Running: 1991 State Track

(And so we roll along. Here's part 11, preceded by 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10.)

Winning two regional titles did nothing to damper my confidence. Only four of us (two distance runners, a sprinter and a pole vaulter) had qualifed to represent Aquinas at state. I was zeroed in, but the quiet at practice made it that much easier to focus on the task at hand.

Nerves didn’t become an issue until the morning of the meet. I think Coach Baxter could sense my anxiety as she drove me to Cessna Stadium for the 3200-meter race. I couldn’t help thinking of last year’s tripping. What if something happened this time? I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing another year’s worth of work go to waste. And then she turned to me and said something I’ll never forget: “Don’t let anyone take what belongs to you.” And that’s all I needed to hear. Suddenly, my mind was filled with memories of all those winter and summer training runs. The days I hit the road when others stayed in. The 23 miles on Christmas Day. The 16 miles on New Year’s. 73 miles the week of spring break. The state titles were mine. It was time to claim them.

The gun fired to start the 3200 and, as at the regional, I went straight to the front. Through the first 800 meters (2:22), I could feel someone right on my shoulder. (It turned out to be Great Bend’s Ty Herron, who would become a KU teammate.) Someone was still with me at the mile (4:47) and that concerned me because I’d never run the first mile of a 3200 that fast. How could someone still be keeping pace?

I ran the next four laps certain that someone was ready to pass me at any moment. Running scared, really. The reward for years of work was moments away and I was terrified that someone or something might take it away. I heard the announcer mention I was on meet record pace. (He was wrong, but it made me run that much faster.)

I was exhausted with 150 meters to go. It seemed I was getting slower. (I wasn’t. I’d run the seventh lap in 69 seconds and would complete the second mile in 4:40.) My left foot touched a rubber barrier on the inside of the track. I lost balance. For an instant, I was sure I’d end up flat on my face. It was 1990 all over again. But it wasn’t. I regained my balance as an official yelled, “You’re okay, you’re okay!”



I lapped a runner on the homestraight and finished the race in 9 minutes, 27 seconds, a new personal best. I had just enough energy left to raise my arms in triumph as an official tried to lead me to a water stand. (Tom Dowling was on the track with a videocamera and a friend, who interviewed me after the race. It was the first time I can remember meeting John Rinkenbaugh.)

The rest of that day was almost anticlimactic. I’d spent so many hours dreaming of what it would feel like to win a state championship that I spent most of the day enjoying the feeling. But I had another race to run. The 1600-meter again matched me with Ryan Johnson and Schlagle’s Ron Clemons. We hit the halfway mark in 2:09.



I remember hearing Ron’s coach yell, “C’mon Ron, make him work.” He didn’t encourage Ron to beat me. Just making me work was all that could be hoped for. Another jolt of confidence. I covered the final 800 in 2:10 and won my second title by nine seconds, in 4:19.

I lingered on the infield after the 1600 and found myself talking with Lawrence’s Ned Ryun, who had won the 6A 1600. His dad, the legendary Jim Ryun, came over to say something to Ned, who introduced us. Jim shook my hand and complimented me on running such an impressive race. Now, it’s entirely possible (and maybe even probable) that Jim didn’t watch a second of my race and was only being very nice to a starstruck 17-year-old. But I didn’t (and don’t) care. It was the perfect end to a near-perfect day.