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:
I remember standing at the bottom of Cardiac Hill cheering everyone on. Seeing the looks on the faces and hearing the groans from the competition as they turned to head up the steep incline. They'd get half way, then walk. It was there that our team took control. Then later, I recall looking out over the practice field, with Doug comfortably in the lead heading for the finish line, and Dori cheering him on, "Don't Stop Now!" I knew that winning conference was a possibility.
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