Running: Part IV

I've been blessed with some wonderful teachers and coaches. Greg Wilson, who I first met the summer before my freshman year of high school, was and still is one of the great influences in my life. I was drawn to his obvious work ethic, but was also astounded by his attention to each and every one of his athletes and students, regardless of whether they were the fastest, the smartest or whatever. He makes everyone feel special.

Tom Dowling was very different from Coach Wilson, or any other coach I'd worked with. Like Wilson, he made people feel special. But he had a bookish way about him that qualified his teachings. And, as I've mentioned, he coached my idol, Thad Sketers, which gave him instant credibility with me.

I was 15 when I met Tom in December of 1989. When I look back on it now, the "secret" to the success of his Health Plus running program was no secret at all. Its participants simply ran miles, lots of them, during what was typically the offseason for high school runners. That's a "well, duh!" concept to me now. But, back then, it was foreign. To my thinking, when cross country season ended in October, you moved on to basketball (or the couch.) When track ended in May, you moved on to baseball (or the Ronan's Roofing crew.) Tom introduced year-round running to me and it changed everything.

Initially, Tom and I had a brief chat about my past training and he used that knowledge to draw up a plan for the next few months. He instructed me to run a certain mileage each day (adding up to around 50 miles per week that first winter), at whatever pace felt comfortable. Program participants would meet at Health Plus on Tuesday and Thursday afternoon for group runs. (I even got to run with Thad a time or two.) I was on my own the rest of the time.

Thankfully, we were told to keep a journal of our daily mileage. (Otherwise, I'd have no recollection of how far or fast I used to run back then.) Tom would collect the journals each Tuesday, review them and return them on Thursday. It was a bit like having a teacher grade your homework. He would always pen some sort of motivating comment in the journal and I came to anticipate Thursdays, when I could read his latest thoughts.

As the winter progressed, Tom seemed even more excited than me about the upcoming track season. I knew I was getting stronger from the daily runs, but I had little idea of what this might mean for my sophomore track campaign. Tom, on the other hand, was resolute in his thinking. Just four weeks into the program, he wrote this on December 28, 1989: "You're doing great. You are going to wake people up to Thomas Aquinas." A few weeks later: "You are building an excellent base for your career!" In February, he was bolder yet: "In your junior year, everyone will know who Chris Ronan is." And, then, the capper, on February 16, 1990, a day before I turned 16: "Let it be noted here that I predict Chris Ronan will become one of the fastest runners we've ever had in the Health Plus program."

To be frank, I thought he was crazy. My personal best mile was 4 minutes, 58 seconds. I'd never run two miles faster than 11 minutes, 24 seconds. And this guy thought I was going to be one of the fastest runners from his program? The same program that included Thad Sketers? I was certain I'd run faster that spring, but I thought Tom was off his rocker. Still, Tom's jubilant confidence started to rub off on me. "Maybe he's a loon," I thought. "But even if he's just half right…"

And so the winter trudged on. People at Aquinas wondered about the crazy guy running down Pflumm Road on 15 degree afternoons. My parents wondered about their crazy, sweat/frost-covered son, stumbling inside long after dark. And I, with newfound strength and confidence, began to wonder what the spring may bring.

Running: Part III

(Part one of the saga can be found here. Part II is here.)

Thad Sketers. The name sounds fast, doesn't it? Indeed, Thad was a fast guy. Two years my elder, he was one of the best distance runners in Kansas during my freshman and sophomore years of high school. Every weekend, I'd see Thad's name in the newspaper after he'd won or placed high at a race. My five-kilometer (3.1 mile) cross country times tended to be around 18 or 19 minutes. Thad's times sometimes started with 15.

I was a mostly average high school cross country runner my first two years. One of the benefits of attending a brand new school was our athletic teams, particularly boys cross country, weren’t all that great. So I made the varsity team right away. Still, I knew I was capable of better than 18 minute 5Ks. How did Thad Sketers do it?

Such was my frame of mind when I returned to the parking lot after a cross country meet in the fall of 1989. I picked a brochure off my windshield. On the cover, Thad Sketers. The brochure's pages detailed the achievements of Thad and others, who'd attended the high school running program at Health Plus, an athletic club in Overland Park. I read numerous quotes to the effect of: "Before Health Plus, I couldn't break 11 minutes for two miles. Now, my personal best is 9:40!"

I was blown away. Here was the secret to my idol's success. I had no idea what Health Plus was. But, if it was good enough for Thad Sketers, it was good enough for me. I tucked the brochure away, determined to lobby my parents for the necessary funds at a later date.

A few weeks later, as our team prepared for the regional cross country meet in Garnett, KS, I noticed a dull soreness in my right foot. Within a few days, the soreness became a sharp pain. It couldn't have come at a worse time. We knew we were good enough to place in the top three at the regional, which would qualify our team for state for the first time. Without me, the team's top runner, our chances took a major hit.

My mother took me to the doctor, where a bone scan was conducted. The result: a stress fracture in a metatarsal. I returned to school, where our final practice before the regional was just ending. I made what I knew would be an unsuccessful pitch to Coach Wilson, arguing that one more race on my foot wouldn't be a problem. But he knew, as did I, that a stress fracture could lead to a full break of the bone.

I cried all the way home.

The next day, I drove to Garnett and watched, under a fittingly grey sky, as the Aquinas boys placed sixth at the regional meet. That night, I retrieved the Health Plus brochure and asked my mother for permission to enroll in the program. "Chris, you're a baseball player, not a runner," she said. "This stress fracture should tell you that. You're not doing that program."

Shaken, but not broken, I simply went outside and found my dad. Same pitch. Different result. He okayed enough money to pay for one winter of the Health Plus running program. I completed the brochure form and mailed it, absolutely unaware that this was one of life's turning points.

I was about to meet Tom Dowling.

Running: Part II

(Part one of the saga can be found here.)

It's hard to describe the St. Thomas Aquinas High School of 1988 to people who know the school as it is today, but weren't around at the beginning. For years, Aquinas was located in Shawnee and its mascot was the Blue Streaks. The archdiocese decided to close that school and open a new one in the growing area near Pflumm Road and College Boulevard in Overland Park, much to the chagrin of Aquinas students who, understandably, weren't thrilled about saying goodbye to their school and its traditions.

A lot has changed at Aquinas since 1988. It's got more than twice as many students. It has its own athletic facilities. (We used to play our home football games on the campus of our rival, Bishop Miege.) It's got 20+ years of its own traditions. But, thankfully, one important thing hasn't changed. Greg Wilson is still there.

Coach Wilson managed to con fewer than 30 of us into comprising his first cross country squad. Several of the upperclassmen came from the "old" Aquinas, including the Huckabys, Heather and Kirk, who were the team's first MVPs. In fact, with a mix of experienced juniors and seniors and a couple of talented newcomers, the girls team was successful from the beginning, placing second at the 4A state meet that first year.

The boys were another story. As a group, we weren't all that talented and we didn't work particularly hard. Kirk, who did have a lot of talent, never seemed to like running very much. So, his mission each day was to see what sort of mayhem he could lead us into. (At the Lansing meet, instead of warming up, he spent a good deal of time trying to convince the freshmen to pee on what he said was an electric fence, just to see what would happen.) In retrospect, it was all harmless and actually quite a bit of fun. But, at the time, it drove me crazy. I've always been driven to work (too) hard and, even as a 14-year-old, it didn't sit well with me when others didn't do the same.

(The accompanying photo is of the original boys team. I'm second from the left in the middle row. As I recall, 12 of the boys pictured lasted the whole season. Two of the eight freshmen were on the team as seniors.)

I spent that first fall doing whatever Coach Wilson (who was also my Latin teacher) told me to do and trying my darndest to beat Kirk. I never did catch him that year, but I got to where I was Aquinas' second runner by season's end and Kirk did qualify for state as an individual.

I did more than enough to earn my letter, which was then affixed to a jacket that I'm certain got as much wear as any letter jacket in history. And I made a lot of friends that fall that I still have to this day. I can't say that the daily act of running was doing much for me, though. If I liked it, it was because I was somewhat decent at it. In fact, I briefly quit the track team the following spring when I decided I was better suited for the golf squad.

My departure from track lasted exactly one day. I returned and performed slightly above my meager expectations, the season highlighted by a 4:58 mile and an 11:24 two-mile. The goal most spring days was to outlast Derek Weiner, my sophomore teammate. I can't remember how many races Derek would lead me for three laps (in a mile) or seven laps (in a two-mile), only to have me sprint around him in the final meters before the finish line. Just cruel.

My freshman year ended and I moved on to a summer of work at Ronan's Roofing, Inc.

Running: Part I

(A longtime friend, John Rinkenbaugh, recently blogged about Tom Dowling, the man who introduced us in the early 1990s. John's blog inspired me to write about running and what led me to become so enamored with it. Tom is a big part of the story. So is John. And Greg Wilson. And countless others. I'm writing this as much for myself and the preservation of memories as anything else. But, perhaps the story might mean something to someone else, too. Here goes...)

None of it would have happened without Kostas Romo. By none of it, I mean the five Kansas high school state titles, four years on the University of Kansas track and cross country teams, top-100 finishes at the Boston and New York City marathons or the 30,000+ miles of running. I just don't know that any of it would've occurred without Kostas.

It was the summer of 1988 and Kostas, a Blue Valley Middle School classmate, was the only person I knew well who was planning to attend St. Thomas Aquinas High School. I wanted no part of Aquinas. I'd gone to Blue Valley schools since first grade. And, after very awkward sixth and seventh grade years, I'd finally hit something of a stride as an eighth grader. My friends were going to Blue Valley High School, so that's where I wanted to be.

One day, during eighth grade, my parents presented an unexpected ultimatum. I could attend high school at Rockhurst or the new Catholic school, St. Thomas Aquinas. (Just to give an idea of Aquinas' place in the consciousness of junior high schoolers in 1988, one of my BV classmates wrote this in my eighth grade yearbook: "Good luck wherever it is you're going.")

I begged and pleaded, but there would be no deterring mom and dad. I was headed to a Catholic school, for the first time since we moved to Overland Park from Shawnee in 1980, whether I liked it or not. Once I accepted my fate, my choice of school was uncomplicated. Aquinas had girls. Rockhurst didn't. I was going to Aquinas.

And so it was one summer day that Kostas and I shared a ride to Johnson County Community College for an informational fair, where we could learn about the extracurricular opportunities afforded at this new school. Kostas played football in middle school and planned to do the same at Aquinas. I figured I'd go along with that idea, despite no experience with organized football.

We arrived at JCCC and Kostas headed straight for the football table, while I perused the remaining booths. Band, debate, soccer, basketball. All the activities had a presence, staffed by pitchmen of various abilities. I don't know what it was about the cross country table that caught my attention, but I found myself lingering there while the man on duty chatted with a potential recruit.

I was about to stumble on to the next booth when I heard an excited burst, "So, you wanna run cross country, man?" Good grief. I'd been noticed. "Well, um, I don't really know what cross country is," I said. He replied, "You know what track is, don't you?"

Oh, sure, I knew what track was. I'd competed in junior high. Worked my way up to where I was the school's best mile runner. Even placed in the top three to win medals at a few meets. The man's eyes got big. "Shoot, cross country's just like track," he said. "Only it's run on grass."

That description was enough for me to put my name on his sign-up sheet. I still thought football was probably the place for me. After all, that's where I knew at least one person. But I was never good at rejecting people and there was no harm in humoring this guy.

When the phone rang at home the next night, I didn't expect to hear that excited voice again. "Just checking in, man. Thought any more about the cross country team?" I hadn't. But, in that moment, a question did come to my mind. See, the reason I ran track in junior high was two-fold. First, the coach (my history teacher) wanted me to pole vault, because he thought I had upper-body strength. I knew that was a tragic miscalculation, as I'd never so much as completed a pull-up. So, on the first day of track practice, I slithered off to where the runners had gathered. The second reason: all you really had to do to earn a Blue Valley Middle School letter was participate on a team. Track made the most sense. I competed and got my coveted letter.

I asked the caller, "Can freshmen letter in cross country?" "Oh, sure, man," he replied. "If you run on the varsity team most of the year, you can get a letter." That's all I needed to hear.

My brief flirtation with football was over. I was a member of the St. Thomas Aquinas cross country team. And I'd just met Greg Wilson.

Fear

One of my favorite movies is "Defending Your Life." Albert Brooks' character, Daniel, dies when he steers his car into an oncoming bus. (It's funnier than it sounds.) Daniel wakes up in Judgment City, where the deceased go on trial. The goal: to determine if the recently deceased has sufficiently conquered his fears. If the answer is yes, he "moves on." If not, it's back to Earth for another try.

Daniel's attorney, played by the hilarious Rip Torn, tells his client that a person on Earth uses such a small portion of his brain (around three percent) that most of life is devoted to dealing with fear. "Fear is like a giant fog," he says. "It sits on your brain and blocks everything -- real feelings, true happiness, real joy. They can't get through that fog. But you lift it, and buddy, you're in for the ride of your life."

That's one of the most useful quotes I've ever heard. I'm positive we would all live more fulfilling lives if not for fear. Stop for a second and count how many of your choices are influenced by fear. Not just the "big ticket" decisions, but the little ones, too.

Do you patronize the same restaurant or vacation spot because you fear you won't find another place as enjoyable? Do you pass off responsibility because you fear the consequences of making a poor decision? Have you ever given up on a dream or goal because you feared hard work may not pay off? Ever thought of asking someone out, but didn't because you were scared they might say no?

Now, I'm not saying fear isn't helpful sometimes. I fear bears. Therefore, I'm not going to climb into the bear exhibit at the zoo. So, fear can be good. But when we apply it to everything else, it's just a drag. And we all do it. Every single one of us. We make decisions on where to eat, how to dress, where to work, who to vote for, and a lot more, based largely on fear. We almost never realize we're doing it.

I'm as bad as anyone else. I watch that movie, see Daniel conquer his fear and end up with the girl (Meryl Streep) in the end. I focus, for a few days, on not allowing fear to unnecessarily influence my choices. But I drift back into living the way most of us do. I just wish we could teach ourselves to not let that happen, before we get to Judgment City.

Epic night in Des Moines

My tenth Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band show, on Monday in Des Moines, unseated April's Denver show from the top of my concert rankings. Just hearing "Incident On 57th Street" live for the first time would've been enough for me. But the whole experience, from start to especially the finish, was epic…

• This was Rachel's fifth show, but the first she's experienced in the pit. Only 255 people showed up between 1 p.m. and 4 p.m. to enter the lottery for access to the area directly in front of the stage. (I've never seen fewer than 500 show up.) So, all of us got in. As you can see from the photos, we were 5-10 feet from the stage all night.

• I almost never say this about a concert venue. But kudos to the Wells Fargo Arena staff. Nice people all the way around. From the ticket takers to concessions to security.

• To those who wonder why anyone would see a performer ten times, here's my explanation. I could point to the value one gets for the money (this show went almost three hours without a break) or the fact that bands like this just don't come along very often. But the biggest reason is simply that every show is different. I don't just mean the crowd reaction is different or the songs are ordered differently. I mean I've heard at least two different songs at every show I've attended. In Des Moines, I heard four—"Satisfaction," "The Wanderer," "Into The Fire" and the aforementioned "Incident." (Granted, two of those were covers. But I can't tell you how cool it was to see that band play "The Wanderer.") In total, I've heard 70+ different songs at ten shows.

And for the cherry on top…

The show ended just after 11:15 p.m. and we decided to let traffic clear out before heading for the car. We saw a handful of people, most carrying Springsteen memorabilia, standing near a loading dock. So, we thought that must be where the band exits and we may as well catch a glimpse.

About 10 minutes later, an SUV creeps out, the window rolls down and there's Springsteen. (As total luck would have it, I purchased a tour poster as we left the arena. They sold out of them at the Denver show and I got the "display model" here after the guy in front of me bought the last of the main supply.) Springsteen motioned for the waiting throng to come on over and he started signing autographs.

I have to say it was a pleasure to see the lack of pushing, shoving and general poor behavior that I would've expected in this situation. I waited at the back of the group, fully expecting him to meet a few people, wave goodbye and be on his way. But, as the crowd thinned out, I thought, "Holy crap, I might actually meet the guy." Sure enough, my turn arrived. I think I thanked him for putting on a great show and I think he thanked me for coming to see it. All I'm sure about is he asked my name and I responded correctly, because my poster was signed "To Chris" when it was all over.

Others used their audience with The Boss to tell him how much his music affected them. But I'm afraid I didn't get to ask about his writing process or any other interesting subject. I figured the poor guy probably just wanted to get back to the hotel and go to sleep.

Frankly, I had the same thing in mind, after eight hours in downtown Des Moines. A long, epic day.

Kids should stay in school, right?

In 1980, my first grade class held a mock presidential election. Ronald Reagan vs. Jimmy Carter. I voted for Reagan. There was an R next to his name, which I loved because my last name begins with that letter. And his name was in red, then my favorite color, so that sealed the deal. Little did I know I’d been indoctrinated.

At least, that’s what I think happened. Nearly 30 years later, I’ve learned those sneaky Republicans pulled one over one me and my classmates, tempting us with bright colors and a smiling candidate. They did the same thing in 1991, when President George H.W. Bush delivered a nationally televised speech about the importance of saying no to drugs. Now, the shifty Democrats have the same thing in mind, as President Obama plans to address the nation’s students on Tuesday. He intends to encourage young people to work hard and stay in school.

This speech, many parents, politicians and commentators have noted, is a potential travesty. As Oklahoma Sen. Steve Russell said, “It gives the appearance of creating a cult of personality…something you’d expect to see in North Korea or in Saddam Hussein’s Iraq.” Florida GOP chairman Jim Greer says, "The idea that school children across our nation will be forced to watch the president justify his plans ... is not only infuriating, but goes against beliefs of the majority of Americans, while bypassing American parents through an invasive abuse of power."

Timeout.

Is this really what our country’s going to be? I understand arguing about health care. (Though I’m starting to think most Americans don’t realize there are two houses of Congress.) I get the immigration debate. I can see sniping over social security. But, the president encouraging kids to stay in school, that’s a problem? Really?

Harris Mirkin, a political science professor at the University of Missouri-Kansas City, told The Kansas City Star, “It shows the polarization and suspicion. It’s basically saying the president of the United States isn’t a legitimate person to speak to kids.” I’ll take him one further. It shows the fear. A lot of Americans are paralyzed by fear. Fareed Zakaria, editor of Newsweek International, writes of the U.S. in “The Post-American World”: “It needs to stop cowering in fear. It is fear that has created a climate of paranoia and panic in the United States and fear that has enabled our strategic missteps…To recover its place in the world, America first has to recover its confidence.”

This blog isn’t about politics. I couldn’t give a flip whether you think President Obama walks on water or if you long for the return of President Bush. What I do care about is how scared everyone seems to be. It strikes me as quite irrational that some parents fear the president will “indoctrinate” their children on Tuesday. About 1.2 million students drop out of school each year. Let me say it again. More than one million students drop out annually.

If the president can “indoctrinate” our children with the idea that they should stay in school, I hope we'd applaud, regardless of our politics. Instead, people worry he'll try to slip something into the speech about health care reform, the auto bailout and who knows what else. (As if the nation's schoolchildren would listen to and/or care about those things.) Lots of Americans are scared, by a speech about staying in school.

And that’s kind of scary.