kicked out of his own house. Ben ended up staying with my family for many months, sharing my small bedroom with me. Oh, we'd go at it occasionally, like any pair of teenage roommates would, but I can say with pride that my parents never really balked at helping Ben, and I know he was grateful. I don't know if we would have had him as a contributing member of our team if my parents had not opened their door (and refrigerator!) to welcome him as just another part of the family. Perhaps he'd have just quit school and wandered off. I have no idea where he is today, and no one I know has any idea either. If you do, I'd love to hear from you.
I suppose we all have issues with our parents. I dread the day when my own sons might rattle off their complaints about me, either to their friends or (someday) spouses and in-laws. We do our best as parents, most of the time it works out. I know that my parents did their best, and they certainly instilled a core set of values in me not just by words, but also by deeds. These would include:
- Look for the good in all people, encourage it to come forward
- Help a friend in need, expect nothing in return
- Be curious and ask questions, don't believe everything you hear
- Share a laugh together, nothing bonds people together like laughter
- Hard work pays dividends, even though it might not be immediately obvious
- Learning is one of the most important things you can strive for, always seek to educate yourself
- Enjoy the outdoors, swim in the cold water, explore the dark woods
- Believe in yourself, even when others don't
I'm sure I'm missing something with this list, and I'm sure I've oversimplified something as well. But let's not quibble over details. My friend and cross country teammate was in trouble, my family happily reached out to him and showed him love and acceptance. Isn't that what it's all about, really, in the end?
August 22, 1979 (Wednesday)
From running log:
Ran 6.5 total miles on the roads at 7:15 pace. Ran past the Circus World Museum. Hot and humid, 80F. Lane showed up at practice today. Right knee and hip bothering me. Sat in the whirlpool again.
30 years later:
The Circus World Museum is the main tourist attraction in Baraboo. Located along the Baraboo River on the south side of town, it brings circus-lovers and other curious types in from miles away year 'round. I loved it when I was a kid. Not just for the daily big-top performance, but also for the historic, steam-powered calliopes and also the old circus posters and photographs. As a teenager, some of my classmates worked as performers there, including the red-headed LaGrassa sisters, Denise and Jane, who did high-wire acts, including spinning around held only by their teeth (or something like that, whatever it was exactly it was definitely scary and exciting and surreal). Denise is now a successful singer/songwriter, and was once a member of the Second City stage troupe. She was clever and sarcastic and funny in high school, and she was even a bit of a runner back then too. Would certainly be fun to share a bottle of wine with her and hear all about the adventures of her life.
Running down to the Circus World Museum from the high school always started with downhills and ended with uphills. Most of Wisconsin was scraped flat by massive glaciers during the last ice age, but some areas in the southwest corner somehow went untouched, and still have plenty of hills to test your running legs. Baraboo is a great running town in part because of those hills, which could be much-maligned by we runners. If you live there now, go do a few repeats up Oak Street, feel your quads burn, and thus be a kindred spirit with all cross country teams past and present.
Ran 6.5 total miles on the roads at 7:15 pace. Ran past the Circus World Museum. Hot and humid, 80F. Lane showed up at practice today. Right knee and hip bothering me. Sat in the whirlpool again.
30 years later:
The Circus World Museum is the main tourist attraction in Baraboo. Located along the Baraboo River on the south side of town, it brings circus-lovers and other curious types in from miles away year 'round. I loved it when I was a kid. Not just for the daily big-top performance, but also for the historic, steam-powered calliopes and also the old circus posters and photographs. As a teenager, some of my classmates worked as performers there, including the red-headed LaGrassa sisters, Denise and Jane, who did high-wire acts, including spinning around held only by their teeth (or something like that, whatever it was exactly it was definitely scary and exciting and surreal). Denise is now a successful singer/songwriter, and was once a member of the Second City stage troupe. She was clever and sarcastic and funny in high school, and she was even a bit of a runner back then too. Would certainly be fun to share a bottle of wine with her and hear all about the adventures of her life.Running down to the Circus World Museum from the high school always started with downhills and ended with uphills. Most of Wisconsin was scraped flat by massive glaciers during the last ice age, but some areas in the southwest corner somehow went untouched, and still have plenty of hills to test your running legs. Baraboo is a great running town in part because of those hills, which could be much-maligned by we runners. If you live there now, go do a few repeats up Oak Street, feel your quads burn, and thus be a kindred spirit with all cross country teams past and present.
Friday, August 21, 2009
August 21, 1979 (Tuesday)
From running log:
Cross country practice: Ran 6.3 total miles at 6:45 to 7:00 pace, plus 7 sprints of 50 yards. Todd Crary showed up at practice today, excellent. I sat in the whirlpool for my sore right knee for 10 minutes. Maybe this team can win conference, but what about Ben? Moose was impressive today.
30 years later:
Ah, how the sails of youth are easily filled with the winds of tomorrow. The day before, I was concerned that we wouldn't even have a varsity team ... now one day later I had ridden the pendulum all the way back to "we can win conference". I'd like to think that 30 years has given me better judgment, and allowed me to be less extreme in my immediate reactions. Not so sure, though ... and part of me kind of misses the passion of the teenage years, where one day's disaster can be erased by a night's sleep and a single good omen the next day.
Todd Crary was a friend of mine and a good soul. His passions were not with running, at least not like mine were. He played electric guitar, and quite well. I think he probably would have preferred to stick with his music, but I knew he had a talent for running and I'd worked hard to convince him to join us on the cross country team. Todd was a funny guy, he could imitate the BHS teachers perfectly, and in some ways he filled the role on the 1979 team that the late Charlie Nelson had filled on the 1978 team: able to cut tension with comedy, friends with everyone on the team, impulsive and sometimes silly with his running. I was both relieved and happy that he had showed up for practice on this day. I knew that he would be an integral part of a winning team. The fact is, he'd play a bigger role than anyone, including he and I, could have known.
It was great to see Moose fit and ready. Ben was a wild card. We probably needed him in order to complete the team, but you never knew what you'd get with him. Here one day, gone the next. I remember once seeing him working on his car, making a thousand little hammering knocks. When I went over to see what he was doing, I found that he had decided to re-carpet the floors of the car, and we was hammering in carpeting tacks ... that's right, hundreds of little tacks being nailed right into the metal floor of the car!
A word on the whirlpool: we had this primitive contraption in our athletic locker rooms, a sort of stainless steel pig-feeding-trough with an electric motor on one end. You'd fill it with cold water, squeeze yourself into it, and hit the switch. Currents of water would blast you from one spot, so you'd angle your body around until it seemed to be hitting the sore muscle. Aside from ice and white athletic tape, that was about all the injury-treatment we had in those days. When confronted with an injury, we were typically urged to "shake it off" and get back to work, whether in practice or competition. I recall a game when I played football as a Freshman. I was the starting free safety, and our team was quite competitive. Late in the third quarter, the opponents pulled off an excellent screen pass, and the lead blockers took out our linebackers, leaving me one-on-one with the running back who was coming at me full-blast. As I charged to make the tackle, he ducked at the last minute, and my right index finger somehow managed to get stuck in the ear hole of his helmet. Of course, as we both went down, 3 or 4 other guys piled on, and my poor finger was twisted and mangled by the sheer physics of it all. By the time I came out of there, my finger was dislocated at two joints and turned around, so that looking at the palm side of my hand seemed fine, except that the fingernail of my index finger was right there. That is correct, the finger had been twisted 180 degrees at the tip, and was quickly turning a deep color of purple. I ran off the field and showed it to the coach. He grabbed it, immediately twisted it back into place (yow!), put some tape on it, and told me to "shake it off". I ran back onto the field and played the rest of the game. Of course, I had to write left-handed for six weeks after that, and to this day that finger bends at funny angles. Maybe I should have whirlpooled it!
Cross country practice: Ran 6.3 total miles at 6:45 to 7:00 pace, plus 7 sprints of 50 yards. Todd Crary showed up at practice today, excellent. I sat in the whirlpool for my sore right knee for 10 minutes. Maybe this team can win conference, but what about Ben? Moose was impressive today.
30 years later:
Ah, how the sails of youth are easily filled with the winds of tomorrow. The day before, I was concerned that we wouldn't even have a varsity team ... now one day later I had ridden the pendulum all the way back to "we can win conference". I'd like to think that 30 years has given me better judgment, and allowed me to be less extreme in my immediate reactions. Not so sure, though ... and part of me kind of misses the passion of the teenage years, where one day's disaster can be erased by a night's sleep and a single good omen the next day.
Todd Crary was a friend of mine and a good soul. His passions were not with running, at least not like mine were. He played electric guitar, and quite well. I think he probably would have preferred to stick with his music, but I knew he had a talent for running and I'd worked hard to convince him to join us on the cross country team. Todd was a funny guy, he could imitate the BHS teachers perfectly, and in some ways he filled the role on the 1979 team that the late Charlie Nelson had filled on the 1978 team: able to cut tension with comedy, friends with everyone on the team, impulsive and sometimes silly with his running. I was both relieved and happy that he had showed up for practice on this day. I knew that he would be an integral part of a winning team. The fact is, he'd play a bigger role than anyone, including he and I, could have known.
It was great to see Moose fit and ready. Ben was a wild card. We probably needed him in order to complete the team, but you never knew what you'd get with him. Here one day, gone the next. I remember once seeing him working on his car, making a thousand little hammering knocks. When I went over to see what he was doing, I found that he had decided to re-carpet the floors of the car, and we was hammering in carpeting tacks ... that's right, hundreds of little tacks being nailed right into the metal floor of the car!
A word on the whirlpool: we had this primitive contraption in our athletic locker rooms, a sort of stainless steel pig-feeding-trough with an electric motor on one end. You'd fill it with cold water, squeeze yourself into it, and hit the switch. Currents of water would blast you from one spot, so you'd angle your body around until it seemed to be hitting the sore muscle. Aside from ice and white athletic tape, that was about all the injury-treatment we had in those days. When confronted with an injury, we were typically urged to "shake it off" and get back to work, whether in practice or competition. I recall a game when I played football as a Freshman. I was the starting free safety, and our team was quite competitive. Late in the third quarter, the opponents pulled off an excellent screen pass, and the lead blockers took out our linebackers, leaving me one-on-one with the running back who was coming at me full-blast. As I charged to make the tackle, he ducked at the last minute, and my right index finger somehow managed to get stuck in the ear hole of his helmet. Of course, as we both went down, 3 or 4 other guys piled on, and my poor finger was twisted and mangled by the sheer physics of it all. By the time I came out of there, my finger was dislocated at two joints and turned around, so that looking at the palm side of my hand seemed fine, except that the fingernail of my index finger was right there. That is correct, the finger had been twisted 180 degrees at the tip, and was quickly turning a deep color of purple. I ran off the field and showed it to the coach. He grabbed it, immediately twisted it back into place (yow!), put some tape on it, and told me to "shake it off". I ran back onto the field and played the rest of the game. Of course, I had to write left-handed for six weeks after that, and to this day that finger bends at funny angles. Maybe I should have whirlpooled it!
Thursday, August 20, 2009
August 20, 1979 (Monday)
From running log:
Ran 5.5 total miles on road at 7:00 pace on the first day of cross country practice. Twelve guys showed up: me, Nellie, Chris, Moose, Ken, MikeW, BrianT, Stew and 4 of the JV Hordes. My right knee still hurts.
30 years later:
It was the tradition back then to start official cross country practices one week prior to the beginning of the school year. I believe that was established as a rule by the WIAA (Wisconsin Interscholastic Athletic Association). I remember hoping to have about 20 guys show up, from which we would winnow out 7 varsity runners, and still have a full junior varsity squad to develop the younger runners. While you can't tell from my log entry, I was rather disappointed and anxious when only 12 guys were there, and really there were only 5-6 who were varsity material. I recall thinking about adjusting my goals, to be more focused on individual placing than on building a team that could challenge for the conference title. That wasn't being brash, it was just me thinking that our team wasn't strong enough to contend, thus it would be a waste of energy to fret over that aspect of the season.
On the bright side, we had a coach, finally, Frank Briscoe, who seemed like a nice guy if a little surprised to be an actual cross country coach. As far as teammates, Moose McGann was obviously in shape, and Nellie had been running pretty consistently over the summer, something I don't think he'd really done before. Chris just looked bigger and stronger, I guess he'd probably gone through a growth spurt in the past few months and he kept up with us throughout this run, which was a very good sign. I remember going home after practice and chatting with my mother, who said she was sure that a few more guys would turn out after I'd worked so hard to recruit them. You can always rely on Mom to be on your side, right? To this day, my mother tends to agree with and support everything I say, which my wife loves to tease me about.
Cross country season was underway. I knew that I'd have to train hard and race smart. I believed that my main competition would come from Terry Connors of Wisconsin Dells, Matt Klecker of Reedsburg, and Mike Bennett of Portage. I would be keeping my eye on early season results from all three to see how we were going to stack up against one another. Little did I know that there would be a couple of darkhorse runners who would sneak up on us during the season, including one from my very own team. But I'm getting ahead of myself, you'll need to wait to see how it all unfolds as the season progresses.
I believe this is a fairly recent photo of Matt Klecker, culled from the alumni testimonial pages of the University of Wisconsin Business School. Matt, if you're out there, drop me a line.
Ran 5.5 total miles on road at 7:00 pace on the first day of cross country practice. Twelve guys showed up: me, Nellie, Chris, Moose, Ken, MikeW, BrianT, Stew and 4 of the JV Hordes. My right knee still hurts.
30 years later:
It was the tradition back then to start official cross country practices one week prior to the beginning of the school year. I believe that was established as a rule by the WIAA (Wisconsin Interscholastic Athletic Association). I remember hoping to have about 20 guys show up, from which we would winnow out 7 varsity runners, and still have a full junior varsity squad to develop the younger runners. While you can't tell from my log entry, I was rather disappointed and anxious when only 12 guys were there, and really there were only 5-6 who were varsity material. I recall thinking about adjusting my goals, to be more focused on individual placing than on building a team that could challenge for the conference title. That wasn't being brash, it was just me thinking that our team wasn't strong enough to contend, thus it would be a waste of energy to fret over that aspect of the season.
On the bright side, we had a coach, finally, Frank Briscoe, who seemed like a nice guy if a little surprised to be an actual cross country coach. As far as teammates, Moose McGann was obviously in shape, and Nellie had been running pretty consistently over the summer, something I don't think he'd really done before. Chris just looked bigger and stronger, I guess he'd probably gone through a growth spurt in the past few months and he kept up with us throughout this run, which was a very good sign. I remember going home after practice and chatting with my mother, who said she was sure that a few more guys would turn out after I'd worked so hard to recruit them. You can always rely on Mom to be on your side, right? To this day, my mother tends to agree with and support everything I say, which my wife loves to tease me about.
Cross country season was underway. I knew that I'd have to train hard and race smart. I believed that my main competition would come from Terry Connors of Wisconsin Dells, Matt Klecker of Reedsburg, and Mike Bennett of Portage. I would be keeping my eye on early season results from all three to see how we were going to stack up against one another. Little did I know that there would be a couple of darkhorse runners who would sneak up on us during the season, including one from my very own team. But I'm getting ahead of myself, you'll need to wait to see how it all unfolds as the season progresses.
I believe this is a fairly recent photo of Matt Klecker, culled from the alumni testimonial pages of the University of Wisconsin Business School. Matt, if you're out there, drop me a line.
Monday, August 17, 2009
August 16, 1979 (Thursday) thru August 19, 1979 (Sunday)
From running log:
No entries for these dates, did not run.
30 years later:
Following Wednesday's run, I decided to take 4 days off, give my knee the remainder of that week to heal. I was icing it periodically, but not stretching or doing any intense physical activity. I was determined to enter the season in the best health I could muster, so with official practice beginning on August 20, I just shut it down until then. In my fog-shrouded memory, I seem to recall that the knee started feeling better right away, within a day or two, so I knew it was the right thing to do.
At some point during this very short hiatus, it was announced that a new teacher named Frank Briscoe would take on the task of coaching boys cross country. We didn't know anything about him, and I think he would have admitted that not only did he not know anything about us, he also knew very little about cross country running! However, he ended up being a decent coach for the time and place of this story. We had a team made up mostly of seniors, a group with experience and determination. We had been assuming that we'd be coaching ourselves, basically, for the 1979 season. Coach Briscoe noticed this immediately, and to his credit understood that his role would be to supervise, deal mostly with the youngsters on the team, and make sure we were organized. The training sessions would be more-or-less managed by me and the other senior leaders on the team. It was a good fit for this team, and we made it work to near perfection. Stay tuned for more on how this would unfold, and for Coach Briscoe's brilliant motivational speaking techniques, as the season opens and the story starts to fill out with races, more old newspaper clippings, and words of encouragement from the legend Harry Haslanger himself. I'll be back posting again on August 20, 2009.
In the meantime, I've fixed and/or added more clips and photos from the Old Fashion Day race I wrote about on this post:
http://1979bhscc.blogspot.com/2009/08/august-8-1979-wednesday.html
And, finally, Frank Briscoe, if you are out there, let us hear from you.
No entries for these dates, did not run.
30 years later:
Following Wednesday's run, I decided to take 4 days off, give my knee the remainder of that week to heal. I was icing it periodically, but not stretching or doing any intense physical activity. I was determined to enter the season in the best health I could muster, so with official practice beginning on August 20, I just shut it down until then. In my fog-shrouded memory, I seem to recall that the knee started feeling better right away, within a day or two, so I knew it was the right thing to do.
At some point during this very short hiatus, it was announced that a new teacher named Frank Briscoe would take on the task of coaching boys cross country. We didn't know anything about him, and I think he would have admitted that not only did he not know anything about us, he also knew very little about cross country running! However, he ended up being a decent coach for the time and place of this story. We had a team made up mostly of seniors, a group with experience and determination. We had been assuming that we'd be coaching ourselves, basically, for the 1979 season. Coach Briscoe noticed this immediately, and to his credit understood that his role would be to supervise, deal mostly with the youngsters on the team, and make sure we were organized. The training sessions would be more-or-less managed by me and the other senior leaders on the team. It was a good fit for this team, and we made it work to near perfection. Stay tuned for more on how this would unfold, and for Coach Briscoe's brilliant motivational speaking techniques, as the season opens and the story starts to fill out with races, more old newspaper clippings, and words of encouragement from the legend Harry Haslanger himself. I'll be back posting again on August 20, 2009.
In the meantime, I've fixed and/or added more clips and photos from the Old Fashion Day race I wrote about on this post:
http://1979bhscc.blogspot.com/2009/08/august-8-1979-wednesday.html
And, finally, Frank Briscoe, if you are out there, let us hear from you.
August 15, 1979 (Wednesday)
From running log:
Ran 4.8 miles on the road at 7:30 pace. BRC run including Todd, Stew, and Mr. Clark. My right knee hurt so much that I had to stop temporarily. What a time for this to happen!
30 years later:
If you are a runner, you know the frustration of having to stop. Here it is 30 years later, and I'm in that situation again, felled by a running injury. Like 1979, my current injury is labeled an "overuse injury"; that is, we runners push and push ourselves until something just can't take it anymore. In 1979 it was my right knee, probably where the iliotibial band attaches on the lateral side. Now, in 2009, it's my piriformis, a small muscle in my left hip that is aggravated and quite painful. Both injuries came on slowly, were at first intermittent, but eventually worsened until running was no longer an option. The real difference, of course, is those 30 years. As you'll see, 30 years ago I could recover from this kind of injury fairly quickly (although like all runners I can keep whining about it for quite some time). These days, recovering from injury is a long and tedious process, all-too-often involving doctors, physical therapists, acupuncturists, and the advice of many fellow runners. Sigh.
Ran 4.8 miles on the road at 7:30 pace. BRC run including Todd, Stew, and Mr. Clark. My right knee hurt so much that I had to stop temporarily. What a time for this to happen!
30 years later:
If you are a runner, you know the frustration of having to stop. Here it is 30 years later, and I'm in that situation again, felled by a running injury. Like 1979, my current injury is labeled an "overuse injury"; that is, we runners push and push ourselves until something just can't take it anymore. In 1979 it was my right knee, probably where the iliotibial band attaches on the lateral side. Now, in 2009, it's my piriformis, a small muscle in my left hip that is aggravated and quite painful. Both injuries came on slowly, were at first intermittent, but eventually worsened until running was no longer an option. The real difference, of course, is those 30 years. As you'll see, 30 years ago I could recover from this kind of injury fairly quickly (although like all runners I can keep whining about it for quite some time). These days, recovering from injury is a long and tedious process, all-too-often involving doctors, physical therapists, acupuncturists, and the advice of many fellow runners. Sigh.
August 14, 1979 (Tuesday)
From running log: 
Ran about 3 miles at 7:30 pace, party on BHS CC trails. Cross country practice begins on August 20, 5:00pm. Maybe it's time for 3-4 days off. Need rest.
Clip from Baraboo New Republic:
30 years later:
As I recall now, the start of cross country season had been announced, and we still did not have a boy's coach. I was obsessing about that, and about my sore knee, and having trouble sleeping at night. It's amazing how much we can make ourselves into a wreck if we put in the effort, isn't it?
The BHS CC trails no longer exist. Even in 1979, there was housing beginning to infringe on the natural area just up the hill from the high school. Only a few years earlier, the new Junior High School had been built up that hill, wiping out about one half mile of woods trails. Now, if you go to Baraboo and gaze up the hill from the back of the High School (which itself has been significantly enlarged), you will see nothing but streets and houses where once we ran our hearts out on dirt trails amid scruffy forests and meadows, which even included a couple of apple trees. Progress ... I guess. At least that's what we seem to call it when we eradicate nature to pave it over and build our new houses. Those hills had some tough trails and hold a lot of memories, not just for me but for every runner who strode upon them for many, many years. It makes me more than a little sad to know that those trails are gone, forever.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
August 13, 1979 (Monday)
From running log:
Ran 5.5 miles at 7:00 pace, partly on trails in the woods. Right knee still hurting. Always run too hard with Coolidge. Weather has been cool lately, makes legs tight. Anxious for CC season to begin.
30 years later:
Ah, yes, I remember my runs with Todd Coolidge, who had graduated from BHS the previous year. He was an intense guy, and ultra-competitive 100% of the time. During my freshman year in college, I roomed with Todd, and he was keen to make a competitive game out of everything: who could get dressed faster, who could eat faster, who could get down the stairs faster, etc. He loved to say, "Ha! Beat ya!" several times per day. Running with Todd would be a unique experience, until you got used to it. You see, he would always run a few inches ahead of you. No matter what the pace, no matter what the purpose of the workout, he was sort of next to you but always just a little bit ahead, and looking at you out of the corner of his eye, tracking your position. If you tried to pull up alongside him, he would accelerate almost imperceptibly so that he was once again just few inches in front of you. Left unchecked, this intricate little dance could go on forever, so that the two of you were basically accelerating little-by-little throughout the run until you were just flying at the end. It was hard to hold back on this, not only because it was simply more common and comfortable to run right next to a workout partner, but also because Todd would emphasize each tiny victory along the way ("Ha! I beat ya to that tree! Ha! I beat ya to that crosswalk!"). If you let it get to you, it could be really annoying. But if you could just let it happen, you could use Todd's competitive nature to help make a workout very intense and hard. There is a time and place for that, of course.
I once tried to finish a race in a tie with Todd. It was a small race, we were clearly in the lead, we had run together the entire way, and we were even holding hands as we crossed the line. Only moments later, he said to me, "We tied, but actually I crossed the line ahead of you, so technically I really won that race." I learned my lesson there, never agreed to a tie with him again. We had a friendly rivalry though, it never felt spiteful. It just felt like adolescent male competitiveness run rampant. Literally.
Ran 5.5 miles at 7:00 pace, partly on trails in the woods. Right knee still hurting. Always run too hard with Coolidge. Weather has been cool lately, makes legs tight. Anxious for CC season to begin.
30 years later:
Ah, yes, I remember my runs with Todd Coolidge, who had graduated from BHS the previous year. He was an intense guy, and ultra-competitive 100% of the time. During my freshman year in college, I roomed with Todd, and he was keen to make a competitive game out of everything: who could get dressed faster, who could eat faster, who could get down the stairs faster, etc. He loved to say, "Ha! Beat ya!" several times per day. Running with Todd would be a unique experience, until you got used to it. You see, he would always run a few inches ahead of you. No matter what the pace, no matter what the purpose of the workout, he was sort of next to you but always just a little bit ahead, and looking at you out of the corner of his eye, tracking your position. If you tried to pull up alongside him, he would accelerate almost imperceptibly so that he was once again just few inches in front of you. Left unchecked, this intricate little dance could go on forever, so that the two of you were basically accelerating little-by-little throughout the run until you were just flying at the end. It was hard to hold back on this, not only because it was simply more common and comfortable to run right next to a workout partner, but also because Todd would emphasize each tiny victory along the way ("Ha! I beat ya to that tree! Ha! I beat ya to that crosswalk!"). If you let it get to you, it could be really annoying. But if you could just let it happen, you could use Todd's competitive nature to help make a workout very intense and hard. There is a time and place for that, of course.
I once tried to finish a race in a tie with Todd. It was a small race, we were clearly in the lead, we had run together the entire way, and we were even holding hands as we crossed the line. Only moments later, he said to me, "We tied, but actually I crossed the line ahead of you, so technically I really won that race." I learned my lesson there, never agreed to a tie with him again. We had a friendly rivalry though, it never felt spiteful. It just felt like adolescent male competitiveness run rampant. Literally.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
August 12, 1979 (Sunday)
From running log:
Ran about 3.5 miles at 8:00 pace (nice and easy) on a rainy, cool evening. It was supposed to be a CC run, but not one person showed up except me. I'm really having my doubts about having any team at all. Still no coach. With my knee hurting, I've been taking it easy, but my legs are still stiff. I'm tired and frustrated. I find it very hard to relax. Maybe it's because I have no girlfriend! I need more rest and more confidence, but not cockiness. I want to get back into enjoying my running, stop worrying. Total weekly miles = 21.5
30 years later:
It was mid-August, and things weren't looking too good.
- The team was still without a coach. The previous year, the women's coach had taken on the boy's team as well, but that hadn't worked out. The school district was still searching for a coach who would take on boy's cross country, and with the season kick-off only a couple weeks away, none had been found.
- On top of that, I had been trying to organize "CC runs" all summer long, hoping that my teammates would join me at least weekly for a brisk workout, and just to spend some time together bonding as a group. However, most of the CC runs had been very sparsely-attended, and this one was the worst, because I was the only person who showed up. I thought that all of us had set a goal to come back strong after such a disappointing season in 1978, to win the conference meet and re-establish Baraboo as the distance running king of the area. We weren't starting off very strongly.
- In addition, my knee pain was worsening, and while I wanted to deny it and just keep pushing myself, I knew deep down that I really should take some time off before the season, or risk being injured and missing significant time yet again.
- So the way it was looking, we'd have barely enough runners to form a varsity unit (and they'd mostly be out of shape and frankly I was not certain that all of them would actually show up or stick it out for the season), and we'd have no coach to lead us. I was feeling pretty gloomy about our prospects.
I knew I had to pull out of it, but to do so effectively I would have to regain confidence, not just start acting cocky. That's a fine line for a teenage boy. My general level of confidence wasn't helped by the fact that I really couldn't find anyone to date. Well, let's be honest, I was a bit hung up on one girl who clearly wasn't interested. That's a common and stupid mistake in high school. If I could go back in time, I would have encouraged the younger me to loosen up, open my mind, and not to try so hard to impress every girl I liked (typically by showing off loudly -yeesh, I must have been a comical sight, no wonder some girls just rolled their eyes at me). Of course, no guarantee my younger self would listen to any of that advice!
Ran about 3.5 miles at 8:00 pace (nice and easy) on a rainy, cool evening. It was supposed to be a CC run, but not one person showed up except me. I'm really having my doubts about having any team at all. Still no coach. With my knee hurting, I've been taking it easy, but my legs are still stiff. I'm tired and frustrated. I find it very hard to relax. Maybe it's because I have no girlfriend! I need more rest and more confidence, but not cockiness. I want to get back into enjoying my running, stop worrying. Total weekly miles = 21.5
30 years later:
It was mid-August, and things weren't looking too good.
- The team was still without a coach. The previous year, the women's coach had taken on the boy's team as well, but that hadn't worked out. The school district was still searching for a coach who would take on boy's cross country, and with the season kick-off only a couple weeks away, none had been found.
- On top of that, I had been trying to organize "CC runs" all summer long, hoping that my teammates would join me at least weekly for a brisk workout, and just to spend some time together bonding as a group. However, most of the CC runs had been very sparsely-attended, and this one was the worst, because I was the only person who showed up. I thought that all of us had set a goal to come back strong after such a disappointing season in 1978, to win the conference meet and re-establish Baraboo as the distance running king of the area. We weren't starting off very strongly.
- In addition, my knee pain was worsening, and while I wanted to deny it and just keep pushing myself, I knew deep down that I really should take some time off before the season, or risk being injured and missing significant time yet again.
- So the way it was looking, we'd have barely enough runners to form a varsity unit (and they'd mostly be out of shape and frankly I was not certain that all of them would actually show up or stick it out for the season), and we'd have no coach to lead us. I was feeling pretty gloomy about our prospects.
I knew I had to pull out of it, but to do so effectively I would have to regain confidence, not just start acting cocky. That's a fine line for a teenage boy. My general level of confidence wasn't helped by the fact that I really couldn't find anyone to date. Well, let's be honest, I was a bit hung up on one girl who clearly wasn't interested. That's a common and stupid mistake in high school. If I could go back in time, I would have encouraged the younger me to loosen up, open my mind, and not to try so hard to impress every girl I liked (typically by showing off loudly -yeesh, I must have been a comical sight, no wonder some girls just rolled their eyes at me). Of course, no guarantee my younger self would listen to any of that advice!
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
August 11, 1979 (Saturday)
From running log:
Ran about 3 miles at 7:20 pace, again around Devil's Lake. Hot and sunny. This time ran with Todd Crary. Right knee still hurting. I wore a nylon brace on it, but didn't help much. CC run tomorrow.
30 years later:
I've mentioned Devil's Lake before, so I'll try not to repeat myself. It's still a nice place to run, and in the years since 1979 they have added miles of trails to the edges of the park. There is now an interesting race held there in July, part of the Dances With Dirt series. Next year it will take place on July 10. I'm itching to run it. Came close to doing it as part of a relay series in 2009, but the timing just didn't work out.
Anytime you run at Devil's Lake, you must leap into the cool water afterward. The lake is spring-fed, and no motorized boats are allowed, so the water is clear and fresh. The best spot to swim is along the west side of the lake, where a narrow path takes you into a field of enormous boulders that have rolled down the bluff all the way to the water's edge. Pick a big rock and jump in (look first, no point in smashing yourself on other rocks just below the surface, um, take it from the voice of experience).
Ran about 3 miles at 7:20 pace, again around Devil's Lake. Hot and sunny. This time ran with Todd Crary. Right knee still hurting. I wore a nylon brace on it, but didn't help much. CC run tomorrow.
30 years later:
I've mentioned Devil's Lake before, so I'll try not to repeat myself. It's still a nice place to run, and in the years since 1979 they have added miles of trails to the edges of the park. There is now an interesting race held there in July, part of the Dances With Dirt series. Next year it will take place on July 10. I'm itching to run it. Came close to doing it as part of a relay series in 2009, but the timing just didn't work out.
Anytime you run at Devil's Lake, you must leap into the cool water afterward. The lake is spring-fed, and no motorized boats are allowed, so the water is clear and fresh. The best spot to swim is along the west side of the lake, where a narrow path takes you into a field of enormous boulders that have rolled down the bluff all the way to the water's edge. Pick a big rock and jump in (look first, no point in smashing yourself on other rocks just below the surface, um, take it from the voice of experience).
Monday, August 10, 2009
August 10, 1979 (Friday)
From running log:
Ran about 3 miles at 7:35 pace on the roads near Devil's Lake with MikeW and Nellie. Started out in the hot sun, but then a thunderstorm drenched us. My right knee pain is getting worse. It hinders my every move. Why? What is it? How did it happen? Frustrating! Theories: unstable heel running on sand recently, or impact while tired, or running on crowned roads too often.
30 years later:
My worry over getting injured during my senior year was palpable to me then. I had been injured in some significant way for every other running season during high school. As a freshman, I'd developed mononucleosis during the track season, and my spleen swelled up to the size of a football - the Dr. put me on bed rest, ending the season. As a sophomore, I'd battled foot problems and Osgood-Schlatter's Sydrome, which sometimes made running a very painful activity. My junior year, cross country was ended by a terrible chest cold, and my track season was interrupted by a strain of my sartorius, which had limited me to some swimming and pool running until just before the conference championships.
I was determined to make it through my senior year without injury, and here I was with a very sore knee. The pain was on the outside of the knee, probably where the ITB connects. I was at a loss as far as what to do about it, and had several theories, as you can see above. The only one that might make sense now in retrospect is the one about running on crowned roads. Road beds are sloped from the center to outside (curb) edges to help with water drainage. I'd done a lot of running on the left side of roads with fairly steep crowns. That could have been part of the irritation. ITB syndrome is also indicative of a need to stretch more, especially the hips and the ITB itself.
I was quite worried about a serious injury spoiling yet another running season.
Ran about 3 miles at 7:35 pace on the roads near Devil's Lake with MikeW and Nellie. Started out in the hot sun, but then a thunderstorm drenched us. My right knee pain is getting worse. It hinders my every move. Why? What is it? How did it happen? Frustrating! Theories: unstable heel running on sand recently, or impact while tired, or running on crowned roads too often.
30 years later:
My worry over getting injured during my senior year was palpable to me then. I had been injured in some significant way for every other running season during high school. As a freshman, I'd developed mononucleosis during the track season, and my spleen swelled up to the size of a football - the Dr. put me on bed rest, ending the season. As a sophomore, I'd battled foot problems and Osgood-Schlatter's Sydrome, which sometimes made running a very painful activity. My junior year, cross country was ended by a terrible chest cold, and my track season was interrupted by a strain of my sartorius, which had limited me to some swimming and pool running until just before the conference championships.
I was determined to make it through my senior year without injury, and here I was with a very sore knee. The pain was on the outside of the knee, probably where the ITB connects. I was at a loss as far as what to do about it, and had several theories, as you can see above. The only one that might make sense now in retrospect is the one about running on crowned roads. Road beds are sloped from the center to outside (curb) edges to help with water drainage. I'd done a lot of running on the left side of roads with fairly steep crowns. That could have been part of the irritation. ITB syndrome is also indicative of a need to stretch more, especially the hips and the ITB itself.
I was quite worried about a serious injury spoiling yet another running season.
August 9, 1979 (Thursday)
From running log:
No entry, day off
30 years later:
As I recall it now, I was still fuming and whining about being cut off by the train in the previous day's race. I'm sure my parents and sisters were quite tired of hearing about it. I was feeling powerless, which (as we all know) is one of the most-difficult emotions with which we must cope. In all of our lives, things happen that are beyond our ability to control, despite our deepest desires otherwise.
A teenage boy is typically not-so-well equipped to cope with such incidents. The testosterone-driven self-belief of a boy of that age is unreasonably rigid, stubborn, and at the same time fragile. The experience of that Old Fashion Day race was challenging me to accept that I could not control all of the variables around me. It was pushing me to learn how to accept failure, even when the cause of that failure was not under my control. I can't say that I "learned my lesson" back then, because I believe mastering that very lesson does not come easy or fast. It is more of a life-long process of learning, one in which we all have many opportunities to improve.
No entry, day off
30 years later:
As I recall it now, I was still fuming and whining about being cut off by the train in the previous day's race. I'm sure my parents and sisters were quite tired of hearing about it. I was feeling powerless, which (as we all know) is one of the most-difficult emotions with which we must cope. In all of our lives, things happen that are beyond our ability to control, despite our deepest desires otherwise.
A teenage boy is typically not-so-well equipped to cope with such incidents. The testosterone-driven self-belief of a boy of that age is unreasonably rigid, stubborn, and at the same time fragile. The experience of that Old Fashion Day race was challenging me to accept that I could not control all of the variables around me. It was pushing me to learn how to accept failure, even when the cause of that failure was not under my control. I can't say that I "learned my lesson" back then, because I believe mastering that very lesson does not come easy or fast. It is more of a life-long process of learning, one in which we all have many opportunities to improve.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
August 8, 1979 (Wednesday)
From running log:Ran 5 mile road race in Baraboo, Wisconsin (Old Fashioned Day Race) in the rain. Mile splits: 5:25, missed the 2 mile mark, then 17:40 at three miles (5:53 pace at that point), missed the 4 mile mark, then finished in 29:54 (5:59 pace). I would have been at least 40 seconds faster if a d*mned train didn't cut me off on Walnut Street! I got 3rd in the High School Division, 10th overall. I was 10 yards behind Klecker and Connors at the train tracks. They sprinted and made it right in front of the train, I didn't. I just sat there, fuming! Coolidge got 3rd overall, and I beat Whitaker. I'm still fuming. That f'ing train on such a perfect day for a race. What a final half mile that would have been between Matt, Terry, and me. My right hip was tight, but my right knee is in more pain after the race.
30 years later:
There are moments in one's running career that are never forgotten. That moment of running the last mile, knowing that there would be a right hand turning coming up and a final push to the finish line, but also knowing that a train track would need to be crossed ... combined with hearing the train coming, horn blasting, seeing runners ahead of me scrambling under the guard rail, trying to out-run it myself, the urge to risk it all being weighed against my better judgment ... I'll never forget that scene. Matt Klecker and Terry Connors were going to be, in my estimation, my two main competitors in the cross country season that was about to begin. Here we were racing each other for bragging rights and an early season psychological advantage. I had let them pull away from me slightly in the previous mile on purpose, planning to make my move in the final half-mile, which included a steep uphill (uphill running being more my forte than theirs) from the river up to the finish. Never once did it cross my mind that my strategy would be ruined by a train! It was incredible, absurd, unbelievable, unexpected, infuriating, frustrating, comical, and disheartening all at the same time. I've scanned in an old yellowed photo of me finishing this race (below). In the photo, it looks like I'm in agony, but it's not really my legs and lungs that are hurting, as I recall it I was nearly in tears as I kicked it in, absolutely convinced that I could have won my division if not for that rotten train cutting me off.
While I had waited there for the train to pass, about 20 more runners had caught up, so we engaged in an all-out battle over those last few blocks. I beat them all to the line, but it was little consolation for what had happened.
Now, after over 600 more races covering 30 years of running, I think back to that afternoon and silently thank myself for not trying to cut in front of a lumbering freight train all in the name of a crummy little medal. Not only did I decide not risk my life, but I wish Matt and Terry had done the same, it would have made for a better race. By the way, I'm certainly glad that neither of them tripped or stumbled, or they would have been killed or maimed. And who knows, perhaps their "easy victory" over me that day gave them a sense of over-confidence going into the season, while my intensely frustrating loss made me feel only that much more determined to catch and pass them during the season. Hindsight isn't perfect, but maybe this race helped to set the stage for the drama that was yet to come.
(Apologies for these mediocre scans. The old newspaper clips are in bad shape, and I try to enhance them a bit with Photoshop, but there isn' t much more I can do. If you click on the image, it should expand and be a little easier to read.)
Friday, August 7, 2009
August 7, 1979 (Tuesday)
From running log:
Ran about 3 miles at 7:30 pace on sand road. Alone. Both knees sore. Aggravating. I've been taking vitamins lately in an effort to stay healthy for once. Old Fashioned Day 5 mile road race tomorrow. Hope to at least place in my age group.
30 years later:
My last run "up north", before heading back to Baraboo for Old Fashioned Day, which is a Baraboo tradition. I'm not even sure how it got its name or got started, but it has long been a day of sidewalk sales, various antique flea markets, and games/demos in downtown Baraboo with the streets closed for pedestrian use. For several years it also included a 5 mile road race, run from downtown out toward Devil's Lake and back. As high schoolers, we considered this a kind of territorial contest. Most small towns in the area also had their one road race each summer, and we local runners would show up to compete against the same opponents we'd face during the track and cross country seasons, in a battle for off-season bragging rights.
I don't think there is a race affiliated with this summer revelry anymore. In essence, it was replaced by the Haslanger Classic, a race that Todd Coolidge and I initiated in the early 80s as a tough 10 miler, and that still lives on today as a 5k/10k, supporting the BHS cross country program (the race was just run this past weekend, but I can't find a website for the race or its results - anyone help me out?).
Ran about 3 miles at 7:30 pace on sand road. Alone. Both knees sore. Aggravating. I've been taking vitamins lately in an effort to stay healthy for once. Old Fashioned Day 5 mile road race tomorrow. Hope to at least place in my age group.
30 years later:
My last run "up north", before heading back to Baraboo for Old Fashioned Day, which is a Baraboo tradition. I'm not even sure how it got its name or got started, but it has long been a day of sidewalk sales, various antique flea markets, and games/demos in downtown Baraboo with the streets closed for pedestrian use. For several years it also included a 5 mile road race, run from downtown out toward Devil's Lake and back. As high schoolers, we considered this a kind of territorial contest. Most small towns in the area also had their one road race each summer, and we local runners would show up to compete against the same opponents we'd face during the track and cross country seasons, in a battle for off-season bragging rights.
I don't think there is a race affiliated with this summer revelry anymore. In essence, it was replaced by the Haslanger Classic, a race that Todd Coolidge and I initiated in the early 80s as a tough 10 miler, and that still lives on today as a 5k/10k, supporting the BHS cross country program (the race was just run this past weekend, but I can't find a website for the race or its results - anyone help me out?).
Thursday, August 6, 2009
August 6, 1979 (Monday)
From running log:
Ran about 4 miles at 7:00 pace on trails and sand roads near Brule, Wisconsin. With Nellie and Joe Canepa. Right knee still sore. I love running in the woods, it's so peaceful.
Ran about 4 miles at 7:00 pace on trails and sand roads near Brule, Wisconsin. With Nellie and Joe Canepa. Right knee still sore. I love running in the woods, it's so peaceful.
30 years later:
You've met Nellie before in this blog. I first met him in 7th or 8th grade, when our public school played his parochial school in basketball. I was assigned to guard him, but our coach told me to leave him alone and double-team the star player on his team (and it slips my mind now who that even was). Of course, Nellie scored some points, because he was a pretty darned good basketball player himself. Controversy: He and I still disagree about the outcome of that game to this day. You see, we played them for five quarters. That's right, five. The way we approached the game was to play a full game (four quarters) with our best 10-12 man rotation, and the score at the end of the four quarters was the official score (we were well ahead). The "fifth quarter" was meant for all of our other players, let's call them "the deep bench", to have a chance to play too. Now, we must have had 25 guys on our team, maybe more. Some of them could barely bounce the ball, much less actually take a shot. As I recall, Nellie's team had less than 10 players in total, all of whom had decent skills. You can just imagine how they absolutely slaughtered our deep bench during that fifth quarter. To us, that was just extra time for our scrubs to get a chance to be on the floor in front of their proud mothers. However, to them I think they assumed that the final score, at the end of all five quarters, was the score that actually counted. So their starters ran up and down the floor at will against our hapless fifth and sixth stringers, easily wiping out the lead we had at the END of the real game. Nellie, my friend, we won that game!
Joe Canepa would not run cross country that year, but he was a friend who came out to jog around with us on this August day anyway. His extended family had a connection to an old cottage along the Brule River, near a fish hatchery. In fact, before the construction of Camp David, some American Presidents had actually vacationed in that very spot of the country. It is beautiful there, the fast-running cold waters of the Brule feed inumerable ponds and lakes that are crystal clear and home to a variety of fish, but especially brook trout.
I remember two things clearly from this day: (1) paddling canoes around those lakes for hours in the hot sun, then jumping into the ice cold water to cool down, (2) staying up late that night listening to the album "Breakfast in America" by Supertramp, talking and laughing and eventually getting yelled at to BE QUIET ALREADY by some aunt or uncle of Joe's, before climbing into our sleeping bags and finally dozing off.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
August 5, 1979 (Sunday)
From running log:
Ran 4.5 miles at 6:30 pace on trails and sand roads near Solon Springs, Wisconsin. Hot, sunny, 80F, windy. Right knee very sore, why? Too much kicking while swimming? Otherwise, feel good. (Total weekly miles = 23.3)
30 years later:
Like all runners, perhaps from the beginning of sport, I complain about my maladies constantly in my running log. In my defense, I was following the recommendations I'd read in Runner's World magazine that a log should reflect any minor pains, so that a major injury could be traced back to its first occurence, and appropriate adjustments be made to the training plan in order to avoid the same injury in the future. Perhaps I took the advice too literally back then, because my log is rather full of whining about this or that being sore or stiff. Apologies if it's irritating.
Because the weather was hot and the cottage located on an island, I was spending nearly the entire day in the water, swimming and snorkeling. Seems I was convinced on this occasion that my sore legs were due to excessive swimming. Sounds kind of funny now. Not sure that would even be possible.
The full week had resulted in only 23 miles of running, yet I truly felt like I was training hard for the upcoming season. For you high school coaches out there: do your kids run more mileage over the summers? How do you advise them to train during the summer months to help them have a successful fall cross country campaign?
Ran 4.5 miles at 6:30 pace on trails and sand roads near Solon Springs, Wisconsin. Hot, sunny, 80F, windy. Right knee very sore, why? Too much kicking while swimming? Otherwise, feel good. (Total weekly miles = 23.3)
30 years later:
Like all runners, perhaps from the beginning of sport, I complain about my maladies constantly in my running log. In my defense, I was following the recommendations I'd read in Runner's World magazine that a log should reflect any minor pains, so that a major injury could be traced back to its first occurence, and appropriate adjustments be made to the training plan in order to avoid the same injury in the future. Perhaps I took the advice too literally back then, because my log is rather full of whining about this or that being sore or stiff. Apologies if it's irritating.
Because the weather was hot and the cottage located on an island, I was spending nearly the entire day in the water, swimming and snorkeling. Seems I was convinced on this occasion that my sore legs were due to excessive swimming. Sounds kind of funny now. Not sure that would even be possible.
The full week had resulted in only 23 miles of running, yet I truly felt like I was training hard for the upcoming season. For you high school coaches out there: do your kids run more mileage over the summers? How do you advise them to train during the summer months to help them have a successful fall cross country campaign?
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
August 4, 1979 (Saturday)
From running log:
Ran about 7.7 miles at 7:00 pace on trails and sand roads near Solon Springs. Tired. These sandy runs are hard work, but fun. The horseflies are also a bother. 200+ mile summer, seems so meager.
30 years later:
I smile with a touch of embarrassment at phrases in my log such as "about 7.7 miles". How could I believe my estimates to be accurate to the tenth of a mile? Pure hubris. Forgive me, I was young.
There were some tricks we tried in those days to deal with the clouds of biting flies that would dive bomb you while you ran. The best was to soak a handkerchief in a ziploc bag with insect repellent, then drape it from the top of your head down the nape of your neck, holding it on with a baseball-style cap. Of course, you had to wear a shirt, and sunglasses usually kept the flies out of your eyes. They still managed to bite me, on my arms, cheeks, and even legs. Annoying.
But even the flies couldn't stop me from enjoying a long (for me in those days) run in the north woods of Wisconsin, all by myself. I remember another run up in that area a couple of years later. It was evening, and the skies were just starting to move into dusk. I was in a zone, running hard on narrow singletrack trails just above the edge of a swamp. As I tore around a sharp bend, there in front of me was the biggest buck deer I had ever seen. Memory is a tricky thing prone to exaggeration, but in this case I'm convinced that thing stood nearly 7 feet tall if you counted it's antlers. What made the encounter hilarious was our reaction. That's right, "our" reaction. It was basically identical. Both the deer and I leapt straight into the air, eyes wide with shock, and emptied our lungs in nearly identical screams of fear. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! Both of us had our feet moving before we hit the ground, like in the cartoons, so that when we touched down we both bolted at full speed in opposite directions (thankfully). After I'd run about half a mile, I was completely anaerobic and wheezing for air, so I had to stop. Once I'd recovered my breath, I think I laughed myself back into the anaerobic zone again. Those images are etched forever in my memory. When I'm old and senile I'll probably bore my children with that story over and over, it will be one of the last ones I'll forget.
Ran about 7.7 miles at 7:00 pace on trails and sand roads near Solon Springs. Tired. These sandy runs are hard work, but fun. The horseflies are also a bother. 200+ mile summer, seems so meager.
30 years later:
I smile with a touch of embarrassment at phrases in my log such as "about 7.7 miles". How could I believe my estimates to be accurate to the tenth of a mile? Pure hubris. Forgive me, I was young.
There were some tricks we tried in those days to deal with the clouds of biting flies that would dive bomb you while you ran. The best was to soak a handkerchief in a ziploc bag with insect repellent, then drape it from the top of your head down the nape of your neck, holding it on with a baseball-style cap. Of course, you had to wear a shirt, and sunglasses usually kept the flies out of your eyes. They still managed to bite me, on my arms, cheeks, and even legs. Annoying.
But even the flies couldn't stop me from enjoying a long (for me in those days) run in the north woods of Wisconsin, all by myself. I remember another run up in that area a couple of years later. It was evening, and the skies were just starting to move into dusk. I was in a zone, running hard on narrow singletrack trails just above the edge of a swamp. As I tore around a sharp bend, there in front of me was the biggest buck deer I had ever seen. Memory is a tricky thing prone to exaggeration, but in this case I'm convinced that thing stood nearly 7 feet tall if you counted it's antlers. What made the encounter hilarious was our reaction. That's right, "our" reaction. It was basically identical. Both the deer and I leapt straight into the air, eyes wide with shock, and emptied our lungs in nearly identical screams of fear. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! Both of us had our feet moving before we hit the ground, like in the cartoons, so that when we touched down we both bolted at full speed in opposite directions (thankfully). After I'd run about half a mile, I was completely anaerobic and wheezing for air, so I had to stop. Once I'd recovered my breath, I think I laughed myself back into the anaerobic zone again. Those images are etched forever in my memory. When I'm old and senile I'll probably bore my children with that story over and over, it will be one of the last ones I'll forget.
Monday, August 3, 2009
August 3, 1979 (Friday)
From running log:
Ran 5.5 miles at 6:15 pace on sandy trails in the woods near Solon Springs, Wisconsin. Great to get off the roads, alone. Hip a little sore, oh no! Feeling good. Clearing my mind.
30 years later:
I wonder if I really ran 6:15 pace, or if that was just the over-confidence of youth. Sometimes when you hit the trails it feels like you are just flying along, because the bushes and trees on both sides are so close, brushing your elbows, and whizzing past.
At any rate, I certainly ran fast on this day, especially after not running the day before.
If you want to know more about Solon Springs and the surrouding area, click here or here. It's not quite the far-from-the-beaten-path place that it was 30 years ago, but then again places like that don't change very fast. That area of the country is still clean, cool, and friendly, with crystal clear spring-fed streams and plenty of woods to get lost in for a day. And its place in history is tied up with it being the link between the Great Lakes waterway and the Mississippi River. You could put your canoe into the water in New York City, and paddle yourself halfway across the country, then turn straight south and connect to the Mississippi, then follow it all the way to the Gulf of Mexico. To do so, you'd have to pass right through Solon Springs.
Ran 5.5 miles at 6:15 pace on sandy trails in the woods near Solon Springs, Wisconsin. Great to get off the roads, alone. Hip a little sore, oh no! Feeling good. Clearing my mind.
30 years later:
I wonder if I really ran 6:15 pace, or if that was just the over-confidence of youth. Sometimes when you hit the trails it feels like you are just flying along, because the bushes and trees on both sides are so close, brushing your elbows, and whizzing past.
At any rate, I certainly ran fast on this day, especially after not running the day before.
If you want to know more about Solon Springs and the surrouding area, click here or here. It's not quite the far-from-the-beaten-path place that it was 30 years ago, but then again places like that don't change very fast. That area of the country is still clean, cool, and friendly, with crystal clear spring-fed streams and plenty of woods to get lost in for a day. And its place in history is tied up with it being the link between the Great Lakes waterway and the Mississippi River. You could put your canoe into the water in New York City, and paddle yourself halfway across the country, then turn straight south and connect to the Mississippi, then follow it all the way to the Gulf of Mexico. To do so, you'd have to pass right through Solon Springs.
August 2, 1979 (Thursday)
From running log:
No entry, day off.
30 years later:
I had worked a full day on this date in 1979, then spent about 5 hours driving north to our family cottage. Didn't leave much time for running, I'm afraid. But I was eager to hit the trails the next day.
Running on trails has always felt more natural to me than running on roads. It's not only the peacefulness of the woods, with bird songs replacing traffic noise ... it's also the natural flow of pace and stride that comes with facing uneven surfaces and sudden undulations. While running on trails is almost always slower than running on roads, I actually find it more exhilirating. It is ever-changing, while road-running can be a bit boring and slogging after awhile. If you don't run trails, give it a try sometime. I don't think you'll regret it.
No entry, day off.
30 years later:
I had worked a full day on this date in 1979, then spent about 5 hours driving north to our family cottage. Didn't leave much time for running, I'm afraid. But I was eager to hit the trails the next day.
Running on trails has always felt more natural to me than running on roads. It's not only the peacefulness of the woods, with bird songs replacing traffic noise ... it's also the natural flow of pace and stride that comes with facing uneven surfaces and sudden undulations. While running on trails is almost always slower than running on roads, I actually find it more exhilirating. It is ever-changing, while road-running can be a bit boring and slogging after awhile. If you don't run trails, give it a try sometime. I don't think you'll regret it.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
August 1, 1979 (Wednesday)
From running log:
Ran 5.6 miles at 7:30 pace in New Balance 305s. BRC run with Jim Clark, Ken Haller, and Chris Whitaker. Talked and joked. Hope to go up north and run in the woods tomorrow.
30 years later:
The "running boom" that I wrote about earlier gave birth to any number of small town running clubs. Some still exist to this day. Others ended up being false starts. The "BRC" of this posting was our attempt to create the Baraboo Running Club. It was well-intentioned, but it didn't stick. I ran with:
Jim Clark - he's been mentioned before here. One of the High School teachers and a big fan of road racing, he was an all-season running stalwart in Baraboo. His life would end many years too soon, during a run, like Jim Fixx.
Ken Haller - he was a connection to the Harry Haslanger days at BHS. A talented runner with long legs and a loping gait. Unfortunately, he suffered a collapsed lung while not even 20 years old. Over the years, I've lost touch with Ken, but recently connected with him via Facebook, perhaps he will comment here and give us an update.
Chris Whitaker - a teammate and a bit of a rival in high school, he had moved to Wisconsin from New York a couple of years earlier. Like Todd Coolidge, he had gone on to run cross country and track at UW-Oshkosh. To me at that age, Chris usually came across as rather full of himself (he may have said the same thing about me!), but he was a talented runner and a good training partner. One good thing about Chris is that he could keep an honest pace during an easy run, unlike a lot of us who seemed to turn every workout into a race in some misguided macho contest for bragging rights. I've also lost contact with Chris, I wonder what he's up to these days.
By writing "going up north", I was referring to my family's island cottage in Solon Springs, Wisconsin. That locale offered plenty of back-country running on sand roads and overgrown trails. I still look forward to visiting there each year, both to see family and to head back into the woods on some of the same trails I ran 30 years ago.
Ran 5.6 miles at 7:30 pace in New Balance 305s. BRC run with Jim Clark, Ken Haller, and Chris Whitaker. Talked and joked. Hope to go up north and run in the woods tomorrow.
30 years later:
The "running boom" that I wrote about earlier gave birth to any number of small town running clubs. Some still exist to this day. Others ended up being false starts. The "BRC" of this posting was our attempt to create the Baraboo Running Club. It was well-intentioned, but it didn't stick. I ran with:
Jim Clark - he's been mentioned before here. One of the High School teachers and a big fan of road racing, he was an all-season running stalwart in Baraboo. His life would end many years too soon, during a run, like Jim Fixx.
Ken Haller - he was a connection to the Harry Haslanger days at BHS. A talented runner with long legs and a loping gait. Unfortunately, he suffered a collapsed lung while not even 20 years old. Over the years, I've lost touch with Ken, but recently connected with him via Facebook, perhaps he will comment here and give us an update.
Chris Whitaker - a teammate and a bit of a rival in high school, he had moved to Wisconsin from New York a couple of years earlier. Like Todd Coolidge, he had gone on to run cross country and track at UW-Oshkosh. To me at that age, Chris usually came across as rather full of himself (he may have said the same thing about me!), but he was a talented runner and a good training partner. One good thing about Chris is that he could keep an honest pace during an easy run, unlike a lot of us who seemed to turn every workout into a race in some misguided macho contest for bragging rights. I've also lost contact with Chris, I wonder what he's up to these days.
By writing "going up north", I was referring to my family's island cottage in Solon Springs, Wisconsin. That locale offered plenty of back-country running on sand roads and overgrown trails. I still look forward to visiting there each year, both to see family and to head back into the woods on some of the same trails I ran 30 years ago.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
