From running log:
No entry, did not run.
30 years later:
I confess that I don't recall this Saturday from three decades past. I imagine that I was still licking my wounds from the previous day's race in Richland Center. I had expected to excel on that course, but it had been quite the opposite. How does a teenage boy reconcile lofty expectations versus mediocre peformance? Typically by getting really angry. After all, when you are a teenage boy, every negative emotion is rapidly translated into anger. At least with anger you feel powerful and masculine ... and at that age we are in constant doubt about both.
Perhaps it was for the best. Reading back over my running log I can see the pattern developing: I was getting worn down, from consistent hard training and not getting enough rest. I was never very good at sleeping, especially at falling asleep. I'd lie awake and obsess over the day, or over the tasks of the next day. I was pretty hard on myself, for a lot of things: not running up to par, getting even one answer wrong on a quiz, making a fool of myself (again) in front of some girl I liked, arguing with my roommate Ben, treating my three younger sisters badly ... Sigh. Over the years I've mellowed somewhat, but these characteristic traits stick with us throughout life. I was and still am able to contain some of the anxiety both by being active and by making detailed plans. Some of my not-falling-asleep was due to my mind spinning away making those plans. I'd have been better off getting a good night's sleep and just winging it.
It was the last day of September. In high school cross country, moving into October meant moving towards conference championship races. September was for getting yourself into shape, October was for reaching a peak. We had a goal, it was time to achieve it.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
September 29, 1979 (Saturday)
From running log:
Cross country RACE. Richland Center Invitational. 2 mile warmup, 3 mile race, 0.3 mile cooldown. Drizzling, foggy, cool, 70F. I finished 10th out of I-don't-know-how-many ... running 17:47 on a hilly course. Team got 3rd place out of six teams. I am very disappointed in my race. I ran extremely poorly, probably my worst race this season. I totally sucked today. My lungs felt really tight, and I was wheezing more than breathing out there. My legs felt really tired. I have no excuse for running so poorly, no excuse at all. I gotta get my sh*t together and get going if I'm going to win conference. On the team, Chris Kelly ran well today, and did Ken Nikl. Todd Crary and Ben did not run as well as I thought they would. Nellie is slightly injured so didn't run all that fantastic either, but still finished as our 5th man. I've now had me a$$ kicked, I should start all over and work for that conference victory over Boehm and Klecker.
30 years later:
This race did not go as planned. I really went into it brimming with confidence and mentally prepared to attack the hills. Instead, I felt weak and sloppy on the course, and my legs were just numb and useless. Hindsight is unfair, but look back at the previous three days: a hard intrasquad race on hills, a hilly fartlek run (after which I wrote that I felt tired), then an almost six mile run on a humid day. Clearly, I had worn myself out prior to this race. Not very smart.
I actually left out most of the curse words from my running log entry. I was pretty frustrated and angry at myself after this race. I had expected much more. Bummer.
On the other hand, the guys a bit lower on our varsity were running stronger and stronger, that was a good sign for the strength of our team. Training on the Baraboo hills was shaping us into tougher runners. Okay, we came into this race without adquate rest, and that cost us a higher placing. But we were coming along as team, and if our sixth and seventh guys were now making an impression, we were going to be harder to beat at the conference championship meet.
In the last line of my entry you see the shift in focus as far as my main competition in the conference. Terry Connors had dropped back just a bit, but Jim Boehm from Mauston had moved up based on his recent times. Jim was another prototypical Wisconsin runner: big, strong, quiet type who ran hard and wouldn't be intimidated by anyone. Matt Klecker we've talked about before, his savvy and mentoring worried me, and the previos meet he'd almost beaten me. While not ignoring any other possible rivals, I had moved my primary sights onto these two. Time would tell if that was a prudent move.
Article from the Baraboo News Republic (this one was so faded that it was illegible, I bleached it out using photo-fixing software, and upped the contrast, hope you can read it):
Cross country RACE. Richland Center Invitational. 2 mile warmup, 3 mile race, 0.3 mile cooldown. Drizzling, foggy, cool, 70F. I finished 10th out of I-don't-know-how-many ... running 17:47 on a hilly course. Team got 3rd place out of six teams. I am very disappointed in my race. I ran extremely poorly, probably my worst race this season. I totally sucked today. My lungs felt really tight, and I was wheezing more than breathing out there. My legs felt really tired. I have no excuse for running so poorly, no excuse at all. I gotta get my sh*t together and get going if I'm going to win conference. On the team, Chris Kelly ran well today, and did Ken Nikl. Todd Crary and Ben did not run as well as I thought they would. Nellie is slightly injured so didn't run all that fantastic either, but still finished as our 5th man. I've now had me a$$ kicked, I should start all over and work for that conference victory over Boehm and Klecker.
30 years later:
This race did not go as planned. I really went into it brimming with confidence and mentally prepared to attack the hills. Instead, I felt weak and sloppy on the course, and my legs were just numb and useless. Hindsight is unfair, but look back at the previous three days: a hard intrasquad race on hills, a hilly fartlek run (after which I wrote that I felt tired), then an almost six mile run on a humid day. Clearly, I had worn myself out prior to this race. Not very smart.
I actually left out most of the curse words from my running log entry. I was pretty frustrated and angry at myself after this race. I had expected much more. Bummer.
On the other hand, the guys a bit lower on our varsity were running stronger and stronger, that was a good sign for the strength of our team. Training on the Baraboo hills was shaping us into tougher runners. Okay, we came into this race without adquate rest, and that cost us a higher placing. But we were coming along as team, and if our sixth and seventh guys were now making an impression, we were going to be harder to beat at the conference championship meet.
In the last line of my entry you see the shift in focus as far as my main competition in the conference. Terry Connors had dropped back just a bit, but Jim Boehm from Mauston had moved up based on his recent times. Jim was another prototypical Wisconsin runner: big, strong, quiet type who ran hard and wouldn't be intimidated by anyone. Matt Klecker we've talked about before, his savvy and mentoring worried me, and the previos meet he'd almost beaten me. While not ignoring any other possible rivals, I had moved my primary sights onto these two. Time would tell if that was a prudent move.
Article from the Baraboo News Republic (this one was so faded that it was illegible, I bleached it out using photo-fixing software, and upped the contrast, hope you can read it):
September 28, 1979 (Friday)
From running log:
Cross country practice, 5.7 mile run on the roads. Hot, humid, 84F. I got a nasty sideache, ouch. I'm psyched for tomorrow, although a little tired and stiff. My back is feeling decent. I must run well on the hills tomorrow. That course is where Sectionals will take place.
30 years later:
Sectionals refers to the state championship qualifying races that would take place after the conference meet. As you can throughout this chronolog, myself and all of my teammates were keenly focused on that conference meet, to the exclusion of other goals or dreams. At this point in my life I was still just a small-town kid, and while I had secret hopes that I might qualify to run in the state championship race, I also had secret doubts that I belonged at that level. But that's a longer story for another day.
The Richland Center Invitational promised to have some tough competition on another hilly course, which should have been perfect for me. While I had never seen the course before, I knew it by reputation. I was looking forward to really laying it down and proving to myself that I was a champship-caliber runner.
Cross country practice, 5.7 mile run on the roads. Hot, humid, 84F. I got a nasty sideache, ouch. I'm psyched for tomorrow, although a little tired and stiff. My back is feeling decent. I must run well on the hills tomorrow. That course is where Sectionals will take place.
30 years later:
Sectionals refers to the state championship qualifying races that would take place after the conference meet. As you can throughout this chronolog, myself and all of my teammates were keenly focused on that conference meet, to the exclusion of other goals or dreams. At this point in my life I was still just a small-town kid, and while I had secret hopes that I might qualify to run in the state championship race, I also had secret doubts that I belonged at that level. But that's a longer story for another day.
The Richland Center Invitational promised to have some tough competition on another hilly course, which should have been perfect for me. While I had never seen the course before, I knew it by reputation. I was looking forward to really laying it down and proving to myself that I was a champship-caliber runner.
Monday, September 28, 2009
September 27, 1979 (Thursday)
From running log:
Cross country practice, a hilly fartlek run. Did 0.5 miles warmup, 5.5 mile workout, and 0.3 mile cooldown for a total of 6.3 miles. We ran 8 times up Cardiac Hill. My back is a little stiff but holding up okay. My feet are kind of sore, don't know why. We had a team meeting today, but Chris Kelly wasn't there (!) We got some good rapping done. I'm a bit tired, hard workouts this week, need to run easy tomorrow.
30 years later:
Unfortunately, I no longer have my sheet of scribbled notes from this team meeting. As I recall, it was focused on helping the varsity runners identify specific runners from our rival teams that they should be working to beat. One decent strategy for high school cross country is the old "one up" approach. That is, if you want to beat a team you try to get each of your runners to finish ahead of each of theirs. Ideally, your number one runner beats their number one runner, then your number two runner beats their number two, and so on. In a way, this breaks up a team race into a series of individual battles, each of which can be "won" and thus add up to team success. For example, if Nellie was our 4th man on the day, and he beat the 4th man of the other teams, then he could feel victorious, no matter what his overall pace.
But we were actually pushing this envelop a bit more. We were thinking that we could really take it to the conference meet, and put all 7 of our varsity runners across the finish line before the 5th runner from any other team. That would put our stamp on the race. We wouldn't just win, we'd crush 'em.
Time would tell. We knew we had a lot of work left to do before we got there.
Cross country practice, a hilly fartlek run. Did 0.5 miles warmup, 5.5 mile workout, and 0.3 mile cooldown for a total of 6.3 miles. We ran 8 times up Cardiac Hill. My back is a little stiff but holding up okay. My feet are kind of sore, don't know why. We had a team meeting today, but Chris Kelly wasn't there (!) We got some good rapping done. I'm a bit tired, hard workouts this week, need to run easy tomorrow.
30 years later:
Unfortunately, I no longer have my sheet of scribbled notes from this team meeting. As I recall, it was focused on helping the varsity runners identify specific runners from our rival teams that they should be working to beat. One decent strategy for high school cross country is the old "one up" approach. That is, if you want to beat a team you try to get each of your runners to finish ahead of each of theirs. Ideally, your number one runner beats their number one runner, then your number two runner beats their number two, and so on. In a way, this breaks up a team race into a series of individual battles, each of which can be "won" and thus add up to team success. For example, if Nellie was our 4th man on the day, and he beat the 4th man of the other teams, then he could feel victorious, no matter what his overall pace.
But we were actually pushing this envelop a bit more. We were thinking that we could really take it to the conference meet, and put all 7 of our varsity runners across the finish line before the 5th runner from any other team. That would put our stamp on the race. We wouldn't just win, we'd crush 'em.
Time would tell. We knew we had a lot of work left to do before we got there.
September 26, 1979 (Wednesday)
From running log:
Cross country practice - intrasquad race. Ran 0.5 mile warmup, 3 mile race, and 0.3 mile cooldown (3.8 miles total). It was hot, dry, sunny, 83F. I ran very well despite very slightly sore back. I started last in the handicapped race, 6:55 behind the first starter. I finished in 2nd, passing everyone except for Shannon Sophie from the women's team, who started 2:40 ahead of me. I beat Ben and he had a minute head-start. I won the best time award (big wow!). I think we can do well at the RC invite on Saturday. Team meeting tomorrow.
30 years later:
How does one reconcile the glee of storming past all of one's teammates with the guilt of, well, storming past all of one's teammates? Except for Shannon, who was one tough cookie, I was able to catch and pass everyone. I tried to be as supportive as I could, shouting encouragement to each boy and girl whom I passed along the course. But I'm fairly certain that my feeble cheerleading that was little consolation to them for the fact that, despite a significant head start, they could not finish ahead of me. Sorry, guys ... but that's running. It's simple: the faster, the better.
I remember coming into the last 500 yards or so and seeing Shannon just up ahead. She glanced back and saw me, then I could see that she immediately accelerated to a full-blown kick. I pushed the pace briefly too, but it was clear that I would not catch her, so I let up again after about 10 seconds. She ran a great race, and ended up just under 10 seconds ahead of me and first across the line.
Of course, this event was little more than a sort of scrimmage, a chance to run very hard and see where we stood. It's interesting (well, sort of) that I didn't bother to record my time on the course that day. It demonstrates that my goals were elsewhere, this was just for fun.
The final reference to "team meeting tomorrow" was about a gathering of the boy's team, without coaches, to talk about where we were and what was coming next. As you will recall, the prior year our squad had splintered due to intra-team rivalries, and that led to stress that ultimately helped spoil the season. I called this team meeting as part of my approach to keep us all on the same page, focused on what mattered, and to make sure that any greivances or issues could be ironed out early before they spread like an infection. I spent my study hall on this day with Nellie and Moose, writing up some notes and thinking about what to say to everyone. I was no boy scout, but I did accept their famous "be prepared" motto.
Our coaches prepared home made awards for our intrasquad race, here's mine:
Friday, September 25, 2009
September 25, 1979 (Tuesday)
From running log:
Cross country practice. 1 warmup, 3 workout, 0.2 cooldown (4.2 miles). Mostly grass intervals, plus 10 hill repeats. We ran 440 yard intervals, but not super hard. My back is healing, but it's still a little sore. The annual T-Bird Handicap is tomorrow (yeah, that'll really help an injury!). I think Ben's team is the best (I am on McGann's team). I just heard that Coolidge ran a 15:44 3-mile split in his first CC race for UW-Oshkosh, impressive. I sat in the whirlpool again.
30 years later:
The annual T-Bird Handicap was an intrasquad race. The coaches had designated Ben and Moose as team captains, and then let them choose up sides. The race would be scored like any other cross country race, with a twist. The coaches had determined handicapped starting times; that is, runners would start at pre-determined intervals over about a 10 minute span of time. The handicaps, if they had been correctly calculated, would result in all of us hitting the home stretch more-or-less together. You can make the handicapping formula as simple or as complicated as you want. But the scoring would be done just as if it was a regular race: first across the line was first place, period, no matter what that person's head start had been.
Races like this can be kind of fun. As the number one runner on the team, I would be starting dead last, nearly 7:00 behind the first starter. My task would be to catch up to and then pass every single runner out there, boys and girls combined. The team captains had to take this into account. For example, would you want me on your team, knowing that some of the girls had a head start of nearly one mile on me? Shouldn't they be able to hold me off over the final two miles? And what about some of the other varsity guys, who would have a head start of a few minutes, determined by recent race performances? Shouldn't they be able to stay ahead of me?
To be honest, I don't remember where I was picked, but I know it wasn't first. I think that Ben and Moose first chose some of the younger, hungrier runners from among the girls and the JV boys. It would seem to make sense to get some runners on your team who were going to get a head start. Plus, I had missed the last race due to an injury, would you trust me to be one of your top runners, having to come from behind?
I wonder if they still have a similar race these days. I remember it fondly. It was clearly a way to create new bonds across the team, because we'd be pulling for everyone on our team to run well, because essentially they all had a shot of crossing the finish line first and winning this particular race.
I noted in my running log that my frequent training partner and old teammate Todd Coolidge was running well in college. I was impressed by this, but also a bit motivated for two reasons: (1) if he could do it, so could I, after all, we weren't that different in terms of how hard we could run in training, (2) I have to admit that I was competitive about Todd, maybe not as keenly-focused on beating him as he was on beating me, but I still wanted to be faster than him, if only for bragging rights.
Cross country practice. 1 warmup, 3 workout, 0.2 cooldown (4.2 miles). Mostly grass intervals, plus 10 hill repeats. We ran 440 yard intervals, but not super hard. My back is healing, but it's still a little sore. The annual T-Bird Handicap is tomorrow (yeah, that'll really help an injury!). I think Ben's team is the best (I am on McGann's team). I just heard that Coolidge ran a 15:44 3-mile split in his first CC race for UW-Oshkosh, impressive. I sat in the whirlpool again.
30 years later:
The annual T-Bird Handicap was an intrasquad race. The coaches had designated Ben and Moose as team captains, and then let them choose up sides. The race would be scored like any other cross country race, with a twist. The coaches had determined handicapped starting times; that is, runners would start at pre-determined intervals over about a 10 minute span of time. The handicaps, if they had been correctly calculated, would result in all of us hitting the home stretch more-or-less together. You can make the handicapping formula as simple or as complicated as you want. But the scoring would be done just as if it was a regular race: first across the line was first place, period, no matter what that person's head start had been.
Races like this can be kind of fun. As the number one runner on the team, I would be starting dead last, nearly 7:00 behind the first starter. My task would be to catch up to and then pass every single runner out there, boys and girls combined. The team captains had to take this into account. For example, would you want me on your team, knowing that some of the girls had a head start of nearly one mile on me? Shouldn't they be able to hold me off over the final two miles? And what about some of the other varsity guys, who would have a head start of a few minutes, determined by recent race performances? Shouldn't they be able to stay ahead of me?
To be honest, I don't remember where I was picked, but I know it wasn't first. I think that Ben and Moose first chose some of the younger, hungrier runners from among the girls and the JV boys. It would seem to make sense to get some runners on your team who were going to get a head start. Plus, I had missed the last race due to an injury, would you trust me to be one of your top runners, having to come from behind?
I wonder if they still have a similar race these days. I remember it fondly. It was clearly a way to create new bonds across the team, because we'd be pulling for everyone on our team to run well, because essentially they all had a shot of crossing the finish line first and winning this particular race.
I noted in my running log that my frequent training partner and old teammate Todd Coolidge was running well in college. I was impressed by this, but also a bit motivated for two reasons: (1) if he could do it, so could I, after all, we weren't that different in terms of how hard we could run in training, (2) I have to admit that I was competitive about Todd, maybe not as keenly-focused on beating him as he was on beating me, but I still wanted to be faster than him, if only for bragging rights.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
September 24, 1979 (Monday)
From running log:
Cross country practice. 1 warmup, 6.5 workout, 0.4 cooldown (7.9 miles) on the road wearing Saucony 1980s. Plus 10 hill repeats. Didn't run too badly given my sore back and two days off. I am very disappointed not to have run on Saturday ... very, very, very disappointed. Ben is running well, but sounds kind of sick (coughing). The team must now start looking toward conference. Still need much improvement. I need to forget about the past couple of days and look forward.
Cross country practice. 1 warmup, 6.5 workout, 0.4 cooldown (7.9 miles) on the road wearing Saucony 1980s. Plus 10 hill repeats. Didn't run too badly given my sore back and two days off. I am very disappointed not to have run on Saturday ... very, very, very disappointed. Ben is running well, but sounds kind of sick (coughing). The team must now start looking toward conference. Still need much improvement. I need to forget about the past couple of days and look forward.
30 years later:
Ah, the miraculous healing powers of the young. I had back spasms, so I just took a couple of days off and I was basically back to normal. Nowadays, I'd be dragging my knuckles around for a week or more. Sigh.
I hated having missed the race over the previous weekend, but you can see that I was making of point of not focusing on that, but instead looking forward and keeping my eyes on the prize: a conference championship. We will all have numerous hurdles placed in our path during our lives, the best approach is to just get over them and keep on truckin'. The alternative is to waste your time lamenting how unfair your life has been, to spend your energies explaining to everyone that it's not your fault that you didn't succeed, because (gasp!) it was really hard and nothing was handed to you on a silver tray!
I don't know if runners are, by nature, the kind of people who just can't be like that ... or if being a runner simply proves to you time and time-again that it's pointless to live in the past, so you learn not to do so. Every day is a new day, every day is a new opportunity, but every day requires hard work if you want to be successful, even if you'd been successful the day before. Plain and simple. That is one of the things I love about running, and one of the gifts that running will bring to you. It will ground you in the cold, hard facts of life.
Don't get me wrong, runners whine and complain with the best of them, but it's often just gamesmanship. The culture is to play down your chances of winning or performing well, then to go out and defy expectations. Set the bar low, then decimate it (knowing all along that you would).
September 23, 1979 (Sunday)
From running log:
No entry, did not run.
30 years later:
I was still taking anti-inflammatories and lying on a heating pad all day, trying to get my upper back muscles to stop cramping. I decided it would be stupid to run, even though I was actually feeling much, much better. Instead, I claimed a spot on the floor and spent the afternoon watching the NFL on television from flat on my back. I was of course a Green Bay Packer fan, even though they were pretty bad that season (they finished with 5 wins and 11 losses). On this particular Sunday, they lost to the Minnesota Vikings. The Packers' coach was Bart Starr, a former quarterback who had led the team under Vince Lombardi to several championships, but unfortunately didn't turn out to be much of a coach. At quarterback, the Packers had David Whitehurst, a burly young fella without much brain, or so it seemed. He had somehow unseated Lynn Dickey, who would of course come back and replace Whitehurst a bit later (we were calling the poor guy Lame Ducky that season). The standing joke about Dickey was that the President should send him over to Iran, because he was good at it that he could easily 'over-throw' the Ayatollah, after all, he over-threw everybody else. The Packers of 1979 just weren't the cream of the crop. We loved 'em anyway, and because we expected them to lose it was fairly relaxing to lay there and watch that prediction come true, or sometimes be pleasantly surprised when they actually won a game. The Packers have been a very successful team over the past 15 years, but back in the late-70s and early-80s they were pretty consistently awful.
No entry, did not run.
30 years later:
I was still taking anti-inflammatories and lying on a heating pad all day, trying to get my upper back muscles to stop cramping. I decided it would be stupid to run, even though I was actually feeling much, much better. Instead, I claimed a spot on the floor and spent the afternoon watching the NFL on television from flat on my back. I was of course a Green Bay Packer fan, even though they were pretty bad that season (they finished with 5 wins and 11 losses). On this particular Sunday, they lost to the Minnesota Vikings. The Packers' coach was Bart Starr, a former quarterback who had led the team under Vince Lombardi to several championships, but unfortunately didn't turn out to be much of a coach. At quarterback, the Packers had David Whitehurst, a burly young fella without much brain, or so it seemed. He had somehow unseated Lynn Dickey, who would of course come back and replace Whitehurst a bit later (we were calling the poor guy Lame Ducky that season). The standing joke about Dickey was that the President should send him over to Iran, because he was good at it that he could easily 'over-throw' the Ayatollah, after all, he over-threw everybody else. The Packers of 1979 just weren't the cream of the crop. We loved 'em anyway, and because we expected them to lose it was fairly relaxing to lay there and watch that prediction come true, or sometimes be pleasantly surprised when they actually won a game. The Packers have been a very successful team over the past 15 years, but back in the late-70s and early-80s they were pretty consistently awful.
September 22, 1979 (Saturday)
From running log:
No entry, did not run.
No entry, did not run.
30 years later:
My upper back was still in spasm, and as much as it was killing me not to run on one of my favorite courses, I had to sit out. Ask any athlete, and they will tell you that watching your teammates compete without you is one of the most-difficult experiences they will have. I yelled myself hoarse supporting all of the Baraboo runners, but I still felt helpless and crestfallen that yet another season might end in injury.
In reading the article from the Baraboo News Republic (below), I'm surprised to see that Moose McGann also sat out the race due to injury. I wish I could remember what was bothering him. It certainly didn't help the team to have its top two runners sidelined.
At the race, Ben ran really strong and finished 8th in his relay heat. We could at least take that away from the experience. We still had a long way to go to meet our goals, and now we were running short-handed.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
September 21, 1979 (Friday)
From running log:
Cross country practice. 1 mile warmup, 3 workout, 0.2 cooldown (4.2 miles). Easy 8:30 pace. I did something to my upper back yesterday, some kind of muscle thing. It's doubtful that I can run tomorrow morning. I'm actually in lots of pain, it's really hard to run. Dad says it will take a long time to heal. If it isn't one thing, it's another. Must I always run injured? I still want to run tomorrow, but if it means losing the season already, no way. I'll see how I feel tomorrow. I hope better. Whirlpooled my back, didn't help much. I'm going to keep heat on it all night. Hope it feels a little better. Hell, this isn't the end of the world. I don't want to lose to Connors or Bennett because of this. Hope rest of the guys feel good, would be bad to finish last ... demoralizing.
30 years later:
So, my upper back was in spasm, and I made absolutely no connection to the race on the previous day? Pretty funny. I'm sure it was from jostling, elbowing, and just general tension of working my way through that very aggressive armada of blocking runners. I know I was grabbed and also pushed in the back a couple of times, it just locked up on me overnight. That meant I wouldn't be running the race the next day, which was really disappointing. The course at Holy Name Seminary on the outskirts of Madison, Wisconsin was a terrific one, with some long hills and a couple of sharp, downhill turns. No one ran fast on that course, it was for the strong, and that was my preferred terrain.
I wrote in my log that my father told me it would take a long time for my back to heal. Luckily, my father isn't a doctor. I'm not sure why he'd say that, and in fact I don't remember him saying it ... maybe he was just trying to keep me from running the race on Saturday and making it worse.
I was afraid of getting injured. I knew I was having the best season of my young running career, and that was so precious to me that I was paranoid about having it crumble. While I wanted terribly to run the next morning, I took the advice I was given and decided to rest. It was the right thing to do, even if it was upsetting.
Footnote: from what I understand, the high school at Holy Name was shut down in the mid-90s due to budget shortfalls and staffing problems. I assume they no longer host cross country races either, on that beautiful course. What a shame.
Cross country practice. 1 mile warmup, 3 workout, 0.2 cooldown (4.2 miles). Easy 8:30 pace. I did something to my upper back yesterday, some kind of muscle thing. It's doubtful that I can run tomorrow morning. I'm actually in lots of pain, it's really hard to run. Dad says it will take a long time to heal. If it isn't one thing, it's another. Must I always run injured? I still want to run tomorrow, but if it means losing the season already, no way. I'll see how I feel tomorrow. I hope better. Whirlpooled my back, didn't help much. I'm going to keep heat on it all night. Hope it feels a little better. Hell, this isn't the end of the world. I don't want to lose to Connors or Bennett because of this. Hope rest of the guys feel good, would be bad to finish last ... demoralizing.
30 years later:
So, my upper back was in spasm, and I made absolutely no connection to the race on the previous day? Pretty funny. I'm sure it was from jostling, elbowing, and just general tension of working my way through that very aggressive armada of blocking runners. I know I was grabbed and also pushed in the back a couple of times, it just locked up on me overnight. That meant I wouldn't be running the race the next day, which was really disappointing. The course at Holy Name Seminary on the outskirts of Madison, Wisconsin was a terrific one, with some long hills and a couple of sharp, downhill turns. No one ran fast on that course, it was for the strong, and that was my preferred terrain.
I wrote in my log that my father told me it would take a long time for my back to heal. Luckily, my father isn't a doctor. I'm not sure why he'd say that, and in fact I don't remember him saying it ... maybe he was just trying to keep me from running the race on Saturday and making it worse.
I was afraid of getting injured. I knew I was having the best season of my young running career, and that was so precious to me that I was paranoid about having it crumble. While I wanted terribly to run the next morning, I took the advice I was given and decided to rest. It was the right thing to do, even if it was upsetting.
Footnote: from what I understand, the high school at Holy Name was shut down in the mid-90s due to budget shortfalls and staffing problems. I assume they no longer host cross country races either, on that beautiful course. What a shame.
September 20, 1979 (Thursday)
From running log:
Cross country RACE. 2 mile warmup, 3 mile race, 0.5 cooldown (5.5 miles). I ran 17:24 for the 3 miles on the Adams-Friendship cross country course, wearing the Nike Universe spikes. I won again! Buried Connors, but barely beat Klecker (!) What's wrong with Connors? The team won again, we are undefeated in the conference. My upper back is sore - why? My hip didn't bother me today, and my knees feel okay. Took two Tylenol around 2:30pm for headache and toothache. Chest cold still hanging on, how do I kick it? Ben, Chris, and Ken ran well today. Todd and Tim can probably run better. We didn't beat Dells by as many points as last time. I still think we are a favorite for conference. Holy Name meet on Saturday. I want to beat Portage's guys, especially Bennett. And to beat Connors again!
Cross country RACE. 2 mile warmup, 3 mile race, 0.5 cooldown (5.5 miles). I ran 17:24 for the 3 miles on the Adams-Friendship cross country course, wearing the Nike Universe spikes. I won again! Buried Connors, but barely beat Klecker (!) What's wrong with Connors? The team won again, we are undefeated in the conference. My upper back is sore - why? My hip didn't bother me today, and my knees feel okay. Took two Tylenol around 2:30pm for headache and toothache. Chest cold still hanging on, how do I kick it? Ben, Chris, and Ken ran well today. Todd and Tim can probably run better. We didn't beat Dells by as many points as last time. I still think we are a favorite for conference. Holy Name meet on Saturday. I want to beat Portage's guys, especially Bennett. And to beat Connors again!
30 years later:
What I remember most from this race is the first mile, during which the home team made a concerted effort to prevent me from winning the race (and to launch their top runner into a huge head start). It was pretty clever, really, now that I think about it. I don't think I'll ever know if the strategy they employed on me was designed by their coach (if so, shame on him) or was concocted by the team itself without his knowledge. I've written before that one of the things I liked best about running was that cheating wasn't rampant, and that I believed (in my naivete) that no one would cheat. But, as I become more of a threat to win races, teams would target me. And that's just what the home team did. Here's how it came down:
The first mile of the Adams-Friendship cross country course was relatively flat, with some sandy spots. We started next to the football field, and within the first 200 yards we entered a very narrow single-track trail in the woods. That narrow trail was surrounded on both sides by thick undergrowth, including some brambles and other thorny bushes. After about a mile, the trail became wider, first into double-track and finally back out onto the open grass near the football field. Given those facts, and their knowledge about them, the runners from Adams-Friendship did this: at the gun, all 7 of their varsity runners bolted full-speed for that entrance into the woods. And I do mean full speed, as in suicidally-fast, as in anyone starting a 3 mile race at that pace is bound to slow down and therefore you usually wouldn't try to keep up with them, knowing that you'd pass them easily at some later point in the race. So, there I sat in 8th place, content to let those idiots blow themselves up, not realizing what was in store. Duh.
Of course, they weren't just running stupidly. They had a plan. Their number one runner, Larry Massen, was a big, strong kid who always started races a bit fast, so he didn't mind jumping out of the gate. And the rest of them were going to make sure that Larry had a good head start on me and the rest of the field. As soon as we hit that singletrack in the woods, they formed a tight pack and slowed WAY down, allowing Larry to run off the front by himself. All of the rest of us were stuck behind the other six guys, who had gone from running sub-5:00 per mile pace to something more like 7:30 per mile pace. In fact,they had slowed so dramatically and so quickly that I had run right into them, and of course received a sharp elbow to the ribs in rebuke.
There was a moment of panic for me in those woods. I wanted to win the race, but there I was pinned behind six guys whose only task was to keep me from passing them, and I was blocked on both sides by the spiny thicket of underbrush. Up front, the top Adams-Friendship runner had already disappeared up the trail, around the bend, and out of sight. On top of that, because the pace was so slow, every single runner behind me was bunched up and bumping into each other and clipping heels. We were lucky we hadn't all fallen down in one tangled mass. This was no good! This was unfair! But, of course, they had executed their plan to perfection and it certainly looked like I was going to be thwarted.
Well, not so fast. When the normal approach to a problem doesn't work, you have to improvise. All right, so I couldn't get around these guys by simply running faster than them, because there was no room left on the trail to pass. The only options were to try to push through them (let's see, six against one, not very good odds) or to go around them (and rip some skin off of my legs in the bushes). In a split second, I chose the latter approach. I took a deep breath, and made my move, crashing into the edge of the trail and elbowing my way past a couple of guys. They quickly realized what was happening, and tried to accelerate to prevent me from getting in front of them. They were also throwing elbows and one dude even reached out to grab my jersey. At this point, I was so hyper on adrenaline that there was no way they were going to stop me. I elbowed back wildly, and I literally slapped the dude's hand off of my jersey, then I leaned in hard and forced my way back onto the trail in front of that pack, bouncing off of one of their guys a couple of times in the process.
All of this took a place in maybe the first 3-4 minutes of the race, but it had seemed like forever. I immediately took off at full gallop after the leader, who was still out of sight. Post-race, my teammates told me that once I had made it past that pack of blocking runners, they began to splinter and other runners started squirting through, but that the Adams-Friendship guys made sure that everyone had to work hard for it (and take a couple of elbows too).
I ran the next mile too hard, but in the process I caught and passed Larry Massen and moved into first place. I started to relax, when suddenly Matt Klecker ran right up onto my shoulder. I'd been thinking that maybe Terry Connors would move up, and I was confident I could out-kick him, but I was surprised to see Matt there. The thing about Matt is that he had several older brothers who were excellent runners, and I think he understood strategy and tactics better than I did. After the race, he told me he just let me do all of the work to break up that pack and also to run down Larry Massen. He sat just behind me and relaxed, knowing that I would be wasting a lot of energy and planning to beat me during the last half-mile of the race. But I had other thoughts: I was not going to let him pass me, and I was going to make one last, long push to the finish that would take the kick out of his legs or I was going to die trying. So I put my chin down and put the hurt on both of us. It worked. By the time we emerged from the double-track, I had enough of a lead to hold to the finish.
The team had won another race, although not in as dominating a fashion as we had hoped. Perhaps that was a good combination for us: we felt the reward of success, but couldn't feel over-confident or complacent knowing that our competition was breathing down our collective necks.
Article from the Baraboo News Republic:
September 19, 1979 (Wednesday)
From running log:
Cross country practice. 1 warmup, 4 workout, 0.5 cooldown (5.5 miles). Road LSD, I ran only 8:00 pace. Easy jog before tomorrow's race. Gotta kick a$$ tomorrow. Felt crappy this morning, don't know what I'd do without Tylenol. Legs feel okay. Left calf muscle a little tight. In today's paper, I was named Baraboo News Republic Athlete of the Week.
30 years later:
Not that it matters much in the history of the universe, particularly now from 30 year's worth of experience and perspective, but to me it was really a big deal to be named Athlete of the Week, for many reasons:
- I'd never earned such an honor before
- "Athlete" wasn't how much of the populace viewed distance runners; we were more like "the guys too small and too slow to be good at any real sport"
- Typically, the Athlete of the Week award went to someone on the football team, whoever scored the big touchdown or made some other big impact on the game; after all, football was where the fans showed up, not cross country (we'd be lucky to get more than half of our mothers to come watch us scamper around in the grass and dirt)
- and finally, because it was another step toward the goals I had set for myself; I wanted to be a force to be reckoned with that year in cross country, after falling miserably short the prior year
I didn't even care that the photograph used in the paper was clownishly ugly. What I cared about was that we, as a team, were building success upon success in a stepwise manner, with our eyes on the end of the season conference championship.
Clip from the paper:
Monday, September 21, 2009
September 18, 1979 (Tuesday)
From running log:
Cross country practice. 1 mile warmup, 3.6 workout, 0.5 cooldown. Cool, windy, 66F. Grass ladder intervals behind BHS. 75-80 second 440s, 4:50 - 4:57 1500s. Tough workout. Didn't help that I'm feeling a little sick, and weak, and stiff. Gotta get well to beat Connors, team must beat Dells.
30 years later:
Such was the fever of my obsession with running faster than Terry Connors that I would write a motivation phrase day-after-day in my training log. If you are out there reading this some day, perhaps you will forgive my intensity, and perhaps you will do so in part because you were obesessing in much the same way about beating me. I guess that's why they call it a rivalry.
There is an inherent conflict when it comes to a rivalry, of course. On the one hand, the narrowness of vision and the intensity of motivation create the groundwork for success. You focus on your opponent, obsess about coming out on top, and this keeps you pushing and going in your preparation. When you want to quit, or you want to skip a workout, you think about how your opponent isn't quitting, isn't skipping workouts ... so you get out there and get after it. On the other hand, your focus on a particular opponent creates such a small window of success ... what if you fail to best that competition, but conquer all others? Does that make you a failure? Also, what if you spend so much time preparing for one opponent on the assumption that he is your prime competition, that you allow a slew of others to go running right past you? It's a fine line.
I think I walked that line fairly successfully within the conference, because I didn't only focus on one other runner. I had a dog-eared page of notes on all of the other runners on all of the teams in the conference (over the years, I've lost that sheet of paper. I wish I could find it, it might be quite funny to read). I tried to track all of their performances over the past couple of seasons, by scouring local papers and creating a sort of matrix of our opponents. Remember, there was no internet in 1979, so for me this involved hours in the library, leafing through recent papers or even scanning microfiche.
If I had a failing in 1979 it was perhaps in setting my goals too narrowly. For me, for all of us, it was all about winning the conference meet. That was the physical, mental, and motivational peak. But what would have happened if I'd been looking at the state qualifying races more intensely? What if I had run the conference meet more like a preparation race for something bigger? The fact is, we'll never know.
But you will know how the rest of the season unfolded, if you stay tuned and keep reading.
Cross country practice. 1 mile warmup, 3.6 workout, 0.5 cooldown. Cool, windy, 66F. Grass ladder intervals behind BHS. 75-80 second 440s, 4:50 - 4:57 1500s. Tough workout. Didn't help that I'm feeling a little sick, and weak, and stiff. Gotta get well to beat Connors, team must beat Dells.
30 years later:
Such was the fever of my obsession with running faster than Terry Connors that I would write a motivation phrase day-after-day in my training log. If you are out there reading this some day, perhaps you will forgive my intensity, and perhaps you will do so in part because you were obesessing in much the same way about beating me. I guess that's why they call it a rivalry.
There is an inherent conflict when it comes to a rivalry, of course. On the one hand, the narrowness of vision and the intensity of motivation create the groundwork for success. You focus on your opponent, obsess about coming out on top, and this keeps you pushing and going in your preparation. When you want to quit, or you want to skip a workout, you think about how your opponent isn't quitting, isn't skipping workouts ... so you get out there and get after it. On the other hand, your focus on a particular opponent creates such a small window of success ... what if you fail to best that competition, but conquer all others? Does that make you a failure? Also, what if you spend so much time preparing for one opponent on the assumption that he is your prime competition, that you allow a slew of others to go running right past you? It's a fine line.
I think I walked that line fairly successfully within the conference, because I didn't only focus on one other runner. I had a dog-eared page of notes on all of the other runners on all of the teams in the conference (over the years, I've lost that sheet of paper. I wish I could find it, it might be quite funny to read). I tried to track all of their performances over the past couple of seasons, by scouring local papers and creating a sort of matrix of our opponents. Remember, there was no internet in 1979, so for me this involved hours in the library, leafing through recent papers or even scanning microfiche.
If I had a failing in 1979 it was perhaps in setting my goals too narrowly. For me, for all of us, it was all about winning the conference meet. That was the physical, mental, and motivational peak. But what would have happened if I'd been looking at the state qualifying races more intensely? What if I had run the conference meet more like a preparation race for something bigger? The fact is, we'll never know.
But you will know how the rest of the season unfolded, if you stay tuned and keep reading.
September 17, 1979 (Monday)
From running log:
Cross country practice. Ran 0.5 warmup, 3.5 workout, and 0.5 cooldown (4.5 miles). Road miles, with 10 x grass uphill repeats. We aren't doing enough mileage. Ben looked strong today. My chest cold isn't good, and my hip is a bit stiff. Beat Connors Thursday.
30 years later:
I wanted to do more, train harder, run more miles. At the same time, I was complaining of a chest cold and a sore hip. It's the age-old runner dilemma: resting v. training. In retrospect, thank goodness we didn't just follow my desires to push it hard all the time. We would probably have ended up with a long list of injuries and illnesses again.
One of the nice things about writing this blog is that it has somehow found its way to the attention of old friends and teammates. Recently, I heard from Mary Beth "Oly" Olsen, here's what she had to say:
Cross country practice. Ran 0.5 warmup, 3.5 workout, and 0.5 cooldown (4.5 miles). Road miles, with 10 x grass uphill repeats. We aren't doing enough mileage. Ben looked strong today. My chest cold isn't good, and my hip is a bit stiff. Beat Connors Thursday.
30 years later:
I wanted to do more, train harder, run more miles. At the same time, I was complaining of a chest cold and a sore hip. It's the age-old runner dilemma: resting v. training. In retrospect, thank goodness we didn't just follow my desires to push it hard all the time. We would probably have ended up with a long list of injuries and illnesses again.
One of the nice things about writing this blog is that it has somehow found its way to the attention of old friends and teammates. Recently, I heard from Mary Beth "Oly" Olsen, here's what she had to say:
I ran across your blog because someone mentioned it on Facebook ... we're all connected, it seems. I only ran cross country for one year, 1979, to get in shape for basketball. My motivations were laughable compared to yours, but the blog brings back some good memories.
I ran with Sue Nelson, Charlie's sister, quite a bit. Mostly we tried to ditch coach Helen Simon, and a few times we ended up at my house getting a snack or something to drink. We were in the throes of rebellion, but I thought she was pretty funny and enjoyed hanging out with someone new. Charlie and I were often next to each other in classes ... alphabetical order ... and I thought he definitely marched to the beat of his own drummer and was quite smart. I am sure some of Sue's rebellion was due to the loss of Charlie, but I was probably quite clueless as to what she was going through.
Of course, I knew you because of my friendship with your sister, Jennifer.
Anyway, I am enjoying the blog, your writing, and the newspaper clippings.
Take care,
Mary Beth "Oly" Olsen
Saturday, September 19, 2009
September 16, 1979 (Sunday)
From running log:
Ran 3.5 miles on the hills of Baraboo at 7:30 pace on a cool night at sundown 68F. Put in some hills in preparation for meets coming up at Holy Name and Richland Center. Chest cold still there, forces me to cough and hack while I run. The side stitch I got during Friday's workout still hurts. I ran by Charlie's grave ... will go back the night before conference. Got a letter of congratulations from Harry Haslanger, he says we can win conference. I'm going to suggest to coach that we do more hills.
30 years later:
I'm not even sure where to start with reflections on this one ...
Let's leave aside the various health concerns and complaints.
Running past Charlie Nelson's grave was such a deep experience for me, on so many levels. I was a teenager, coping with the normal things: awkwardness, hormones, acne, the conflict between wanting to stay a kid and wanting to be an adult, and facial hair. But I was also facing something else: mortality. We all deny the fact that we will die. Some argue that this is actually adaptive, that we'd accomplish little if we dwelled hourly on the futility and temporariness of it all. Why do anything if I'm only going to be gone forever? But some argue that the acknowledgement of death can actually be liberating and motivating. I may be destined to become dust, but until then look out because I'm not going to waste a minute of this precious thing called life. I'd like to think I'm in this latter group.
Facing Charlie's death wasn't just facing loss. It was facing the pointlessness of it all. A stupid car crash? What, maybe 3 or 4 seconds of lapsed attention ... and you die?! It was just unfathomable. One day planning to run together throughout the summer and to be side-by-side in races the following fall, then next day choosing what to wear to the funeral? This wasn't what was supposed to be. I found it all overwhelming.
Visiting his grave, DURING a run, helped me in a tiny way to connect to a meaning, even if it was meaning of my own making. I had to run, it was just in my blood, I couldn't help it ... but now I had to run for something more than myself. I had to run, in part, for Charlie. And for everyone else I'd ever lost. In my addled teenage brain, I chose to carry a torch for all of them, but mostly for Charlie, who should have been there with us.
It's hard to run when you are crying. Try it. But tears are natural, when you miss someone, so tears came. Under a darkling sky, alone, running slowly through a cemetary on a Baraboo hill ... but lifted slightly by adrenaline and by a sense of being attached to something more than myself.
... after writing that, I feel relatively little motivation to write about the note that Harry Haslanger sent (see scan below). But in the spirit of reflecting back, I will say that it both a pleasant surprise and something that all of us felt really good about. Recognition from someone we respected. Confident tones of praise. It was another deposit into the emotional bank of our young and rather inexperienced team. It helped, a lot. And, of course, it provided us with a great nickname for Nellie!
Ran 3.5 miles on the hills of Baraboo at 7:30 pace on a cool night at sundown 68F. Put in some hills in preparation for meets coming up at Holy Name and Richland Center. Chest cold still there, forces me to cough and hack while I run. The side stitch I got during Friday's workout still hurts. I ran by Charlie's grave ... will go back the night before conference. Got a letter of congratulations from Harry Haslanger, he says we can win conference. I'm going to suggest to coach that we do more hills.
30 years later:
I'm not even sure where to start with reflections on this one ...
Let's leave aside the various health concerns and complaints.
Running past Charlie Nelson's grave was such a deep experience for me, on so many levels. I was a teenager, coping with the normal things: awkwardness, hormones, acne, the conflict between wanting to stay a kid and wanting to be an adult, and facial hair. But I was also facing something else: mortality. We all deny the fact that we will die. Some argue that this is actually adaptive, that we'd accomplish little if we dwelled hourly on the futility and temporariness of it all. Why do anything if I'm only going to be gone forever? But some argue that the acknowledgement of death can actually be liberating and motivating. I may be destined to become dust, but until then look out because I'm not going to waste a minute of this precious thing called life. I'd like to think I'm in this latter group.
Facing Charlie's death wasn't just facing loss. It was facing the pointlessness of it all. A stupid car crash? What, maybe 3 or 4 seconds of lapsed attention ... and you die?! It was just unfathomable. One day planning to run together throughout the summer and to be side-by-side in races the following fall, then next day choosing what to wear to the funeral? This wasn't what was supposed to be. I found it all overwhelming.
Visiting his grave, DURING a run, helped me in a tiny way to connect to a meaning, even if it was meaning of my own making. I had to run, it was just in my blood, I couldn't help it ... but now I had to run for something more than myself. I had to run, in part, for Charlie. And for everyone else I'd ever lost. In my addled teenage brain, I chose to carry a torch for all of them, but mostly for Charlie, who should have been there with us.
It's hard to run when you are crying. Try it. But tears are natural, when you miss someone, so tears came. Under a darkling sky, alone, running slowly through a cemetary on a Baraboo hill ... but lifted slightly by adrenaline and by a sense of being attached to something more than myself.
... after writing that, I feel relatively little motivation to write about the note that Harry Haslanger sent (see scan below). But in the spirit of reflecting back, I will say that it both a pleasant surprise and something that all of us felt really good about. Recognition from someone we respected. Confident tones of praise. It was another deposit into the emotional bank of our young and rather inexperienced team. It helped, a lot. And, of course, it provided us with a great nickname for Nellie!
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
September 15, 1979 (Saturday)
From running log:
Ran about 4.5 miles at 6:50 pace on the grass around Warner Park in Madison, Wisconsin. Cool, breezy, 70F. Ran after going to the Wisconsin Badger football game with Aunt Chris. Chest cold getting worse, also sneezing. Kinda worried about that.
30 years later:
Madison is the city of my birth, and I still have many relatives there. My Aunt Chris, my father's sister, was my "other mom". I assume that many of us have someone like that in our lives. It takes nothing away from our own mothers, whom we love dearly and forever. But sometimes life is just enhanced by another loving adult in your world, someone who cares deeply about you but is not enmeshed in the natural dynamics of a nuclear family. Aunt Chris had helped babysit me when I was in infant and toddler. She was much more of a sports fan than my own mother, who had her hands full with my three younger sisters anyway. I would spend wonderful weekends with my Aunt Chris and her son David, who was like a little brother to me. We'd laugh, and talk, and play, and experiment with cooking. She still tells a funny story about me eating some ridiculous amount of food (I think it was something like 15 homemade tacos, plus ice cream for dessert) as a teenager. It's probably true, I was insatiable. On top of all of that, we'd attend football games at the University's Camp Randall Stadium.
If you are a fan of college football, you know that Wisconsin has had a fairly competitive team for the past 15 years or so, often qualifying for Bowl Games. Not so in the 1970s. They were pretty awful. But we took a kind of pride in cheering for them anyway. And they often had one or two outstanding players (Rufus Ferguson and Billy Marek come to mind), so there was often something to get excited about even if they were likely to get blown out again. There is some joy in rooting for the underdog.
Back to BHS cross country: we were underdogs ourselves. Okay, we'd won our home cross country meet against three other teams, one of which figured to be a main competitor at the conference championship race. But we all knew this was only the beginning. Perhaps we'd caught the Wisconsin Dells team napping a bit, maybe they didn't consider us to be real competition. From this point onward, they'd be more-prepared for us, so the trail ahead was certainly not going to get any easier. Still, we'd accomplished a strong first step, and we had a growing sense of confidence and commitment. Success can do that for you, as long as you don't assume that one win is all you need.
Ran about 4.5 miles at 6:50 pace on the grass around Warner Park in Madison, Wisconsin. Cool, breezy, 70F. Ran after going to the Wisconsin Badger football game with Aunt Chris. Chest cold getting worse, also sneezing. Kinda worried about that.
30 years later:
Madison is the city of my birth, and I still have many relatives there. My Aunt Chris, my father's sister, was my "other mom". I assume that many of us have someone like that in our lives. It takes nothing away from our own mothers, whom we love dearly and forever. But sometimes life is just enhanced by another loving adult in your world, someone who cares deeply about you but is not enmeshed in the natural dynamics of a nuclear family. Aunt Chris had helped babysit me when I was in infant and toddler. She was much more of a sports fan than my own mother, who had her hands full with my three younger sisters anyway. I would spend wonderful weekends with my Aunt Chris and her son David, who was like a little brother to me. We'd laugh, and talk, and play, and experiment with cooking. She still tells a funny story about me eating some ridiculous amount of food (I think it was something like 15 homemade tacos, plus ice cream for dessert) as a teenager. It's probably true, I was insatiable. On top of all of that, we'd attend football games at the University's Camp Randall Stadium.
If you are a fan of college football, you know that Wisconsin has had a fairly competitive team for the past 15 years or so, often qualifying for Bowl Games. Not so in the 1970s. They were pretty awful. But we took a kind of pride in cheering for them anyway. And they often had one or two outstanding players (Rufus Ferguson and Billy Marek come to mind), so there was often something to get excited about even if they were likely to get blown out again. There is some joy in rooting for the underdog.
Back to BHS cross country: we were underdogs ourselves. Okay, we'd won our home cross country meet against three other teams, one of which figured to be a main competitor at the conference championship race. But we all knew this was only the beginning. Perhaps we'd caught the Wisconsin Dells team napping a bit, maybe they didn't consider us to be real competition. From this point onward, they'd be more-prepared for us, so the trail ahead was certainly not going to get any easier. Still, we'd accomplished a strong first step, and we had a growing sense of confidence and commitment. Success can do that for you, as long as you don't assume that one win is all you need.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
September 14, 1979 (Friday)
From running log:
Cross country practice. 1.5 mile warmup, 2 miles of intervals, 1.5 mile Indian file, 0.1 cooldown (5.1 miles). 8 times 440 yards striding in 81-83 seconds each. We ran a few intervals and a little Indian file. Very stiff after yesterday. Back, knees, hamstrings, neck - ow! It was worth it though. I still have a small chest cold, I think, gotta stay warm this weekend. Can't emphasize my victory or my soreness enough. It's getting cold weatherwise.
30 years later:
So, what did a cross country team do in 1979 on the day after a hard race? Run intervals, of course. If I did that today, my legs would probably fall off. Maybe my arms too.
We were a happy bunch, basking in the glow the previous day's victory. I'm sure we were all a bit stiff and sore, but we had a spring in our step and a bit of renewed confidence. The season was now well underway, and we were gearing up for what was to come.
Cross country practice. 1.5 mile warmup, 2 miles of intervals, 1.5 mile Indian file, 0.1 cooldown (5.1 miles). 8 times 440 yards striding in 81-83 seconds each. We ran a few intervals and a little Indian file. Very stiff after yesterday. Back, knees, hamstrings, neck - ow! It was worth it though. I still have a small chest cold, I think, gotta stay warm this weekend. Can't emphasize my victory or my soreness enough. It's getting cold weatherwise.
30 years later:
So, what did a cross country team do in 1979 on the day after a hard race? Run intervals, of course. If I did that today, my legs would probably fall off. Maybe my arms too.
We were a happy bunch, basking in the glow the previous day's victory. I'm sure we were all a bit stiff and sore, but we had a spring in our step and a bit of renewed confidence. The season was now well underway, and we were gearing up for what was to come.
Monday, September 14, 2009
September 13, 1979 (Thursday)
From running log:
Cross country RACE. 1 warmup, 3 race, 0.3 cooldown (4.3 miles). No splits on this course, but I ran 17:51 for first place! Thirteenth must be my lucky day, because I won! Beat Connors by 19 seconds. McGann was 4th, Crary 5th, Nellie 9th, Ben 10th, Kelly 11th, Nikl 17th. We kicked a$$ teamwise! I felt terrible at one point, with a sideache, but I kept pushing it. We're all improving! This is our (my) year! Connors will want revenge next Thursday, I must be tough again. Nothing really hurts. Thank goodness for excellent weather. Our girls team also won. I still have a slight cough. Keep improving!
30 years later:
It feels odd to write it, but it's the truth: the glow of this race is something that I've never forgotten, even after all of this time. Distance running is an endeavor that requires many, many dedicated hours of preparation, which occurs outside of the lime light. To be successful, you must keep at the effort, day after day, mile after lonely mile, in all kinds of weather. Not to mention the fact that you will likely be thought of as a least a bit odd, definitely obsessed, and possibly possessed. You might even be taunted while you're out there. But you must persist, even when the dividends you are hoping for just never seem to arrive.
For me, the payoff was on September 13, 1979. That was the very first race I had ever won. And while I can't remember every detail now, through the fog of other memories, I do recall some things starkly:
- being so hyper at the start that I could scarcely contain myself, hopping up and down and shaking
- bolting out of the start much faster than usual, but then settling down much more quickly afterward, probably because I knew every inch of that course and thus exactly how to apportion my effort
- absolutely killing myself on Cardiac Hill, knowing that this was the exact point at which I would have to break the competition
- flying down the hills in mixed state of euphoria (I'm in the lead!) and terror (What if they are catching me from behind?!)
- punching the air and letting out a primeval roar as I crossed the finish line, a sound of victory celebration + redemption + relief + pride + aggression
Of course, let's not forget that all of my teammates ran extremely well against one of our top rivals that afternoon. I'm sure the home-course advantage helped, but to put our five scoring guys all in the top 10 at a quadrangular meet (four teams, 28 varsity runners) was a great performance. Even our sixth and seventh runners finished ahead of scoring runners from the other three teams. This race clearly put us on a course for a successful season within our own conference. The job wasn't finished, but we'd taken a huge first step, and we'd taken it together.
I don't win races anymore, my battle with time is still raging but I'm clearly on the losing side now. I don't say that to be depressing, I say it factually. Remember, no matter the sport, so far time has gone undefeated. I've put up a good fight, though, and I'm not quite done yet. Time won't take me easily.
One of the problems with getting older lies in a potential for a growing emotional dependence on the successes of one's youth. We've all met that old geezer who talks incessantly about how everything was different and better in his day, and how he used to be the fastest/strongest/smartest/best person in all the land ... I just hope I don't come across that way. I write not to boast or exaggerate my past, nor to indicate that the only high point in my life occurred a generation ago. Instead, I write to describe a minor saga, felt deeply on a personal level and shared with a small group of peers, and to attempt to relate that little drama to the bigger world. We never the set world afire, and who can really determine if we were "the best" at anything ... but for one day, 30 years ago, we'd finished that race ahead of our competition and could proclaim ourselves as winners. Some folks go through their entire lives without being able to say that.
Article from the Baraboo News Republic. Check out my goofy photo, yeesh. Click to enlarge:
Cross country RACE. 1 warmup, 3 race, 0.3 cooldown (4.3 miles). No splits on this course, but I ran 17:51 for first place! Thirteenth must be my lucky day, because I won! Beat Connors by 19 seconds. McGann was 4th, Crary 5th, Nellie 9th, Ben 10th, Kelly 11th, Nikl 17th. We kicked a$$ teamwise! I felt terrible at one point, with a sideache, but I kept pushing it. We're all improving! This is our (my) year! Connors will want revenge next Thursday, I must be tough again. Nothing really hurts. Thank goodness for excellent weather. Our girls team also won. I still have a slight cough. Keep improving!
30 years later:
It feels odd to write it, but it's the truth: the glow of this race is something that I've never forgotten, even after all of this time. Distance running is an endeavor that requires many, many dedicated hours of preparation, which occurs outside of the lime light. To be successful, you must keep at the effort, day after day, mile after lonely mile, in all kinds of weather. Not to mention the fact that you will likely be thought of as a least a bit odd, definitely obsessed, and possibly possessed. You might even be taunted while you're out there. But you must persist, even when the dividends you are hoping for just never seem to arrive.
For me, the payoff was on September 13, 1979. That was the very first race I had ever won. And while I can't remember every detail now, through the fog of other memories, I do recall some things starkly:
- being so hyper at the start that I could scarcely contain myself, hopping up and down and shaking
- bolting out of the start much faster than usual, but then settling down much more quickly afterward, probably because I knew every inch of that course and thus exactly how to apportion my effort
- absolutely killing myself on Cardiac Hill, knowing that this was the exact point at which I would have to break the competition
- flying down the hills in mixed state of euphoria (I'm in the lead!) and terror (What if they are catching me from behind?!)
- punching the air and letting out a primeval roar as I crossed the finish line, a sound of victory celebration + redemption + relief + pride + aggression
Of course, let's not forget that all of my teammates ran extremely well against one of our top rivals that afternoon. I'm sure the home-course advantage helped, but to put our five scoring guys all in the top 10 at a quadrangular meet (four teams, 28 varsity runners) was a great performance. Even our sixth and seventh runners finished ahead of scoring runners from the other three teams. This race clearly put us on a course for a successful season within our own conference. The job wasn't finished, but we'd taken a huge first step, and we'd taken it together.
I don't win races anymore, my battle with time is still raging but I'm clearly on the losing side now. I don't say that to be depressing, I say it factually. Remember, no matter the sport, so far time has gone undefeated. I've put up a good fight, though, and I'm not quite done yet. Time won't take me easily.
One of the problems with getting older lies in a potential for a growing emotional dependence on the successes of one's youth. We've all met that old geezer who talks incessantly about how everything was different and better in his day, and how he used to be the fastest/strongest/smartest/best person in all the land ... I just hope I don't come across that way. I write not to boast or exaggerate my past, nor to indicate that the only high point in my life occurred a generation ago. Instead, I write to describe a minor saga, felt deeply on a personal level and shared with a small group of peers, and to attempt to relate that little drama to the bigger world. We never the set world afire, and who can really determine if we were "the best" at anything ... but for one day, 30 years ago, we'd finished that race ahead of our competition and could proclaim ourselves as winners. Some folks go through their entire lives without being able to say that.
Article from the Baraboo News Republic. Check out my goofy photo, yeesh. Click to enlarge:
Saturday, September 12, 2009
September 12, 1979 (Wednesday)
From running log:
Cross country practice. 1 mile warmup, 5 mile workout, 0.1 cooldown (6.1 miles). Easy road workout, 7:45 to 8:00 pace. Legs felt stiff from yesterday. Whirlpooled. Beat Dells tomorrow! Must beat Connors tomorrow - must! Varsity will be: me, McGann, Crary, Ben, Nellie, Kelly, Nikl. I know we can win. I feel okay. McGann should do well.
30 years later:
I guess you could see that I was a little fired up about the next day's race! The truth is, up until this point in my running career, I had never won a race overall. I had been aiming for this cross country season for months. I had trained through the summer. I had designed the home race course to favor my strengths and to intimidate the competition. I had raced my main competitors in summer road races, and they had beaten me (with a little help from a train!). This was my chance at redemption, my opportunity to cash in on all I had invested. Tomorrow would be the culmination of a lot of training, talking, dreaming, and planning.
If you look at that varsity lineup, that would be our team more-or-less for the rest of the season. It was quite a hodge podge of personalities, styles, and levels of experience. But it was what we had, and we were in it together.
Tune in tomorrow to see how we would do in our first home meet of the year.
Cross country practice. 1 mile warmup, 5 mile workout, 0.1 cooldown (6.1 miles). Easy road workout, 7:45 to 8:00 pace. Legs felt stiff from yesterday. Whirlpooled. Beat Dells tomorrow! Must beat Connors tomorrow - must! Varsity will be: me, McGann, Crary, Ben, Nellie, Kelly, Nikl. I know we can win. I feel okay. McGann should do well.
30 years later:
I guess you could see that I was a little fired up about the next day's race! The truth is, up until this point in my running career, I had never won a race overall. I had been aiming for this cross country season for months. I had trained through the summer. I had designed the home race course to favor my strengths and to intimidate the competition. I had raced my main competitors in summer road races, and they had beaten me (with a little help from a train!). This was my chance at redemption, my opportunity to cash in on all I had invested. Tomorrow would be the culmination of a lot of training, talking, dreaming, and planning.
If you look at that varsity lineup, that would be our team more-or-less for the rest of the season. It was quite a hodge podge of personalities, styles, and levels of experience. But it was what we had, and we were in it together.
Tune in tomorrow to see how we would do in our first home meet of the year.
Friday, September 11, 2009
September 11, 1979 (Tuesday)
From running log:
Cross country practice. 1.5 mile warmup, 2 mile workout, 0.1 cooldown (3.6 miles), included hilly fartlek. Hot, dry, 85F. We ran 8 times up Cardiac Hill. McGann ran tough, Crary didn't like it, Ben ran tough. Very hot. Hip stiff, not really sore. I've got to beat Connors, we've got to beat Dells, we gotta win on Thursday!
30 years later:
Eight times up Cardiac Hill? Ouch. I'm not surprised that Moose McGann ran tough, he just was simply tough. Of everyone on that 1979 team, including me, he was able to push himself hardest and closest to the edge. He'd finish races and nearly collapse. That toughness and willingness to destroy himself in an all-out race effort was inspiring to all.
Todd Crary wasn't a great hill runner, uphill that is. He could fly down the hills. His strategy for our race was to walk the uphill, then smoke the downhills. Doing tough uphill repeats was not his forte. He was long and lean, not powerful.
Ben was built more like Moose: a bit shorter, with more power in his legs. On the track he preferred to race the half-mile, a race that I despised because it required more leg speed than I possessed. Ben's intensity and power would serve him well on cross country courses with tough uphills, but he had to take advantage of those hills because he wasn't great downhill runner.
With just those three descriptions I am reminded of the variety of young men that made up our team, that make up most high school teams. I learned important lessons about accepting people for who they were and supporting their strengths, even though they did not match mine. Even a cross country team, which is made up exclusively of distance runners, can have an assortment of personalities, sizes, ages, and passions. The key to success lies in how you weave those threads together to create something more than the sum of its parts. On our varsity team, it went something like this:
Moose: tough competitor who would accept nothing less than everything he had to give.
Ben: sometimes flaky, but in the race he would not let you go, and look out for him on the uphills.
Todd: committed himself to the 1979 team despite having doubts, then really shined.
Douglas: devoted to and passionate about running, eager for every workout and race.
Ken: Quiet but determined, improved every single week all season long.
Chris: tall, powerful, fast-starter, wouldn't back down to all of the seniors on the team.
Tim: liked racing more than training, went from relaxed to intense on race day.
So, the mix of those seven runners created an intermingling of attitudes and influences: you didn't want to loaf off, because Moose wasn't going to ... you couldn't slow down in a race, because Ben would pass you and yell at you ... you couldn't wish you were somewhere else, or Todd would get on you for it ... you couldn't whine about running, or Douglas would bloviate on the joys of it all ... you couldn't sit at a plateau, or Ken would pass you by ... you couldn't assume that seniority guaranteed you a special status, because Chris would take over ... and you couldn't be lazy on race day because Tim would fire you up.
We complemented one another well, we kept one another on the right track, and we fed off of each other's success. We were a team.
Cross country practice. 1.5 mile warmup, 2 mile workout, 0.1 cooldown (3.6 miles), included hilly fartlek. Hot, dry, 85F. We ran 8 times up Cardiac Hill. McGann ran tough, Crary didn't like it, Ben ran tough. Very hot. Hip stiff, not really sore. I've got to beat Connors, we've got to beat Dells, we gotta win on Thursday!
30 years later:
Eight times up Cardiac Hill? Ouch. I'm not surprised that Moose McGann ran tough, he just was simply tough. Of everyone on that 1979 team, including me, he was able to push himself hardest and closest to the edge. He'd finish races and nearly collapse. That toughness and willingness to destroy himself in an all-out race effort was inspiring to all.
Todd Crary wasn't a great hill runner, uphill that is. He could fly down the hills. His strategy for our race was to walk the uphill, then smoke the downhills. Doing tough uphill repeats was not his forte. He was long and lean, not powerful.
Ben was built more like Moose: a bit shorter, with more power in his legs. On the track he preferred to race the half-mile, a race that I despised because it required more leg speed than I possessed. Ben's intensity and power would serve him well on cross country courses with tough uphills, but he had to take advantage of those hills because he wasn't great downhill runner.
With just those three descriptions I am reminded of the variety of young men that made up our team, that make up most high school teams. I learned important lessons about accepting people for who they were and supporting their strengths, even though they did not match mine. Even a cross country team, which is made up exclusively of distance runners, can have an assortment of personalities, sizes, ages, and passions. The key to success lies in how you weave those threads together to create something more than the sum of its parts. On our varsity team, it went something like this:
Moose: tough competitor who would accept nothing less than everything he had to give.
Ben: sometimes flaky, but in the race he would not let you go, and look out for him on the uphills.
Todd: committed himself to the 1979 team despite having doubts, then really shined.
Douglas: devoted to and passionate about running, eager for every workout and race.
Ken: Quiet but determined, improved every single week all season long.
Chris: tall, powerful, fast-starter, wouldn't back down to all of the seniors on the team.
Tim: liked racing more than training, went from relaxed to intense on race day.
So, the mix of those seven runners created an intermingling of attitudes and influences: you didn't want to loaf off, because Moose wasn't going to ... you couldn't slow down in a race, because Ben would pass you and yell at you ... you couldn't wish you were somewhere else, or Todd would get on you for it ... you couldn't whine about running, or Douglas would bloviate on the joys of it all ... you couldn't sit at a plateau, or Ken would pass you by ... you couldn't assume that seniority guaranteed you a special status, because Chris would take over ... and you couldn't be lazy on race day because Tim would fire you up.
We complemented one another well, we kept one another on the right track, and we fed off of each other's success. We were a team.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
September 10, 1979 (Monday)
From running log:
Cross country practice. Ran 5.9 miles in the grass fields behind the high school. 1 mile warmup, 4 mile workout, 0.9 mile cooldown. We did some 880 yard intervals in the grass, 8 of them. I ran them all between 2:37 and 2:59. Cool, damp day. My legs tightened up during the 880s. I also felt kind of weak, like I was getting a cold. Hopefully my body can fight it off. Cooler weather ahead. Knees fine, hip stiff, not too sore. Whirlpooled it. Beat Connors!
30 years later:
Those grass fields behind the high school are a bit smaller these days, taken up with an expansion of the school, a track, a football field, tennis courts ... sigh. In 1979 it was a sort of large prairie, mostly-mowed, wide open and essentially flat. These kind of workouts run entirely on grass made us all think about Charlie Nelson, our friend and teammate who had passed away only a few months earlier. Charlie was a sort of natural runner, one who came easily to it and never took it very seriously. I don't mean that he didn't care, or that he just goofed off. What I mean is that he didn't fret, obsess, or carefully orchestrate his running. He was spontaneous, unorthodox. He loved to run barefoot in the grass. None of us would take our shoes off. After all, we'd paid big money for our running shoes, and besides running barefoot kind of hurt. Not for Charlie. He couldn't wait to peel off his shoes and socks and start prancing on the grass. Doing so brought him simple joy, the happiness of creative play. Charlie was able to make every workout some kind of adventure.
I wish I could say that, in his memory, I had run this workout barefoot. I couldn't do it, I was afraid I'd cut my feet or maybe get injured. Besides, you can read my whiny complaints and know that I wasn't able to be as light-hearted about running as my friend Charlie had been. I should have learned more from him. The truth is, as the years have passed, I think I have done just that. I love running in the woods (so did Charlie) and when I'm feeling great and I have some time, I will happily turn off the known trail just to see what's around the bend of the next, something Charlie would always do. And I've learned not to fret so much, particularly not to worry about my competitors so intently as I used to. One last thing that I do in Charlie's memory: puddle stomping. When it rained, Charlie made it a point to leap into and splash through every puddle along the route, laughing and snorting all the way. We dreaded running on rainy days, he looked forward to it. So, when I can, I take aim at a few puddles on my rainy runs and laugh to myself and to his influence on me. Thank you Charlie. I'll always miss you.
Cross country practice. Ran 5.9 miles in the grass fields behind the high school. 1 mile warmup, 4 mile workout, 0.9 mile cooldown. We did some 880 yard intervals in the grass, 8 of them. I ran them all between 2:37 and 2:59. Cool, damp day. My legs tightened up during the 880s. I also felt kind of weak, like I was getting a cold. Hopefully my body can fight it off. Cooler weather ahead. Knees fine, hip stiff, not too sore. Whirlpooled it. Beat Connors!
30 years later:
Those grass fields behind the high school are a bit smaller these days, taken up with an expansion of the school, a track, a football field, tennis courts ... sigh. In 1979 it was a sort of large prairie, mostly-mowed, wide open and essentially flat. These kind of workouts run entirely on grass made us all think about Charlie Nelson, our friend and teammate who had passed away only a few months earlier. Charlie was a sort of natural runner, one who came easily to it and never took it very seriously. I don't mean that he didn't care, or that he just goofed off. What I mean is that he didn't fret, obsess, or carefully orchestrate his running. He was spontaneous, unorthodox. He loved to run barefoot in the grass. None of us would take our shoes off. After all, we'd paid big money for our running shoes, and besides running barefoot kind of hurt. Not for Charlie. He couldn't wait to peel off his shoes and socks and start prancing on the grass. Doing so brought him simple joy, the happiness of creative play. Charlie was able to make every workout some kind of adventure.
I wish I could say that, in his memory, I had run this workout barefoot. I couldn't do it, I was afraid I'd cut my feet or maybe get injured. Besides, you can read my whiny complaints and know that I wasn't able to be as light-hearted about running as my friend Charlie had been. I should have learned more from him. The truth is, as the years have passed, I think I have done just that. I love running in the woods (so did Charlie) and when I'm feeling great and I have some time, I will happily turn off the known trail just to see what's around the bend of the next, something Charlie would always do. And I've learned not to fret so much, particularly not to worry about my competitors so intently as I used to. One last thing that I do in Charlie's memory: puddle stomping. When it rained, Charlie made it a point to leap into and splash through every puddle along the route, laughing and snorting all the way. We dreaded running on rainy days, he looked forward to it. So, when I can, I take aim at a few puddles on my rainy runs and laugh to myself and to his influence on me. Thank you Charlie. I'll always miss you.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
September 9, 1979 (Sunday)
From running log:
Ran about 3 miles at 7:30 pace around Devil's Lake, a nice easy run with teammates Ben, Moose, and Steinhorst. Felt okay, knees feeling good, hip stiff, left ankle sore, back a little stiff. Connors ran a 16:09 at Portage yesterday. Must beat him on Thursday. Total weekly mileage = 36.6
30 years later:
It was a nice recovery run at an easy pace. You've met Ben and Moose before. Steinhorst was Larry Steinhorst, an underclassman taking a stab at cross country. He ran on the Junior Varsity team in 1979.
Despite my long litany of sore spots, I remember feeling pretty good. In the race the day before, I'd lowered my 3-mile time by 31 seconds compared to one week before, despite feeling the effects of allergies (I had hay fever, it wasn't severe but it would definitely make me feel out of sorts). If I could keep improving, I thougth I'd be doing well for the rest of the season. Of course, comparing times for cross country courses is an iffy business, because the difficulty of the courses can vary widely (for example, no one was going to run fast on our hilly home course). But in this case I'd run exactly the same course two weeks in a row, and shown that improvement.
However, there was my old nemesis Terry Connors of Wisconsin Dells, running another 22 seconds faster at a meet in Portage (that course was fairly fast, I'd run it once the year before). I was wishing that we'd gone to that meet instead of to Verona, because I wanted to see how he and I would stack up head-to-head (not to mention how our team would match theirs, man-for-man). We wouldn't have to wait long, though, because they'd be coming to our home meet in only four days. I was going to see just how tough he was; see how he'd deal with that killer of a course. And the rest of my teammates were already thinking about how they'd use our home course to their advantage.
Ran about 3 miles at 7:30 pace around Devil's Lake, a nice easy run with teammates Ben, Moose, and Steinhorst. Felt okay, knees feeling good, hip stiff, left ankle sore, back a little stiff. Connors ran a 16:09 at Portage yesterday. Must beat him on Thursday. Total weekly mileage = 36.6
30 years later:
It was a nice recovery run at an easy pace. You've met Ben and Moose before. Steinhorst was Larry Steinhorst, an underclassman taking a stab at cross country. He ran on the Junior Varsity team in 1979.
Despite my long litany of sore spots, I remember feeling pretty good. In the race the day before, I'd lowered my 3-mile time by 31 seconds compared to one week before, despite feeling the effects of allergies (I had hay fever, it wasn't severe but it would definitely make me feel out of sorts). If I could keep improving, I thougth I'd be doing well for the rest of the season. Of course, comparing times for cross country courses is an iffy business, because the difficulty of the courses can vary widely (for example, no one was going to run fast on our hilly home course). But in this case I'd run exactly the same course two weeks in a row, and shown that improvement.
However, there was my old nemesis Terry Connors of Wisconsin Dells, running another 22 seconds faster at a meet in Portage (that course was fairly fast, I'd run it once the year before). I was wishing that we'd gone to that meet instead of to Verona, because I wanted to see how he and I would stack up head-to-head (not to mention how our team would match theirs, man-for-man). We wouldn't have to wait long, though, because they'd be coming to our home meet in only four days. I was going to see just how tough he was; see how he'd deal with that killer of a course. And the rest of my teammates were already thinking about how they'd use our home course to their advantage.
September 8, 1979 (Saturday)
From running log:Cross Country RACE. 1.5 mile warmup, 3 mile race, .7 cooldown (5.2 miles). Warm, dry, 75F. Raced in Nike Universe spikes. Race splits: 1 mile 5:11, 2 miles 10:53, 3 miles 16:31. Finished 11th out of 68, one crummy place away from a medal. I'm quite pissed. McGann ran 17:14, Crary 17:16, Ben 18:08, Nellie 18:12, then Kelly, Nikl, Toman. I beat Jimmy Way and Mike Bennett's last week's time. What about Connors? My allergies were bad today, caused me some breathing problems and a sore throat, which bled a little bit during the race. As a team, we finished 8th out of 9. Maybe we can win our home meet next Thursday if we run better on our hilly course.
30 years later:
This race was both a disappointment and a determination-builder. I had my heart set on one of those medals, and I missed out by only one place. Once again, I went out too fast, but this time I did not quite fade as badly as previous races, a sign that my fitness was improving. While my teammates ran fairly decent times, their places were less than we'd hoped, and our nearly-last-place finish was a bit discouraging. Admittedly, we were up against some running powerhouse schools like Fennimore, along with a couple of much larger high schools in Madison LaFollette and Monona Grove. Even given that, I had hoped we'd be vying for 4th or 5th place, not 8th out of a field of 9 teams. We still had our work cut out for us.
For me, this race was the first time that I encountered dirty tactics in cross country. I'd played high school football through my sophomore year, and one of the reasons I'd decided to switch to cross country was because the games were becoming more and more nasty and dirty. Up until sophomore year, it seemed like we just played football against each other, let the best team win, etc. During my sophomore year, I was subjected to numerous attacks that were meant to injure or anger: spitting, twisting of arms and ankles, sucker-punches, illegal hits to the knees from the side, stepping on feet, insulting your mother, punches in the groin ... just to name a few. I guess the competitive and violent nature of football leads to these things, but frankly they weren't for me. Running was, well, just running. How could you use dirty tactics at running?
Well, I learned the hard way. Just after the one mile mark of the Verona race, I was running right alongside another runner (from McFarland High School). As we came around a corner along the side of a hill, he reached out and pushed me hard, and I fell off the trail and down the hill a few feet. I couldn't believe it, what a complete jerk! I scrambled back up to find that I'd fallen back from about 10th place to about 25th place. I was able to work my way back to 11th, but that was it. Dirty tactics, in a running race! I guess I was pretty naive. In a culture that values winning more than honor, such behavior is inevitable.
As the season passed, I'd encounter more of this kind of thing (stay tuned), which I suppose is part of the price you pay for being seen as an important rival. I'm proud to say that I've never resorted to these kind of things, never based any of my running success on dirty tactics. If I ran a race and finished ahead of you, it was because of my running, not my conniving methods to trip you up or slice the back of your legs with my sharpened spikes. I take pride in that, and to this day believe that it's better to be true than to be famous. Sadly, I think I'm in the minority on that one.
You can see from my running log entry that I was keeping a keen eye on my conference rivals. I had now run faster than Mike Bennett had on the same course, but was wondering how Terry Connors was running. I also mention Jimmy Way, who was one of my favorite high school rivals. He ran for Monona Grove High School, and we used to race that team a couple times every cross country and track season. What I liked about Jimmy was that he was had a Prefontaine-like attitude. He'd come to the starting line and say something like, "I'm going to run so hard today that all of my spikes will come unscrewed!" Like Pre, he had longer, flowing hair and a dark mustache, and he ran aggressively, from the front. This was perfect for me, because I did not have the leg speed to sit and kick, but I also didn't want to lead the race from the gun. The best races for me were the ones in which someone else took it out hard, putting the hurt on everyone. I'd tail Jimmy for the first third of the race, then put the hammer down myself when I could. In many ways, I wished we'd been teammates. He ran hard and gave it his all, finishing in front of him took effort, he'd keep the entire field honest.
Article from the Wisconsin State Journal (click to enlarge):
Article from the Wisconsin State Journal (click to enlarge):
Article from the Baraboo News Republic (click to enlarge):
Here's a photo of the old Nike Universe spikes. I loved these shoes, despite their hideous orange color. They were light, flexible, with six individual spike sockets, and had just enough traction on the outsole so that I always felt sure of my footing. I actually wore through two pair of these, between high school, college, and European cross country races. I know I've joked about how we runners obsess over our shoes, but I have to admit that I thought these were super groovy and I'm only slightly embarrassed to admit that I kind of miss them!
September 7, 1979 (Friday)
From running log:
Cross country practice. Ran 1 mile warmup, 3.5 mile workout, and 0.5 mile cooldown (5 miles) on the River Road on a cool, breezy 72F day. Nice easy pre-race run. Eight man varsity tomorrow: Hegley-McGann-Crary-Queniahan-Nelson-Kelly-Toman-Nikl. Hip and knee sore, whirlpooled them. Hope to do well tomorrow in the Verona Invitational, goal is to finish in the top 10.
30 years later:
For the 1979 season, we considered the Verona Invitational to be the first real cross country meet. Unlike the USTFF meet the week before where runners had been divided into heats depending on their year in school, at Verona we'd be running as a team against other teams. Typically, a cross country varsity team is made up of 7 runners, the first 5 of whom score for the team. Verona was allowing 8-man teams, a nice touch.
Cross country scoring couldn't be much simpler. Your place is your score, and lowest score wins. In a 5-man scoring race, the best possible score is 1+2+3+4+5 = 15 points. That kind of team dominance is rare, of course. Typically, runners are scattered throughout the field and coaches are exhorting each and every one of them to pass the guy in front. Every place counts, every runner passed could mean the difference between your team winning or losing the race. The only complicating factor is that after your first 5 have scored, the other 2 or 3 don't count towards the team score. That is, if you sixth finisher was in 50th place, he'd get credit for that finish, but the next guy behind him would get the 50 points toward his team's score (instead of 51), assuming he was one of his team's top five. Keeps things fair.
After and up-and-down summer of worry over just who would be on this team, I was feeling pretty good about this 8-man lineup. Baraboo High School did have a couple of other good runners who were not on the team, but no use fretting over what wasn't going to be (one was the starting quarterback on the football team so you couldn't blame him, the other was just not interested in running at all, unfortunately). Still, I felt that this team could be strong enough to win that coveted SCC crown that we sought, that we'd made our goal many months before. We'd see how we would fare against some very stiff competition the next day.
Cross country practice. Ran 1 mile warmup, 3.5 mile workout, and 0.5 mile cooldown (5 miles) on the River Road on a cool, breezy 72F day. Nice easy pre-race run. Eight man varsity tomorrow: Hegley-McGann-Crary-Queniahan-Nelson-Kelly-Toman-Nikl. Hip and knee sore, whirlpooled them. Hope to do well tomorrow in the Verona Invitational, goal is to finish in the top 10.
30 years later:
For the 1979 season, we considered the Verona Invitational to be the first real cross country meet. Unlike the USTFF meet the week before where runners had been divided into heats depending on their year in school, at Verona we'd be running as a team against other teams. Typically, a cross country varsity team is made up of 7 runners, the first 5 of whom score for the team. Verona was allowing 8-man teams, a nice touch.
Cross country scoring couldn't be much simpler. Your place is your score, and lowest score wins. In a 5-man scoring race, the best possible score is 1+2+3+4+5 = 15 points. That kind of team dominance is rare, of course. Typically, runners are scattered throughout the field and coaches are exhorting each and every one of them to pass the guy in front. Every place counts, every runner passed could mean the difference between your team winning or losing the race. The only complicating factor is that after your first 5 have scored, the other 2 or 3 don't count towards the team score. That is, if you sixth finisher was in 50th place, he'd get credit for that finish, but the next guy behind him would get the 50 points toward his team's score (instead of 51), assuming he was one of his team's top five. Keeps things fair.
After and up-and-down summer of worry over just who would be on this team, I was feeling pretty good about this 8-man lineup. Baraboo High School did have a couple of other good runners who were not on the team, but no use fretting over what wasn't going to be (one was the starting quarterback on the football team so you couldn't blame him, the other was just not interested in running at all, unfortunately). Still, I felt that this team could be strong enough to win that coveted SCC crown that we sought, that we'd made our goal many months before. We'd see how we would fare against some very stiff competition the next day.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
September 6, 1979 (Thursday)
From running log:
Cross country practice. 2 mile warmup, then a 3 mile time trial, followed by a 2 mile cooldown (7 miles total). We ran on the 1979 BHS cross country course (Hegley's). I wore the LDVs, saving the racing spikes for the real races. I finished in 18:43 (6:14 pace), Moose in 18:57, Todd in 19:51, then Ben, then Nellie. This was a somewhat informal time trial. Brian Toman ran well, a bit of a surprise.
30 years later:
This was my first all-out run on the 3 mile cross country course that I had designed. Of course, I'd selfishly made up a course that suited my abilities, but I also believed that our entire team would run well on that route because (a) they'd know what was in store, and (b) we lived in Baraboo, so we all ran on hills, it was our strength.
I don't know why I wrote that this was "a somewhat informal time trial" ... perhaps one of my ex-teammates will comment here if they remember. My conjecture is that we were all on the same page about the mistakes of 1978, when the team had been so busy competing within itself that the runners were all worn out, injured, or sick by late in the season. In 1979 we had decided to put our own petty differences and rivalries aside as best as we could, and concentrate on the competition outside of our own classmates. I can't say that we accomplished this perfectly, but keeping our eyes on the real prize certainly helped us maintain focus.
Given all of that, and the fact that I don't exactly recall this workout, leads me to believe that we didn't run at 100% effort, saving something for the upcoming weekend race. Whether that wise approach was given to us by our coaches or by our own experience has been lost to the winds of time.
Just a quick word on Brian Toman: I've written in earlier posts that he was a bit of an unknown quantity to us. Here is what I do remember: he was enthusiastic and he did his best in practice every day. Sometimes that meant he would run the first part of a workout way too hard, and then fade with fatigue. In fact, it wasn't surprising to see Brian leading the early stages of a workout, only to be passed one-by-one along the road. By writing that his time trial performance was surprising, what I meant was that he did not fade as much as usual. So it was a pleasant surprise. Many of us, had we been in Brian's shoes, might have found it discouraging to be up there at the start of each run only to fall back along the way. But if memory serves me correctly, Brian just kept on plugging. Maybe he wasn't the most-talented runner on the team, and maybe he couldn't quite crack varsity, but there is a need on any team for that guy-who-never-stops-trying. I wouldn't call it "leadership by example", because it's not exactly leadership. It's something different; it's the guy who sort of keeps everyone else 'honest' in a workout. In other words, if you goofed off, he'd beat you simply because he was not going to give up, ever. So you'd better put in the effort. I don't think the value of guys like Brian is recognized by teammates on high school teams, so I'm taking a short moment here to thank Brian Toman and all of his kindred spirits out there. Keep up the good work.
Cross country practice. 2 mile warmup, then a 3 mile time trial, followed by a 2 mile cooldown (7 miles total). We ran on the 1979 BHS cross country course (Hegley's). I wore the LDVs, saving the racing spikes for the real races. I finished in 18:43 (6:14 pace), Moose in 18:57, Todd in 19:51, then Ben, then Nellie. This was a somewhat informal time trial. Brian Toman ran well, a bit of a surprise.
30 years later:
This was my first all-out run on the 3 mile cross country course that I had designed. Of course, I'd selfishly made up a course that suited my abilities, but I also believed that our entire team would run well on that route because (a) they'd know what was in store, and (b) we lived in Baraboo, so we all ran on hills, it was our strength.
I don't know why I wrote that this was "a somewhat informal time trial" ... perhaps one of my ex-teammates will comment here if they remember. My conjecture is that we were all on the same page about the mistakes of 1978, when the team had been so busy competing within itself that the runners were all worn out, injured, or sick by late in the season. In 1979 we had decided to put our own petty differences and rivalries aside as best as we could, and concentrate on the competition outside of our own classmates. I can't say that we accomplished this perfectly, but keeping our eyes on the real prize certainly helped us maintain focus.
Given all of that, and the fact that I don't exactly recall this workout, leads me to believe that we didn't run at 100% effort, saving something for the upcoming weekend race. Whether that wise approach was given to us by our coaches or by our own experience has been lost to the winds of time.
Just a quick word on Brian Toman: I've written in earlier posts that he was a bit of an unknown quantity to us. Here is what I do remember: he was enthusiastic and he did his best in practice every day. Sometimes that meant he would run the first part of a workout way too hard, and then fade with fatigue. In fact, it wasn't surprising to see Brian leading the early stages of a workout, only to be passed one-by-one along the road. By writing that his time trial performance was surprising, what I meant was that he did not fade as much as usual. So it was a pleasant surprise. Many of us, had we been in Brian's shoes, might have found it discouraging to be up there at the start of each run only to fall back along the way. But if memory serves me correctly, Brian just kept on plugging. Maybe he wasn't the most-talented runner on the team, and maybe he couldn't quite crack varsity, but there is a need on any team for that guy-who-never-stops-trying. I wouldn't call it "leadership by example", because it's not exactly leadership. It's something different; it's the guy who sort of keeps everyone else 'honest' in a workout. In other words, if you goofed off, he'd beat you simply because he was not going to give up, ever. So you'd better put in the effort. I don't think the value of guys like Brian is recognized by teammates on high school teams, so I'm taking a short moment here to thank Brian Toman and all of his kindred spirits out there. Keep up the good work.
September 5, 1979 (Wednesday)
From running log:
Cross country practice. 2 mile warmup, then 3.1 miles hard workout and 0.3 miles cooling down (5.4 miles) It was hot and dry again, 90F. We did intervals on the grass near the BHS baseball field. 2 x 110 yds, 3 x 220 yds, 3 x 440 yds, 2 x 880 yds, 2 x 440 yds, 2 x 220 yds, 3 x 110 yds. Everyone was tired because of the heat, and school just starting. Verona Invitational CC meet on Saturday, with huge medals to first through 10th place!
30 years later:
The older I get, the more amazed I become at the ability of the young to switch gears, both physically and mentally. By that, I mean that we were able to go from summer to school year in just a couple of days, immediately adapting to a completely new schedule, routine, diet, sleep pattern, and sports season. But it's more than just adapting, because I think anyone with an open mind and a flexible attitude can adapt to changes around them; it's more like a paradigm shift. Not only could we adapt, but we would immediately see the new lifestyle as the norm; that is, it didn't seem like we were adapting! One day it was summer vacation without a care in the world, the next day it was an early alarm, a full slate of classes, intense cross country practice, homework, and plotting out the dates of semester exams. Presto!
I think it's perhaps a pity, and a loss, that as we age we don't somehow maintain that mindset. Whatever life throws at us, wouldn't it be less-difficult if we could accept and just move forward, instead of pushing back?
Or, am I seeing the past through rose-colored glasses here? Is it possible that the seeming flexibility of youth is actually an inherent aspect of emotional immaturity? Perhaps being able to let go of the norm and embrace the new at a moment's notice isn't always a beneficial approach. As we mature, we build a life for ourselves, including: committed relationships and marriages, children, careers, close friends, ties to our communities, and a deeper sense of belonging. Perhaps it is the sense of comfort and meaningful experiences that we have achieved which prevent us from always readily jumping into the next new thing to come along.
In essence, this is one of the dilemmas of the human condition. Progressivism v. conservatism. And I do not believe this is a simple duality of opposing forces. Not only is it a spectrum with an infinite number of intermediate gradations, but it is also situational: you might be progressive in certain aspects of your life while conservative in others, so the trait is likely to be influenced by circumstances. Bear in mind that I am not talking about politics here, a realm in which these terms are co-opted and distorted by the selfish and power-hungry. I'm talking about how you, yourself, conduct the affairs of your life. May you find the right balance for you and your loved ones.
Back to more mundane concerns: 30 years ago on this date I was focused once again on winning a medal at the upcoming invitational, at which nine area high school cross country teams would compete. With perennial cross country power Fennimore in the race, I was clearly setting my goals high. But those lofty goals are what helped me push through a tough pyramid workout on this day, and flop onto my pillow that night both tired and satisfied.
Cross country practice. 2 mile warmup, then 3.1 miles hard workout and 0.3 miles cooling down (5.4 miles) It was hot and dry again, 90F. We did intervals on the grass near the BHS baseball field. 2 x 110 yds, 3 x 220 yds, 3 x 440 yds, 2 x 880 yds, 2 x 440 yds, 2 x 220 yds, 3 x 110 yds. Everyone was tired because of the heat, and school just starting. Verona Invitational CC meet on Saturday, with huge medals to first through 10th place!
30 years later:
The older I get, the more amazed I become at the ability of the young to switch gears, both physically and mentally. By that, I mean that we were able to go from summer to school year in just a couple of days, immediately adapting to a completely new schedule, routine, diet, sleep pattern, and sports season. But it's more than just adapting, because I think anyone with an open mind and a flexible attitude can adapt to changes around them; it's more like a paradigm shift. Not only could we adapt, but we would immediately see the new lifestyle as the norm; that is, it didn't seem like we were adapting! One day it was summer vacation without a care in the world, the next day it was an early alarm, a full slate of classes, intense cross country practice, homework, and plotting out the dates of semester exams. Presto!
I think it's perhaps a pity, and a loss, that as we age we don't somehow maintain that mindset. Whatever life throws at us, wouldn't it be less-difficult if we could accept and just move forward, instead of pushing back?
Or, am I seeing the past through rose-colored glasses here? Is it possible that the seeming flexibility of youth is actually an inherent aspect of emotional immaturity? Perhaps being able to let go of the norm and embrace the new at a moment's notice isn't always a beneficial approach. As we mature, we build a life for ourselves, including: committed relationships and marriages, children, careers, close friends, ties to our communities, and a deeper sense of belonging. Perhaps it is the sense of comfort and meaningful experiences that we have achieved which prevent us from always readily jumping into the next new thing to come along.
In essence, this is one of the dilemmas of the human condition. Progressivism v. conservatism. And I do not believe this is a simple duality of opposing forces. Not only is it a spectrum with an infinite number of intermediate gradations, but it is also situational: you might be progressive in certain aspects of your life while conservative in others, so the trait is likely to be influenced by circumstances. Bear in mind that I am not talking about politics here, a realm in which these terms are co-opted and distorted by the selfish and power-hungry. I'm talking about how you, yourself, conduct the affairs of your life. May you find the right balance for you and your loved ones.
Back to more mundane concerns: 30 years ago on this date I was focused once again on winning a medal at the upcoming invitational, at which nine area high school cross country teams would compete. With perennial cross country power Fennimore in the race, I was clearly setting my goals high. But those lofty goals are what helped me push through a tough pyramid workout on this day, and flop onto my pillow that night both tired and satisfied.
Friday, September 4, 2009
September 4, 1979 (Tuesday)
From running log:
Cross country practice, ran 7.5 miles total on roads, mostly at 7:30 pace but some a lot slower. Hot, hot, hot day with dry winds, over 90F. It was so hot, I just died out there. I had to walk some of it. That sucked. I felt exhausted, and almost threw up at one point. I need more rest. I have to not let the heat psyche me out so much.
30 years later:
Perhaps it's my northern-European blood lines, and perhaps it's partly psychological, but I have never handled heat very well. On more than one occasion during my teen years I had some kind of intense reaction to strenuous activity in the heat, ranging from severe muscle cramps through dizziness and headache to actually being physically ill. Clearly, I was prone to reactions along the heat exhaustion-heat stroke spectrum. Ugh.
It's also worth noting that my diet and hydration habits were probably not so great in 1979. I'm sure I ate too much junk food and didn't drink enough water. I just didn't really pay attention to those things. In the years hence, I've been able to run and race in some very hot, humid conditions and avoid these symptoms, so either I've out-grown it or I'm just better-prepared.
While it was hot, the autumn was definitely getting closer, and deep down I knew that when the air cooled, I'd run better. These long, hot days were the work necessary to be prepared for better weather and more racing. Despite the suffering, I was building the foundation for a successful season. We all were.
Cross country practice, ran 7.5 miles total on roads, mostly at 7:30 pace but some a lot slower. Hot, hot, hot day with dry winds, over 90F. It was so hot, I just died out there. I had to walk some of it. That sucked. I felt exhausted, and almost threw up at one point. I need more rest. I have to not let the heat psyche me out so much.
30 years later:
Perhaps it's my northern-European blood lines, and perhaps it's partly psychological, but I have never handled heat very well. On more than one occasion during my teen years I had some kind of intense reaction to strenuous activity in the heat, ranging from severe muscle cramps through dizziness and headache to actually being physically ill. Clearly, I was prone to reactions along the heat exhaustion-heat stroke spectrum. Ugh.
It's also worth noting that my diet and hydration habits were probably not so great in 1979. I'm sure I ate too much junk food and didn't drink enough water. I just didn't really pay attention to those things. In the years hence, I've been able to run and race in some very hot, humid conditions and avoid these symptoms, so either I've out-grown it or I'm just better-prepared.
While it was hot, the autumn was definitely getting closer, and deep down I knew that when the air cooled, I'd run better. These long, hot days were the work necessary to be prepared for better weather and more racing. Despite the suffering, I was building the foundation for a successful season. We all were.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
September 3, 1979 (Monday)
From running log:
Ran about 3.5 miles in the evening with Ben and Nellie at 6:50 pace. Hey, Nellie's running strong! Felt okay, not great. School starts tomorrow.
30 years later:
Ah, yes, the last day before the start of school. I remember those days well. For me, it was always a bittersweet experience. Summers were great, of course. A few days at the family cottage, many weekend afternoons at Devil's Lake swimming with friends, the ability to just relax without any worries. On the other hand, I actually missed school. I know, that might sound funny or odd, but for me the structure of school was a kind of comfort, a routine that I could settle into quickly. It's not that I loved homework or studying for exams, but I did love learning.
People will claim that they learn something everyday; I find that a bit unlikely. If you open your mind to it, I suppose you can observe things everyday and perhaps learn something. But it's more likely that you actually were learning something everyday when you were in school. At some basic level, I found that to be exciting. Teachers were people whom I admired and looked up to, I aspired to be able one day to share what I knew using logical, well-planned methods, just like the best teachers. Being able to communicate and inform in a way that is clear, concise, and never condescending is a skill that will take you far in life.In my career, I think I have parlayed that style into at least some modicum of success.
Nellie was my best friend in high school, and we share plenty of stories. I remember one evening run with Nellie. We were running in my neighborhood on a cool summer night after dark. While the streets were well-lit, the tree-lined sidewalks where we ran were always much darker and offered only dappled light from the street lamps. We were only a few blocks into our run, when out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw a small dog chasing us. I think I said something like, "Look out" while pointing, and accelerated to avoid the onrushing mutt. I must have caught Nellie completely off-guard, because instead of increasing his speed, he hesitated and stared into the darkness to see what the heck I was warning him about. The thing was, I've never had very good night vision. You see, it wasn't a dog. It was a skunk.
Those animals don't see all that well, and the two of them were on a perfect collision course. I spun around just in time to see Nellie go air-born over the top of the fast-waddling creature, who must have been so shocked that (luckily) he forgot all about his ability to spritz intruders with his vile juices. Nellie, never much of a leaper, seemed to be about four feet off the ground, and blurted out a "holy sh!t" while levitating there. He finally hit the ground and we scrambled away at top speed, feeling blessed that neither of us would be bathing in tomato juice for the rest of the night.
Ran about 3.5 miles in the evening with Ben and Nellie at 6:50 pace. Hey, Nellie's running strong! Felt okay, not great. School starts tomorrow.
30 years later:
Ah, yes, the last day before the start of school. I remember those days well. For me, it was always a bittersweet experience. Summers were great, of course. A few days at the family cottage, many weekend afternoons at Devil's Lake swimming with friends, the ability to just relax without any worries. On the other hand, I actually missed school. I know, that might sound funny or odd, but for me the structure of school was a kind of comfort, a routine that I could settle into quickly. It's not that I loved homework or studying for exams, but I did love learning.
People will claim that they learn something everyday; I find that a bit unlikely. If you open your mind to it, I suppose you can observe things everyday and perhaps learn something. But it's more likely that you actually were learning something everyday when you were in school. At some basic level, I found that to be exciting. Teachers were people whom I admired and looked up to, I aspired to be able one day to share what I knew using logical, well-planned methods, just like the best teachers. Being able to communicate and inform in a way that is clear, concise, and never condescending is a skill that will take you far in life.In my career, I think I have parlayed that style into at least some modicum of success.
Nellie was my best friend in high school, and we share plenty of stories. I remember one evening run with Nellie. We were running in my neighborhood on a cool summer night after dark. While the streets were well-lit, the tree-lined sidewalks where we ran were always much darker and offered only dappled light from the street lamps. We were only a few blocks into our run, when out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw a small dog chasing us. I think I said something like, "Look out" while pointing, and accelerated to avoid the onrushing mutt. I must have caught Nellie completely off-guard, because instead of increasing his speed, he hesitated and stared into the darkness to see what the heck I was warning him about. The thing was, I've never had very good night vision. You see, it wasn't a dog. It was a skunk.
Those animals don't see all that well, and the two of them were on a perfect collision course. I spun around just in time to see Nellie go air-born over the top of the fast-waddling creature, who must have been so shocked that (luckily) he forgot all about his ability to spritz intruders with his vile juices. Nellie, never much of a leaper, seemed to be about four feet off the ground, and blurted out a "holy sh!t" while levitating there. He finally hit the ground and we scrambled away at top speed, feeling blessed that neither of us would be bathing in tomato juice for the rest of the night.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
September 2, 1979 (Sunday)
From running log:
Ran 3.5 miles at 6:50 pace with Nellie after dark, nice and cool, 68F. I've been wearing the Saucony 1980s and my legs seem to feel better when I do, although still kind of tight. Fast pace for Nellie, he must have felt very good. Mike Bennett ran 9 seconds faster than I did on Saturday. I can beat him. Total weekly miles = 31.1
30 years later:
“With Nellie after dark” sounds like some kind of late night television program, or maybe even a blue movie. But the fact is that we ran after dark quite a bit. There were a couple of common reasons: (1) we’d get busy during the day and simply not have any time to run until the day was over, (2) we’d decide not to run, but by nightfall we were feeling guilty and having second thoughts, so we’d squeeze in a short run before bed. I think there is a kind of joy that can be found while running in the dark; you feel like you are moving faster, and the noise and traffic of the day has given way to the rhythmic serenade of the crickets.
As runners, we are guilty of obsessing over our shoes. After all, they are really the only piece of necessary equipment for our sport. Forgive us for our naivete. We eagerly buy into the advertising for each and every new ‘innovation’ that is announced, wanting so badly to believe that there is that one holy grail of a shoe out there, the one that will deliver us to the nirvana of running: endless, effortless miles without an injury in sight. Yeah, right. But it sure keeps the shoe companies in profit, doesn’t it?
In 1979, the best shoes were using EVA foam midsoles and early versions of carbon rubber outsoles. They were probably good for about 200 miles, but we’d push those limits by dabbing Shoe Goo onto the heels and getting every last mile we could out of them until they just fell apart. These days, shoes are definitely better. When I’m asked for shoe advice, it’s pretty easy: go to a store with a fairly wide selection (preferably a running specialty store), try on at least six pair of shoes from name brand manufacturers which cost more than $80, buy the ones that fit the best, or better yet buy two different pair and alternate them. And shoes these days should last you about 400-500 miles before they need replacing.
You can see from my log entry that I continued to be focused on the competition from within our conference. Mike Bennett’s talent worried me, and the fact that he’d run faster than me the day before increased that worry. But what do you do with that kind of anxiety? In my opinion, there are two basic choices: (1) let the worry overwhelm you, fret and fret about your shortcomings until you have defeated yourself, then sit back and watch the competition leave you behind, or (2) convert the anxiety into action, work harder, push yourself, re-dedicate yourself to the task at hand, close the gap and then pass the competition. I chose the latter. So should you. No matter what hurdle you face, no matter the quality or reputation of your competition, the only thing you can control is your own determination and preparation. Besides, nothing worth achieving comes without hard work and sacrifice. Or, as others have put it:
"Anything in life worth having is worth working for."-- Andrew Carnegie
"I always remember an epitaph which is in the cemetery at Tombstone, Arizona. It says: 'Here lies Jack Williams. He done his damnedest.' I think that is the greatest epitaph a man can have - When he gives everything that is in him to do the job he has before him. That is all you can ask of him and that is what I have tried to do."-- Harry S. Truman
"I learned that the only way you are going to get anywhere in life is to work hard at it. Whether you're a musician, a writer, an athlete or a businessman, there is no getting around it. If you do, you'll win -- if you don't you won't."-- Bruce Jenner
Or, maybe my favorite:
“If you want to win anything- a race, yourself, your life- you have to go a little berserk” -- George Sheehan
Epilogue: on this date in 1979, I turned 18 years old. I was one of the oldest in my class, which was probably a good thing given that I was a late bloomer. I'd been a shrimp in elementary school (the smallest kid in class in grades K-2) and even at age 18 had only recently begun shaving regularly. Oh, that and the fact that I flunked Kindergarten. Yes, it's a long story, but I was immature (some may argue that hasn't ever changed!), and I needed another year before moving to first grade. It was humiliating, but in retrospect I think it was the right thing for me. Today, as I turn 48 (ouch), it all seems so long ago, and yet at moments the memories are crystal clear. In some ways my competition now is old Father Time. So far, I'm winning, but I'm a little worried that he seems to be closing the gap.
Ran 3.5 miles at 6:50 pace with Nellie after dark, nice and cool, 68F. I've been wearing the Saucony 1980s and my legs seem to feel better when I do, although still kind of tight. Fast pace for Nellie, he must have felt very good. Mike Bennett ran 9 seconds faster than I did on Saturday. I can beat him. Total weekly miles = 31.1
30 years later:
“With Nellie after dark” sounds like some kind of late night television program, or maybe even a blue movie. But the fact is that we ran after dark quite a bit. There were a couple of common reasons: (1) we’d get busy during the day and simply not have any time to run until the day was over, (2) we’d decide not to run, but by nightfall we were feeling guilty and having second thoughts, so we’d squeeze in a short run before bed. I think there is a kind of joy that can be found while running in the dark; you feel like you are moving faster, and the noise and traffic of the day has given way to the rhythmic serenade of the crickets.
As runners, we are guilty of obsessing over our shoes. After all, they are really the only piece of necessary equipment for our sport. Forgive us for our naivete. We eagerly buy into the advertising for each and every new ‘innovation’ that is announced, wanting so badly to believe that there is that one holy grail of a shoe out there, the one that will deliver us to the nirvana of running: endless, effortless miles without an injury in sight. Yeah, right. But it sure keeps the shoe companies in profit, doesn’t it?
In 1979, the best shoes were using EVA foam midsoles and early versions of carbon rubber outsoles. They were probably good for about 200 miles, but we’d push those limits by dabbing Shoe Goo onto the heels and getting every last mile we could out of them until they just fell apart. These days, shoes are definitely better. When I’m asked for shoe advice, it’s pretty easy: go to a store with a fairly wide selection (preferably a running specialty store), try on at least six pair of shoes from name brand manufacturers which cost more than $80, buy the ones that fit the best, or better yet buy two different pair and alternate them. And shoes these days should last you about 400-500 miles before they need replacing.
You can see from my log entry that I continued to be focused on the competition from within our conference. Mike Bennett’s talent worried me, and the fact that he’d run faster than me the day before increased that worry. But what do you do with that kind of anxiety? In my opinion, there are two basic choices: (1) let the worry overwhelm you, fret and fret about your shortcomings until you have defeated yourself, then sit back and watch the competition leave you behind, or (2) convert the anxiety into action, work harder, push yourself, re-dedicate yourself to the task at hand, close the gap and then pass the competition. I chose the latter. So should you. No matter what hurdle you face, no matter the quality or reputation of your competition, the only thing you can control is your own determination and preparation. Besides, nothing worth achieving comes without hard work and sacrifice. Or, as others have put it:
"Anything in life worth having is worth working for."-- Andrew Carnegie
"I always remember an epitaph which is in the cemetery at Tombstone, Arizona. It says: 'Here lies Jack Williams. He done his damnedest.' I think that is the greatest epitaph a man can have - When he gives everything that is in him to do the job he has before him. That is all you can ask of him and that is what I have tried to do."-- Harry S. Truman
"I learned that the only way you are going to get anywhere in life is to work hard at it. Whether you're a musician, a writer, an athlete or a businessman, there is no getting around it. If you do, you'll win -- if you don't you won't."-- Bruce Jenner
Or, maybe my favorite:
“If you want to win anything- a race, yourself, your life- you have to go a little berserk” -- George Sheehan
Epilogue: on this date in 1979, I turned 18 years old. I was one of the oldest in my class, which was probably a good thing given that I was a late bloomer. I'd been a shrimp in elementary school (the smallest kid in class in grades K-2) and even at age 18 had only recently begun shaving regularly. Oh, that and the fact that I flunked Kindergarten. Yes, it's a long story, but I was immature (some may argue that hasn't ever changed!), and I needed another year before moving to first grade. It was humiliating, but in retrospect I think it was the right thing for me. Today, as I turn 48 (ouch), it all seems so long ago, and yet at moments the memories are crystal clear. In some ways my competition now is old Father Time. So far, I'm winning, but I'm a little worried that he seems to be closing the gap.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
September 1, 1979 (Saturday)
From running log:
Race: Ran 4.5 miles total, including warmup and cooldown. I did the three mile race in 17:02, including first mile in 5:04, then second mile in 5:58 and final mile in 6:00. Hot and humid, 89F. I finished 19th out of 140 competitors, 4 places away from a medal. Not too bad, really. Wanted to run 20 seconds faster. Creamed Murphy and Hill (75th and 53rd, respectively). Ben finished behind Todd, both can run much faster. Hill and Murphy beat both of them. Very hot. Right knee feeling good, right hip a bit stiff. I need some hillwork and intervals.
30 years later:
The course at Verona High School was a combination of open, grassy fields and a mad dash through a section of adjacent woods. To make things interesting, they used to put a couple of hay bale jumps along the flat sections. I loved the obstacles, but there just weren't any real hills on that course, which helped my competitors more than me.
Once again, you can see that I ran the first mile way too fast, causing me to slow way down over the remainder of the race. I should have known better. My goal of finishing in the top 15 and taking home a medal went unrealized. Note that in those days, we wore letter jackets to school, and our mothers sewed onto the varsity sports letter all of the medals we'd won. Top athletes jingled their way down the hallways when the doors opened in the morning, I wanted to be one of those guys. I'd managed to win a couple of medals, but I wanted to be heavily laden.
Murphy and Hill were two runners from Portage High School. I was convinced that team would be our major competition throughout the season. They had won the conference title the year before, and were returning most of their varsity runners (with the exception of Ross Bennett, their number one man and a truly outstanding high school runner in the late 70s - and, no, not the b-list comedian with the same name). We were focused on putting as many of our guys in front of theirs whenever we crossed paths, which was going to be rare in 1979 due to a fluke in scheduling. True head-to-head competition between our two teams would not take place until the conference meet.
If you've ever seen the movie Meatballs (which just happened to come out in 1979, starring Bill Murray), you can get an oversimplified version of how we felt about Portage. We were Camp North Star, they were Camp Mohawk. To us, Portage sports teams seemed straight-laced and stiff. They had better uniforms, matching black-and-orange warmup suits (holy cow, same colors as Camp Mohawk in the film!), more-expensive matching racing shoes, and they dressed up in jackets and ties when they traveled to away games. They warmed up in lock step, like military cadets. By contrast, our teams, especially cross country, were poorly-funded. We sported mismatched gray cotton warmups, baggy yellow uniform tops, borrowed shorts from the track team, whatever shoes were on sale the week we bought them, and we never dressed up as a point of pride. We never gathered ourselves into tight formation and shouted out the count of our jumping jacks and pushups like some football team; in fact, we would laze about chewing on blades of grass and make snide comments about teams who did. We tended to warmup in our own individual ways, some guys liked to run, others lolled about in the shade like lions before the next big hunt, and we didn't care - that is, it was cool with us however you wanted to warm up, it just didn't matter. (Remember the scene in the movie, when Tripper gives his rousing speech, telling crestfallen North Star campers that it won't matter whether they win or lose the intercamp competition, because the good looking girls will still go out with the guys from Camp Mohawk because "they've got all the money", mixed in with the chant, "It just doesn't matter!") Like in the movie, we saw ourselves as polar opposites, and we wanted to be the ones to knock the prim and proper guys down a notch.
The USTFF meet was run in heats, pitting runners against others within their grade level only. In other words, I was running in the Senior Boys race, against only 12th graders. Other classes had their own races. In the Sophomore Boys race, Mike Bennett of Portage, Ross's younger brother and a major threat to my plans to win the conference individual title, finished in 6th place and ran 9 seconds faster than I did on the same course and same day. That worried me, a lot.
If you look at the results of the Junior Boys race, you see Joe Stinzi and Tim Hacker running first and second. Those two outstanding Wisconsin High School runners would end up running together at the University of Wisconsin and help garner an NCAA national championship in cross country for the Badgers in 1982.
Article from the Baraboo News Republic, replete with spelling errors:
And the article from the Wisconsin State Journal:
Race: Ran 4.5 miles total, including warmup and cooldown. I did the three mile race in 17:02, including first mile in 5:04, then second mile in 5:58 and final mile in 6:00. Hot and humid, 89F. I finished 19th out of 140 competitors, 4 places away from a medal. Not too bad, really. Wanted to run 20 seconds faster. Creamed Murphy and Hill (75th and 53rd, respectively). Ben finished behind Todd, both can run much faster. Hill and Murphy beat both of them. Very hot. Right knee feeling good, right hip a bit stiff. I need some hillwork and intervals.
30 years later:
The course at Verona High School was a combination of open, grassy fields and a mad dash through a section of adjacent woods. To make things interesting, they used to put a couple of hay bale jumps along the flat sections. I loved the obstacles, but there just weren't any real hills on that course, which helped my competitors more than me.
Once again, you can see that I ran the first mile way too fast, causing me to slow way down over the remainder of the race. I should have known better. My goal of finishing in the top 15 and taking home a medal went unrealized. Note that in those days, we wore letter jackets to school, and our mothers sewed onto the varsity sports letter all of the medals we'd won. Top athletes jingled their way down the hallways when the doors opened in the morning, I wanted to be one of those guys. I'd managed to win a couple of medals, but I wanted to be heavily laden.
Murphy and Hill were two runners from Portage High School. I was convinced that team would be our major competition throughout the season. They had won the conference title the year before, and were returning most of their varsity runners (with the exception of Ross Bennett, their number one man and a truly outstanding high school runner in the late 70s - and, no, not the b-list comedian with the same name). We were focused on putting as many of our guys in front of theirs whenever we crossed paths, which was going to be rare in 1979 due to a fluke in scheduling. True head-to-head competition between our two teams would not take place until the conference meet.
If you've ever seen the movie Meatballs (which just happened to come out in 1979, starring Bill Murray), you can get an oversimplified version of how we felt about Portage. We were Camp North Star, they were Camp Mohawk. To us, Portage sports teams seemed straight-laced and stiff. They had better uniforms, matching black-and-orange warmup suits (holy cow, same colors as Camp Mohawk in the film!), more-expensive matching racing shoes, and they dressed up in jackets and ties when they traveled to away games. They warmed up in lock step, like military cadets. By contrast, our teams, especially cross country, were poorly-funded. We sported mismatched gray cotton warmups, baggy yellow uniform tops, borrowed shorts from the track team, whatever shoes were on sale the week we bought them, and we never dressed up as a point of pride. We never gathered ourselves into tight formation and shouted out the count of our jumping jacks and pushups like some football team; in fact, we would laze about chewing on blades of grass and make snide comments about teams who did. We tended to warmup in our own individual ways, some guys liked to run, others lolled about in the shade like lions before the next big hunt, and we didn't care - that is, it was cool with us however you wanted to warm up, it just didn't matter. (Remember the scene in the movie, when Tripper gives his rousing speech, telling crestfallen North Star campers that it won't matter whether they win or lose the intercamp competition, because the good looking girls will still go out with the guys from Camp Mohawk because "they've got all the money", mixed in with the chant, "It just doesn't matter!") Like in the movie, we saw ourselves as polar opposites, and we wanted to be the ones to knock the prim and proper guys down a notch.
The USTFF meet was run in heats, pitting runners against others within their grade level only. In other words, I was running in the Senior Boys race, against only 12th graders. Other classes had their own races. In the Sophomore Boys race, Mike Bennett of Portage, Ross's younger brother and a major threat to my plans to win the conference individual title, finished in 6th place and ran 9 seconds faster than I did on the same course and same day. That worried me, a lot.
If you look at the results of the Junior Boys race, you see Joe Stinzi and Tim Hacker running first and second. Those two outstanding Wisconsin High School runners would end up running together at the University of Wisconsin and help garner an NCAA national championship in cross country for the Badgers in 1982.
Article from the Baraboo News Republic, replete with spelling errors:
And the article from the Wisconsin State Journal:
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