Last year, my pledge to take part in the Polar Plunge while decked out in a The Flash costume helped net more than $2,000 for Special Olympics Kansas.
In 2011, I'll plunge again. And I'll run the Polar Strut 5K the same day. While wearing The Flash costume. Training is underway...
You can donate to the cause at firstgiving.com/chrisronan.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Date with a driver
I should have known yesterday's journey home was doomed. (As you may know, I commute to and from work via bicycle most days.) On Tuesday, I mounted my two-wheeler and was not a quarter-mile into the ride when I thought, "Wow, I'm really feeling the breeze today." I reached my hand up to my head and realized I'd forgot my helmet. Unprecedented, for me. So I reversed course, returned to the office for the helmet and started anew.
As I approached a red light, not a half-mile into the new ride, a car pulled alongside in my lane. This is not unusual, as a wide lane can typically handle both a bicycle and a small car. What was unusual is that rather than remaining on the left side of the lane, this car suddenly moved over to the right side, where I was riding. I would have been hit had I not bailed into the adjacent turn lane.
As I mentioned, this was right before a red light. So, I moseyed on up to the car's passenger-side window and motioned for the driver to roll her window down. She did and I asked as calmly as I could, "Are you crazy? You almost ran me over!"
(A few notes about this car and its driver. Notes that shouldn't matter, but I'll point them out anyway. Beautiful, seemingly newish vehicle. Johnson County plates. The car's occupant was well-dressed and, in a stroke of irony, a fellow Hallmark employee. The point of making these points is that cyclists tend to stereotype cycling-unfriendly drivers as the less-affluent or rural residents. My experience has been just the opposite: the worst drivers to cyclists are the well-heeled and those who work at KU Medical Center.)
She responded to my initial question with, "I'm sorry, but I waited for you as long as I could."
(A few more notes. First, remember that we're at a stoplight. There was another stop light less than a quarter-mile before this one. Between here and there, I had two cars in front of me, all of us moving at 20-25 miles per hour in a 25 mph zone. She didn't have to wait for anything. But let's just say that she did. Are we to accept that because one to two seconds were added to her commute that I deserved to die?)
My response: "Maam (yes, I really did say that), I could legally take up this entire lane if I wanted to. But I'm all the way to the right and there's another lane you could've used if you wanted to pass."
She replied, "I'm sorry if you feel that I infringed upon you." (Yes, she really did say that.)
To which I said, "It's not a matter of what I feel. It's a matter of what the law is. You need to read a driver's handbook before you get out on the road again."
It was a surprisingly civil discussion, given the adrenaline coursing through my veins. The light turned green, she unnecessarily revved her engine and sped away.
I know cyclists can be annoying to motorists. That's why I use less-traveled streets and go to great lengths to observe all road rules. Most motorists reciprocate by treating me very decently. Every so often, though, I cross paths with a stinker who doesn't place much value on the lives of her fellow citizens/Hallmarkers.
That's what I get for not remembering my helmet in the first place.
As I approached a red light, not a half-mile into the new ride, a car pulled alongside in my lane. This is not unusual, as a wide lane can typically handle both a bicycle and a small car. What was unusual is that rather than remaining on the left side of the lane, this car suddenly moved over to the right side, where I was riding. I would have been hit had I not bailed into the adjacent turn lane.
As I mentioned, this was right before a red light. So, I moseyed on up to the car's passenger-side window and motioned for the driver to roll her window down. She did and I asked as calmly as I could, "Are you crazy? You almost ran me over!"
(A few notes about this car and its driver. Notes that shouldn't matter, but I'll point them out anyway. Beautiful, seemingly newish vehicle. Johnson County plates. The car's occupant was well-dressed and, in a stroke of irony, a fellow Hallmark employee. The point of making these points is that cyclists tend to stereotype cycling-unfriendly drivers as the less-affluent or rural residents. My experience has been just the opposite: the worst drivers to cyclists are the well-heeled and those who work at KU Medical Center.)
She responded to my initial question with, "I'm sorry, but I waited for you as long as I could."
(A few more notes. First, remember that we're at a stoplight. There was another stop light less than a quarter-mile before this one. Between here and there, I had two cars in front of me, all of us moving at 20-25 miles per hour in a 25 mph zone. She didn't have to wait for anything. But let's just say that she did. Are we to accept that because one to two seconds were added to her commute that I deserved to die?)
My response: "Maam (yes, I really did say that), I could legally take up this entire lane if I wanted to. But I'm all the way to the right and there's another lane you could've used if you wanted to pass."
She replied, "I'm sorry if you feel that I infringed upon you." (Yes, she really did say that.)
To which I said, "It's not a matter of what I feel. It's a matter of what the law is. You need to read a driver's handbook before you get out on the road again."
It was a surprisingly civil discussion, given the adrenaline coursing through my veins. The light turned green, she unnecessarily revved her engine and sped away.
I know cyclists can be annoying to motorists. That's why I use less-traveled streets and go to great lengths to observe all road rules. Most motorists reciprocate by treating me very decently. Every so often, though, I cross paths with a stinker who doesn't place much value on the lives of her fellow citizens/Hallmarkers.
That's what I get for not remembering my helmet in the first place.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
"Wanna Be Startin' Something"
On Thursday, I will complete the seventh of twelve courses required for a Master of Science in Journalism (Marketing Communications) from the University of Kansas. The seventh course is JOUR 824: Creative Process.
Throughout the semester, we've studied various hallmarks of the creative process. Observation is one of them. Some of the best ideas come from simply paying attention to what's going on around you.
Earlier this year, shortly after the semester began, I was listening to music while working out on a stationary bike. One of Michael Jackson's most popular songs, "Wanna Be Startin' Something," came on. I was wearing headphones and found my ears zeroing in on the song's various instruments and sound effects. I decided to follow my "creative process" to see what my mind's version of the song's music video would look like. Here's the result:
Throughout the semester, we've studied various hallmarks of the creative process. Observation is one of them. Some of the best ideas come from simply paying attention to what's going on around you.
Earlier this year, shortly after the semester began, I was listening to music while working out on a stationary bike. One of Michael Jackson's most popular songs, "Wanna Be Startin' Something," came on. I was wearing headphones and found my ears zeroing in on the song's various instruments and sound effects. I decided to follow my "creative process" to see what my mind's version of the song's music video would look like. Here's the result:
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Running: The College Years
(The running saga moves into college, preceded by parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14 and 15.)
I don't think anyone minds that I've waited so long to continue the saga of my running career. Writing about high school was easy. College, not so much. I've thought about it several times in recent weeks and just haven't been inspired to write. Here's my best shot…
My college running career consisted of a few peaks and far too many valleys. It's that way for a lot of people. We rule the roost in high school, then find a crueler existence at the next level. Some of us get bogged down in studies. Or parties. Or any of a hundred other things. None of that applied to me. I really did try very hard to become a good college runner. It just didn't happen.
I'd slam out several weeks of awesome training, only to be sidelined by injury (freshman year track, senior year cross country). I redshirted my sophomore cross country season, then had track wiped out by mononucleosis. Junior year cross country wasn't too bad. Then I tore my hamstring during indoor track (at a K-State meet, as if I needed another reason to hate K-State), which screwed up outdoor track. In the wink of an eye, I was a senior. By that time, I was interning at a Topeka television station and more focused on graduating and getting a job than on running. After an injury-riddled senior cross country season, I visited my coach's office and told him what we both knew: it was time to hang it up. He was surprised/impressed I'd lasted as long as I did.
For as frustrating as the overall experience was, I came away with plenty of great memories: racing the 1500-meters in a field that included Olympian Steve Holman, becoming a letterman and a member of the K-Club, the annual commando game next to the Kansas River and the pre-cross country season camps at Rim Rock Farm. Met people who will be friends for life. Best of all, I can always say I wore the pink and blue.
That period of time also taught me to appreciate the success that was to come. When I graduated from KU in May of 1996, I was pretty sure I'd never run competitively again. Little did I know.
I don't think anyone minds that I've waited so long to continue the saga of my running career. Writing about high school was easy. College, not so much. I've thought about it several times in recent weeks and just haven't been inspired to write. Here's my best shot…
My college running career consisted of a few peaks and far too many valleys. It's that way for a lot of people. We rule the roost in high school, then find a crueler existence at the next level. Some of us get bogged down in studies. Or parties. Or any of a hundred other things. None of that applied to me. I really did try very hard to become a good college runner. It just didn't happen.
I'd slam out several weeks of awesome training, only to be sidelined by injury (freshman year track, senior year cross country). I redshirted my sophomore cross country season, then had track wiped out by mononucleosis. Junior year cross country wasn't too bad. Then I tore my hamstring during indoor track (at a K-State meet, as if I needed another reason to hate K-State), which screwed up outdoor track. In the wink of an eye, I was a senior. By that time, I was interning at a Topeka television station and more focused on graduating and getting a job than on running. After an injury-riddled senior cross country season, I visited my coach's office and told him what we both knew: it was time to hang it up. He was surprised/impressed I'd lasted as long as I did.
For as frustrating as the overall experience was, I came away with plenty of great memories: racing the 1500-meters in a field that included Olympian Steve Holman, becoming a letterman and a member of the K-Club, the annual commando game next to the Kansas River and the pre-cross country season camps at Rim Rock Farm. Met people who will be friends for life. Best of all, I can always say I wore the pink and blue.
That period of time also taught me to appreciate the success that was to come. When I graduated from KU in May of 1996, I was pretty sure I'd never run competitively again. Little did I know.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Running: H.S. Senior Track (The end)
(The story of my running reaches the end of high school, preceded by parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13 and 14.)
I always ran well at Shawnee Mission North. I PR'd there in the 1600 as a sophomore, the 3200 as a junior and the 1600 as a senior. (Years later, I even won a couple Corporate Challenge races on that track.) As I've said before, I thrived on settling old scores. And I considered my junior year SM North Relays disqualification to be the biggest score of all.
The two weeks between the KU Relays and SM North were fairly uneventful. At Bonner Springs, I anchored our winning 3200 relay, won the open 800 and ran a 53-second leg on our champion 1600 relay. We raced twice the next week. On Tuesday, at Olathe North, I won the 1600 in 4:22 and the 800 in a PR of 1:57, before clocking another 53-second leg on the 1600 relay. I raced four times at our Saturday home meet, anchoring the winning 3200 relay, winning the 1600 and 800, then running another 53-second 1600 relay split.
As I mentioned in a previous entry, I had a terrible cold early in the season. Some shortness of breath bothered me in the ensuing weeks and I finally went to see a doctor in mid-April. He speculated that I had trained through walking pneumonia and prescribed an inhaler for bronchiospasms. It's a partial explanation for why the season wasn't going as well as I hoped.
That was the state of things going into my final SM North Relays. With league, regionals and state coming up, we knew this would be my last chance for a fast 1600. I desperately wanted to run 4:10, a somewhat foolish notion given I'd not eclipsed 4:22 all season, and my closest competitor couldn't break 4:20. Still, I gave it a whirl, running the first and second laps in 60 and 65 seconds. A 66-second third lap squelched my 4:10 hopes, but I managed to finish in a PR and meet record of 4:16.
Coach Wilson made me run the 800 later that night. I didn't want to, but I'm glad he forced the issue. It was one more chance to run against my old rival, DeSoto's Ryan Johnson. His school had dropped back to Class 4A, meaning we wouldn't have a regional or state rematch.
Anyone watching that 800 would have assumed I was out of it at the halfway mark. I'd have agreed. My legs, heavy from the 1600, could only muster a 59-second first lap. But something magical happened during the next 200 meters. I didn't feel I was running any faster, but I somehow glided past everyone. Everyone except Ryan. I settled behind him with 200 meters left, knowing I had, at best, 100 meters of gas in the tank. At the top of the homestraight, I moved alongside him as if to say, "Let's settle this thing." It was a dead sprint to the finish, with me inching just ahead for a 1:57 win.
As I tried to catch my breath, I felt an arm put me in a headlock, punctuated by, "You son of a….!" It was Ryan, good-natured as always. I can't express how fun it was to race against him.
There's not much to say about the rest of the season. The regional meet kind of said it all. I tried, again, to run a fast 1600. After a 2:04 first half, I slowed to a 4:17 finish. I ran a 9:36 3200 later that night. Pretty good double by most standards. It merited this journal entry: "Didn't feel very good in either race. Wasn't very loose. Didn't care too much about the 3200. Just didn't put enough mental energy in." It's hard to believe anyone could get bored with winning. But that's just what was happening. I knew no one could compete with me at state and I easily defended my 3200 (9:25) and 1600 (4:21) titles.
I know I should have enjoyed that season more than I did. The only race I lost was the mile at KU. (After I had won the two-mile a few hours earlier.) By any measure, that's a very good record. But I was bummed about not running faster. One could argue that it's hard to run a 4:10 1600 or 9:00 3200 when no one around you can run 4:20 or 9:30. But I still felt I should have found a way to get closer to those goals.
A change of scenery was long overdue.
I always ran well at Shawnee Mission North. I PR'd there in the 1600 as a sophomore, the 3200 as a junior and the 1600 as a senior. (Years later, I even won a couple Corporate Challenge races on that track.) As I've said before, I thrived on settling old scores. And I considered my junior year SM North Relays disqualification to be the biggest score of all.
The two weeks between the KU Relays and SM North were fairly uneventful. At Bonner Springs, I anchored our winning 3200 relay, won the open 800 and ran a 53-second leg on our champion 1600 relay. We raced twice the next week. On Tuesday, at Olathe North, I won the 1600 in 4:22 and the 800 in a PR of 1:57, before clocking another 53-second leg on the 1600 relay. I raced four times at our Saturday home meet, anchoring the winning 3200 relay, winning the 1600 and 800, then running another 53-second 1600 relay split.
As I mentioned in a previous entry, I had a terrible cold early in the season. Some shortness of breath bothered me in the ensuing weeks and I finally went to see a doctor in mid-April. He speculated that I had trained through walking pneumonia and prescribed an inhaler for bronchiospasms. It's a partial explanation for why the season wasn't going as well as I hoped.
That was the state of things going into my final SM North Relays. With league, regionals and state coming up, we knew this would be my last chance for a fast 1600. I desperately wanted to run 4:10, a somewhat foolish notion given I'd not eclipsed 4:22 all season, and my closest competitor couldn't break 4:20. Still, I gave it a whirl, running the first and second laps in 60 and 65 seconds. A 66-second third lap squelched my 4:10 hopes, but I managed to finish in a PR and meet record of 4:16.
Coach Wilson made me run the 800 later that night. I didn't want to, but I'm glad he forced the issue. It was one more chance to run against my old rival, DeSoto's Ryan Johnson. His school had dropped back to Class 4A, meaning we wouldn't have a regional or state rematch.
Anyone watching that 800 would have assumed I was out of it at the halfway mark. I'd have agreed. My legs, heavy from the 1600, could only muster a 59-second first lap. But something magical happened during the next 200 meters. I didn't feel I was running any faster, but I somehow glided past everyone. Everyone except Ryan. I settled behind him with 200 meters left, knowing I had, at best, 100 meters of gas in the tank. At the top of the homestraight, I moved alongside him as if to say, "Let's settle this thing." It was a dead sprint to the finish, with me inching just ahead for a 1:57 win.
As I tried to catch my breath, I felt an arm put me in a headlock, punctuated by, "You son of a….!" It was Ryan, good-natured as always. I can't express how fun it was to race against him.
There's not much to say about the rest of the season. The regional meet kind of said it all. I tried, again, to run a fast 1600. After a 2:04 first half, I slowed to a 4:17 finish. I ran a 9:36 3200 later that night. Pretty good double by most standards. It merited this journal entry: "Didn't feel very good in either race. Wasn't very loose. Didn't care too much about the 3200. Just didn't put enough mental energy in." It's hard to believe anyone could get bored with winning. But that's just what was happening. I knew no one could compete with me at state and I easily defended my 3200 (9:25) and 1600 (4:21) titles.
I know I should have enjoyed that season more than I did. The only race I lost was the mile at KU. (After I had won the two-mile a few hours earlier.) By any measure, that's a very good record. But I was bummed about not running faster. One could argue that it's hard to run a 4:10 1600 or 9:00 3200 when no one around you can run 4:20 or 9:30. But I still felt I should have found a way to get closer to those goals.
A change of scenery was long overdue.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Running: H.S. Senior Track (The beginning)
(The running saga continues with part 14. Here are parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12 and 13.)
I raced 19 individual events during my final high school track season, winning 18 of them. Yet, reading my journals from that period, one would think nothing went right.
I developed a terrible cold the first week of practice, which caused me to take three days off from training. I noted various symptoms in my journal for several weeks. (More on that next time.)
Our first meet was cancelled because of poor weather, so we didn't race until April 4 at Paola. I opened with a 4:31 mile, a 2:03 (meet record) 800 and a 55-second split on the mile relay. The day's journal entry: "Didn't really run very well. Tight during 1600 and not up for 800."
We headed to Bishop Miege the next week, where I anchored our 3200 relay and won slow 1600 and 3200 races. That 1600 was the first sign of how frustrating the season would be. When the gun went off, the pack bunched up behind me as we jogged a 71 second first lap. On the homestretch of the second lap, I veered into lane four, turned around and motioned, as if to ask if anyone else cared to lead (or run hard.) No one did. We hit the half in 2:22. I ran the last 800 in 2:12 for the win.
The same scene played out at most of our meets, with two exceptions.
The KU Relays arrived the week after Miege. A stacked two-mile field included Emporia's Kevin Newkirk (the 6A cross country champ), Tulsa's Eric Richard (an Oklahoma state champ), Wichita's Tony Greene and a host of other studs from around the region. I knew I'd have great competition to accompany the chip on my shoulder from not qualifying for KU the previous year.
After a quick first 440 (67 seconds), we slowed to laps of 71, 73, 75 and 78. The pedestrian pace was a Godsend for me, because I felt sluggish. If the first mile had been 4:40 or faster, instead of 4:46, I'm not sure what would have happened. As it was, I clung to the back of the lead pack with two laps to go.
About 100 yards from launching my traditional 600-to-go kick, I sensed someone moving to pass on the outside. Not wanting to risk being boxed, I decided it was time to go all in. I sprinted to the lead and ran scared for 600 yards. It wasn't until I entered the final stretch that I heard the announcer say, "Let's bring in our first boys champion of the day…" I relaxed a bit, not hearing the end of the sentence: "…not yet decided." Little did I know Ray Gorze of Greeley, CO was bearing down on me. I crossed the finish line less than a second ahead of him. The final 880 yards was covered in 2:11, giving me a new two-mile PR of 9:27.
It was one of two highlights that season. The second came three weeks later, when I had a last chance for a fast 1600, as well as a final race with my favorite rival. It would all happen on the track where I'd been disqualified the previous year. In Michael Corleone terms, it was time to settle all family business.
I raced 19 individual events during my final high school track season, winning 18 of them. Yet, reading my journals from that period, one would think nothing went right.
I developed a terrible cold the first week of practice, which caused me to take three days off from training. I noted various symptoms in my journal for several weeks. (More on that next time.)
Our first meet was cancelled because of poor weather, so we didn't race until April 4 at Paola. I opened with a 4:31 mile, a 2:03 (meet record) 800 and a 55-second split on the mile relay. The day's journal entry: "Didn't really run very well. Tight during 1600 and not up for 800."
We headed to Bishop Miege the next week, where I anchored our 3200 relay and won slow 1600 and 3200 races. That 1600 was the first sign of how frustrating the season would be. When the gun went off, the pack bunched up behind me as we jogged a 71 second first lap. On the homestretch of the second lap, I veered into lane four, turned around and motioned, as if to ask if anyone else cared to lead (or run hard.) No one did. We hit the half in 2:22. I ran the last 800 in 2:12 for the win.
The same scene played out at most of our meets, with two exceptions.
The KU Relays arrived the week after Miege. A stacked two-mile field included Emporia's Kevin Newkirk (the 6A cross country champ), Tulsa's Eric Richard (an Oklahoma state champ), Wichita's Tony Greene and a host of other studs from around the region. I knew I'd have great competition to accompany the chip on my shoulder from not qualifying for KU the previous year.
After a quick first 440 (67 seconds), we slowed to laps of 71, 73, 75 and 78. The pedestrian pace was a Godsend for me, because I felt sluggish. If the first mile had been 4:40 or faster, instead of 4:46, I'm not sure what would have happened. As it was, I clung to the back of the lead pack with two laps to go.
About 100 yards from launching my traditional 600-to-go kick, I sensed someone moving to pass on the outside. Not wanting to risk being boxed, I decided it was time to go all in. I sprinted to the lead and ran scared for 600 yards. It wasn't until I entered the final stretch that I heard the announcer say, "Let's bring in our first boys champion of the day…" I relaxed a bit, not hearing the end of the sentence: "…not yet decided." Little did I know Ray Gorze of Greeley, CO was bearing down on me. I crossed the finish line less than a second ahead of him. The final 880 yards was covered in 2:11, giving me a new two-mile PR of 9:27.
It was one of two highlights that season. The second came three weeks later, when I had a last chance for a fast 1600, as well as a final race with my favorite rival. It would all happen on the track where I'd been disqualified the previous year. In Michael Corleone terms, it was time to settle all family business.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Running: One last high school winter
(Here we go with Part 13. And here are parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11 and 12.)
When we left off, I had just won the 5A State Cross Country race and was looking ahead to my next event, the Kinney Midwest Regional in Kenosha, WI. Kinney was my main goal throughout the fall.
With the way I finished the season and with how workouts went between State and Kinney, I thought I had a great chance to qualify for the Kinney national meet. But I bombed. After a good start, I faded badly and placed 119th. That day’s journal entry: “worst race I’ve ever run, feel ashamed of myself, feel awful.” Fortunately, the 17-year-old me was resilient, as I wrote two days later: “It was a good year. I’ve made a lot of breakthroughs and have got a lot to be proud of. On to track season.”
Looking back, it’s no surprise I laid an egg in Kenosha. I’d run 396 days without a break. I finished the cross country season with six straight sub-16 minute performances. I was tired. And, as much as I wanted to do well at Kinney for myself, it was something I wanted more for Tom Dowling. Tom talked a lot about Kinney and often commented about it in my journal. In my mind, State was for Coach Wilson and Kinney was for Tom. So, I got one out of two.
I prepared for my senior track season with a solid winter. In late January/early February, I tallied three consecutive 100-mile training weeks, one that included a 15:30 three-mile time trial. A week later, I ran my only race of the winter, a disappointing third-place mile at the AAU Nationals. A few days after that, I flew to Durham, NC for my official visit to Duke University.
The Duke visit marked the height of my college recruitment process. I was fortunate to get letters and calls from all over the country. The most persistent: Kansas, Duke, Dartmouth, Arkansas and Kansas State. I regret not accepting more invitations to visit, but I was busy with school (and running) and only ventured to KU and Duke. I’d bled crimson and blue since elementary school, when I earned a Jayhawk patch for completing a KU-sponsored school reading program. It would be tough for anyone to pry me from Lawrence, KS. Still, things got interesting when, on my official KU visit, one of my hosts told me KU was the last place I should consider for college running.
One week after returning from Duke, I reported for the first practice of my final high school track season.
When we left off, I had just won the 5A State Cross Country race and was looking ahead to my next event, the Kinney Midwest Regional in Kenosha, WI. Kinney was my main goal throughout the fall.
With the way I finished the season and with how workouts went between State and Kinney, I thought I had a great chance to qualify for the Kinney national meet. But I bombed. After a good start, I faded badly and placed 119th. That day’s journal entry: “worst race I’ve ever run, feel ashamed of myself, feel awful.” Fortunately, the 17-year-old me was resilient, as I wrote two days later: “It was a good year. I’ve made a lot of breakthroughs and have got a lot to be proud of. On to track season.”
Looking back, it’s no surprise I laid an egg in Kenosha. I’d run 396 days without a break. I finished the cross country season with six straight sub-16 minute performances. I was tired. And, as much as I wanted to do well at Kinney for myself, it was something I wanted more for Tom Dowling. Tom talked a lot about Kinney and often commented about it in my journal. In my mind, State was for Coach Wilson and Kinney was for Tom. So, I got one out of two.
I prepared for my senior track season with a solid winter. In late January/early February, I tallied three consecutive 100-mile training weeks, one that included a 15:30 three-mile time trial. A week later, I ran my only race of the winter, a disappointing third-place mile at the AAU Nationals. A few days after that, I flew to Durham, NC for my official visit to Duke University.
The Duke visit marked the height of my college recruitment process. I was fortunate to get letters and calls from all over the country. The most persistent: Kansas, Duke, Dartmouth, Arkansas and Kansas State. I regret not accepting more invitations to visit, but I was busy with school (and running) and only ventured to KU and Duke. I’d bled crimson and blue since elementary school, when I earned a Jayhawk patch for completing a KU-sponsored school reading program. It would be tough for anyone to pry me from Lawrence, KS. Still, things got interesting when, on my official KU visit, one of my hosts told me KU was the last place I should consider for college running.
One week after returning from Duke, I reported for the first practice of my final high school track season.
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