(Next chapter. Preceded by parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 and 8.)
I have very fond memories of the Shawnee Mission North Relays, despite what happened there in 1991. The meet is where I ran a 1600-meter PR and led my idol, Thad Sketers, for half the race as a sophomore in 1990. And it's where I would break the 1600 meet record as a senior in 1992.
The 1991 meet should've been a joyous thing, but turned out to be a terrible dissapointment that further solidified the chip on my running shoulder. It was my first 3200 since the season's opening meet and the plan was simple. I had rehearsed it in my head every day since November. I'd stay right with whoever happened to be leading, no matter how fast the pace, until 600 meters remained. Then I'd start kicking like crazy.
The leader turned out to be Carlos Paradelo of SM East, who went on to have a great college career and continues to compete professionally today. I waited for the pace to hurt, through a 4:47 first mile, but it never did. It took all the patience I had to wait for the prescribed moment when I went all out. A lap and a half later, I had won the race in 9 minutes, 36 seconds, a whopping 23-second personal best. I was elated. That is, until five minutes passed and Coaches Baxter and Wilson informed me I'd been disqualified.
Disqualified? My elation dissolved into a stunned anger. The officials insisted that, while passing someone on the inside, I had taken too many consecutive steps inside the line separating the track from the infield. Thing is, during that race (and in my entire career), I never passed anyone on the inside. Surely they'd confused me with someone else. My dad had videotaped the race and offered to show it as proof. The officials politely declined.
It still gets my blood boiling to think about it. But, the fact is that disqualification probably did a lot more good than harm. Because I was like a caged animal for the next week. If people hadn't figured out how good I was yet, they'd get a clear picture the next Friday at the Eastern Kansas League meet.
Until EKL, I'd never beaten BV North's Dan Wnorowski or Bishop Miege's Dan Decoursey, who represented the class of our league. Even so, there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that I was going to destroy the field in both the 1600 and 3200. The SM North debacle had flipped a switch in my brain. I'd gone from hoping I could beat the best runners to knowing I could beat them and wanting to beat them, by a lot.
I opened with the 1600, where Wnorowski led the first 800 meters in 2:07. We slowed during the third quarter, hitting 1200 meters in 3:16. Then, I unleashed everything I had, sprinting the final lap in 62 seconds and winning in a huge PR of 4:18.0. It was the best 1600 time in Kansas that year. The 3200 event, a few hours later, was not as impressive timewise, but I won again, this time in 9:54.
In two weeks, I'd gone from a sub-4:30, 9:50-ish guy to a sub-4:20, 9:30-ish guy. I was at the top of the Kansas City Star's All-Metro rankings. And, once again, I was the favorite to win a state title. Unlike the previous year, I welcomed the role of favorite and was anxious to avenge the "tripping." My journal entry from two days after the EKL meet reads, "Already getting focused on regionals. (Ryan) Johnson. 1600. Must waste him."
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Running: Part VIII
(And we continue. Preceded by parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 and 7.)
The winter of 1990-91 was among the most important to my running career. I turned 17 in February and had grown, both physically and mentally, to the point where I could better handle Tom's off-season training regimen. It was becoming part of my life. Just as important, I was starting to believe I could be as good as Tom, Coach Wilson and others told me I could be.
From the first of December until the end of February, I averaged 71 miles of training per week. That included a week over Christmas break when I went nuts and ran 101 miles. This was also the period when I really bought into mental picturing. For our cross country teams, it was a weekly pre-meet ritual, thanks to Coach Wilson. Now, I was doing it every day. I can still remember falling asleep, headphones on, while music played and I envisioned the havoc I was going to wreak on my competitors in the spring.
I raced a few indoor meets in Lawrence. At the January 13 AAU Regional, I won the mile and two-mile races, missing my PR in the latter by just two seconds. At the national AAU event, in mid-February, I placed third in the two-mile on Saturday before winning Sunday's mile. (We were running late for that second race and Dad was stopped for speeding a few blocks from the track. I hopped out of the car and chugged the rest of the way, arriving five minutes before the race started.) I couldn't wait for the outdoor season to start.
Practice opened on February 25 and, due to some wet weather, we only raced once between then and April 6. It was a small event, with just four teams. But one was Shawnee Mission Northwest, then and now one of the premiere distance programs in Kansas. Someone from that team won my race, the 3200. But the look of bewilderment on his teammates' faces as they watched him try to shake the still relatively unknown Aquinas kid was satisfying. I finished a few steps back in 10:10, one second off my PR. The next few weeks were non-descript, with a mile win at Paola and an 800 win at Gardner.
On April 15, our workout consisted of eight 400-meter repeats. I ran the first five in 65, 65, 66 and 66 seconds. After that fourth repeat, our head coach informed me I had not qualified to run the mile at the Kansas Relays. The next 400 was completed in 57 seconds. That's about the best way I can describe how incredibly upset I was to not be in the KU Relays field.
I didn't compete again until the Olathe North Relays on April 23, where I released a bit of KU Relays frustration with PR victories in the 1600 (4:26) and 3200 (9:59). Four days later, I won the 800 and 1600 at our home invitational. I was getting into a groove. But the real coming-out party wouldn't occur until May 3, the Shawnee Mission North Relays.
In my mind, SM North ranked third in importance only to the state meet and the KU Relays. The competition was the best I would see all season. Yet another turning point had arrived, perhaps the biggest one yet.
The winter of 1990-91 was among the most important to my running career. I turned 17 in February and had grown, both physically and mentally, to the point where I could better handle Tom's off-season training regimen. It was becoming part of my life. Just as important, I was starting to believe I could be as good as Tom, Coach Wilson and others told me I could be.
From the first of December until the end of February, I averaged 71 miles of training per week. That included a week over Christmas break when I went nuts and ran 101 miles. This was also the period when I really bought into mental picturing. For our cross country teams, it was a weekly pre-meet ritual, thanks to Coach Wilson. Now, I was doing it every day. I can still remember falling asleep, headphones on, while music played and I envisioned the havoc I was going to wreak on my competitors in the spring.
I raced a few indoor meets in Lawrence. At the January 13 AAU Regional, I won the mile and two-mile races, missing my PR in the latter by just two seconds. At the national AAU event, in mid-February, I placed third in the two-mile on Saturday before winning Sunday's mile. (We were running late for that second race and Dad was stopped for speeding a few blocks from the track. I hopped out of the car and chugged the rest of the way, arriving five minutes before the race started.) I couldn't wait for the outdoor season to start.
Practice opened on February 25 and, due to some wet weather, we only raced once between then and April 6. It was a small event, with just four teams. But one was Shawnee Mission Northwest, then and now one of the premiere distance programs in Kansas. Someone from that team won my race, the 3200. But the look of bewilderment on his teammates' faces as they watched him try to shake the still relatively unknown Aquinas kid was satisfying. I finished a few steps back in 10:10, one second off my PR. The next few weeks were non-descript, with a mile win at Paola and an 800 win at Gardner.
On April 15, our workout consisted of eight 400-meter repeats. I ran the first five in 65, 65, 66 and 66 seconds. After that fourth repeat, our head coach informed me I had not qualified to run the mile at the Kansas Relays. The next 400 was completed in 57 seconds. That's about the best way I can describe how incredibly upset I was to not be in the KU Relays field.
I didn't compete again until the Olathe North Relays on April 23, where I released a bit of KU Relays frustration with PR victories in the 1600 (4:26) and 3200 (9:59). Four days later, I won the 800 and 1600 at our home invitational. I was getting into a groove. But the real coming-out party wouldn't occur until May 3, the Shawnee Mission North Relays.
In my mind, SM North ranked third in importance only to the state meet and the KU Relays. The competition was the best I would see all season. Yet another turning point had arrived, perhaps the biggest one yet.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Running: Part VII
(The saga continues. Preceded by parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6.)
Revenge or redemption, whatever you want to call it, has been a recurring theme throughout my running career. If a race doesn't go well (1990 State track, 2001 Pike's Peak Ascent) or if I feel wronged in some way (1991 KU Relays and SM North Relays), I do all I can to make it right. Redemption was on my mind as I entered the summer of 1990. The tripping during the 1600-meter state track race sufficiently fueled three months of miles.
The problem was I never really took a breather. After my breakout sophomore track season, which I attributed largely to Tom Dowling's winter tutoring, I was ready to do whatever he commanded during the summer. If there's one retrospective criticism I have of Tom's training plans for me, it's that he didn't budget enough rest. It might not have been a problem, if I wasn't working 10-12 hours every summer day for Ronan's Roofing. Most days, I'd rise at 5 a.m., work in the sun from 6 to 6, eat dinner, then run at 9 p.m.
I was cooked by the time mid-July rolled around. If I felt that way now, I'd take a day or a week off. The 16-year-old version of me forged ahead. The result was a poor summer of training and, while I did have a better cross country season as a junior than as a sophomore, I didn’t competed for wins like I thought I should. Seventeenth at our home meet, seventh at Maur Hill, tenth at Leavenworth and sixth at Metro. Again, far better than what I'd achieved before, but nothing like I’d done during track season.
Tom suggested I jog three or so miles each morning before school, to keep my mileage up until later in the season. I know this drove Coach Wilson crazy. And, now that I've coached high school kids myself, I understand why. I followed Tom's advice for the first few weeks of the season. Then, sensing my fatigue was not easing, I backed off.
In late September, at the Blue Valley Invitational, things finally started turning around. I kept pace with BV North's Dan Wnorowski (a runner I wanted desperately to beat) for most of the race before placing just behind him in fourth.
The next week, I led for two miles before finishing third at a home meet. My confidence surging, I was somewhat disappointed with fourth and fifth place finishes at Eastern Kansas League and the 5A Regional meets. But, despite being slightly annoyed with those individual placings, I was thrilled that our team finished second at that regional to qualify for our first state meet. A year earlier, I'd missed the regional with a stress fracture. Now, we were on our way to Manhattan.
As a fifth place regional finisher, I was probably expected to place fifteenth to twentieth at state. Something got into me that day, though, and I ran what was probably my best cross country race to date, taking tenth place and earning All-State honors. Among those behind me, my track nemesis (and reigning 1600 meter champion) Ryan Johnson.
So, my junior cross country season turned out okay. I partially erased the disappointment of not running at regionals as a sophomore. And our team competed at its first state meet. But, as would always be the case, track was my first priority. The 1600-meter, in particular.
My ensuing winter training often took me by way of a bridge that crossed Interstate 35. From that bridge, I could see a highway sign that read "Olathe 2, Wichita 174." I created a cheap replica and affixed it to the inside of my school locker. I was going to avenge the state mile tripping and no one was going to stop me.
Revenge or redemption, whatever you want to call it, has been a recurring theme throughout my running career. If a race doesn't go well (1990 State track, 2001 Pike's Peak Ascent) or if I feel wronged in some way (1991 KU Relays and SM North Relays), I do all I can to make it right. Redemption was on my mind as I entered the summer of 1990. The tripping during the 1600-meter state track race sufficiently fueled three months of miles.
The problem was I never really took a breather. After my breakout sophomore track season, which I attributed largely to Tom Dowling's winter tutoring, I was ready to do whatever he commanded during the summer. If there's one retrospective criticism I have of Tom's training plans for me, it's that he didn't budget enough rest. It might not have been a problem, if I wasn't working 10-12 hours every summer day for Ronan's Roofing. Most days, I'd rise at 5 a.m., work in the sun from 6 to 6, eat dinner, then run at 9 p.m.
I was cooked by the time mid-July rolled around. If I felt that way now, I'd take a day or a week off. The 16-year-old version of me forged ahead. The result was a poor summer of training and, while I did have a better cross country season as a junior than as a sophomore, I didn’t competed for wins like I thought I should. Seventeenth at our home meet, seventh at Maur Hill, tenth at Leavenworth and sixth at Metro. Again, far better than what I'd achieved before, but nothing like I’d done during track season.
Tom suggested I jog three or so miles each morning before school, to keep my mileage up until later in the season. I know this drove Coach Wilson crazy. And, now that I've coached high school kids myself, I understand why. I followed Tom's advice for the first few weeks of the season. Then, sensing my fatigue was not easing, I backed off.
In late September, at the Blue Valley Invitational, things finally started turning around. I kept pace with BV North's Dan Wnorowski (a runner I wanted desperately to beat) for most of the race before placing just behind him in fourth.
The next week, I led for two miles before finishing third at a home meet. My confidence surging, I was somewhat disappointed with fourth and fifth place finishes at Eastern Kansas League and the 5A Regional meets. But, despite being slightly annoyed with those individual placings, I was thrilled that our team finished second at that regional to qualify for our first state meet. A year earlier, I'd missed the regional with a stress fracture. Now, we were on our way to Manhattan.
As a fifth place regional finisher, I was probably expected to place fifteenth to twentieth at state. Something got into me that day, though, and I ran what was probably my best cross country race to date, taking tenth place and earning All-State honors. Among those behind me, my track nemesis (and reigning 1600 meter champion) Ryan Johnson.
So, my junior cross country season turned out okay. I partially erased the disappointment of not running at regionals as a sophomore. And our team competed at its first state meet. But, as would always be the case, track was my first priority. The 1600-meter, in particular.
My ensuing winter training often took me by way of a bridge that crossed Interstate 35. From that bridge, I could see a highway sign that read "Olathe 2, Wichita 174." I created a cheap replica and affixed it to the inside of my school locker. I was going to avenge the state mile tripping and no one was going to stop me.
Running: Part VI
(The saga continues. Preceded by parts 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5.)
By the time the 1990 state track meet rolled around, my 16-year-old body was pretty tired. I'd run every day since early February. That training dedication had produced personal bests that season at every distance from 400 meters to 3200 meters. But, it was also fatiguing for a sophomore. Of course, I didn't realize that at the time. I was simply eager to travel to Wichita and claim my first state championship.
We arrived on Friday night and checked in to the Mark 8 Inn. I can't say what the property looks like today. But it wasn't the cat's meow then. The hour was late and we didn't know the area, so we notched our day’s mileage by running around the parking lot for 20 minutes. Then we retired, two to a bed, for whatever rest our anxious minds would allow.
My first race was the 3200m relay. I would lead off, followed by Chuck Gilbert, then Tim Gaigel and, finally, our talented anchor, Kirk Huckaby. We'd run a season-best at the regional meet, placing third to barely qualify for state in 8 minutes, 33 seconds. In my state debut, I led off with a 2:01 leg (a personal best) and the rest of the team ran very well, too. Kirk brought us home in 4th place, earning a state medal and breaking our school record with a time of 8:27. (It should be noted the Aquinas record is under eight minutes today.)
After a few hours rest, it was time for the 1600m. Even now, 21 years later, I can remember the pre-race jitters. While I was regional champion and the top-ranked 4A miler, I didn't feel the confidence I would carry into future state meets. Somehow, I felt like a bit of a fraud. Less than two months ago, I had a personal best of 4:58 and hadn’t sniffed a state meet. Now, my best was 4:29 and I was the favorite to win it all.
The starter fired the gun and 12 of us charged around the first turn. Entering the backstretch, I found myself near the back of the pack, as a flood of pent-up adolescent energy propelled my competitors to a blazing start. After about 150 meters, everyone settled down and I glided up near the front, settling into third place.
I felt unusually relaxed as we entered the homestretch of the first lap. The pace was easy. The lead was just a few strides away. And I was happy to let others do the work for awhile. Just then, I felt someone touch my shoe from behind. I lost balance for a moment, falling forward before catching myself. However, I slowed just enough for the same person to inadvertently clip my shoe again. I lunged forward, this time unable to steady myself. I tumbled to the outside lanes, while the rest of the field charged ahead.
(Here's the video of the 1990 Kansas 4A State 1600M Run...)
Filled with a mix of bewilderment and rage, I hopped up and furiously tried to catch up. It took only 150 meters for me to make my way back to the pack. Unfortunately, that spurt consumed almost every bit of energy I had, leaving me helpless as the leaders made their moves during the final two laps. I hobbled to the finish line in dead last, with a time of 4:47. The winner, who would become a great rival (and friend) was fellow sophomore Ryan Johnson of DeSoto. I'd beaten him each time we’d raced the 1600 that spring.
As I sat alone on the stadium infield, I began to cry uncontrollably. I’d never taken season-ending losses well, going all the way back to little league baseball. But this one stung a lot more. It felt like something had been stolen from me. By any measure, my sophomore track season had been a huge success. But all I could think about was the one race that got away. It would be all the motivation I'd need for the next 364 days.
By the time the 1990 state track meet rolled around, my 16-year-old body was pretty tired. I'd run every day since early February. That training dedication had produced personal bests that season at every distance from 400 meters to 3200 meters. But, it was also fatiguing for a sophomore. Of course, I didn't realize that at the time. I was simply eager to travel to Wichita and claim my first state championship.
We arrived on Friday night and checked in to the Mark 8 Inn. I can't say what the property looks like today. But it wasn't the cat's meow then. The hour was late and we didn't know the area, so we notched our day’s mileage by running around the parking lot for 20 minutes. Then we retired, two to a bed, for whatever rest our anxious minds would allow.
My first race was the 3200m relay. I would lead off, followed by Chuck Gilbert, then Tim Gaigel and, finally, our talented anchor, Kirk Huckaby. We'd run a season-best at the regional meet, placing third to barely qualify for state in 8 minutes, 33 seconds. In my state debut, I led off with a 2:01 leg (a personal best) and the rest of the team ran very well, too. Kirk brought us home in 4th place, earning a state medal and breaking our school record with a time of 8:27. (It should be noted the Aquinas record is under eight minutes today.)
After a few hours rest, it was time for the 1600m. Even now, 21 years later, I can remember the pre-race jitters. While I was regional champion and the top-ranked 4A miler, I didn't feel the confidence I would carry into future state meets. Somehow, I felt like a bit of a fraud. Less than two months ago, I had a personal best of 4:58 and hadn’t sniffed a state meet. Now, my best was 4:29 and I was the favorite to win it all.
The starter fired the gun and 12 of us charged around the first turn. Entering the backstretch, I found myself near the back of the pack, as a flood of pent-up adolescent energy propelled my competitors to a blazing start. After about 150 meters, everyone settled down and I glided up near the front, settling into third place.
I felt unusually relaxed as we entered the homestretch of the first lap. The pace was easy. The lead was just a few strides away. And I was happy to let others do the work for awhile. Just then, I felt someone touch my shoe from behind. I lost balance for a moment, falling forward before catching myself. However, I slowed just enough for the same person to inadvertently clip my shoe again. I lunged forward, this time unable to steady myself. I tumbled to the outside lanes, while the rest of the field charged ahead.
(Here's the video of the 1990 Kansas 4A State 1600M Run...)
Filled with a mix of bewilderment and rage, I hopped up and furiously tried to catch up. It took only 150 meters for me to make my way back to the pack. Unfortunately, that spurt consumed almost every bit of energy I had, leaving me helpless as the leaders made their moves during the final two laps. I hobbled to the finish line in dead last, with a time of 4:47. The winner, who would become a great rival (and friend) was fellow sophomore Ryan Johnson of DeSoto. I'd beaten him each time we’d raced the 1600 that spring.
As I sat alone on the stadium infield, I began to cry uncontrollably. I’d never taken season-ending losses well, going all the way back to little league baseball. But this one stung a lot more. It felt like something had been stolen from me. By any measure, my sophomore track season had been a huge success. But all I could think about was the one race that got away. It would be all the motivation I'd need for the next 364 days.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Running: Part V
Running was an anchor for me during what was a turbulent spring of 1990. My grandfather, to whom I was very close, passed away. My parents were on the road to divorce. And I was 16, which is turbulent enough on its own. But running was there, every single day.
Tom's enthusiasm only grew as track season approached. He was convinced I was about to do some amazing things on the track. His confidence, combined with the coaching of Joelin Baxter, set up an amazing couple of months.
Coach Baxter was an assistant to Coach Wilson during cross country season. But she coached the spring track team's distance runners on her own during my freshman, sophomore and junior years. I loved running for her. She was a no-nonsense coach with a running pedigree. And she was encouraging of what I'd been doing during the offseason.
Due to some poor weather, we had a couple meets cancelled and didn't compete until five weeks of practice had passed. I could sense a greater fitness from last track season, but was eager to race and really see what I could do. I got that chance on April 6.
Coach Baxter scheduled me for the mile and two mile races at the Bishop Miege Invitational. I remember calling Tom a few days before the meet, knowing that he would say something that would give me a confidence boost. Based on what I did over the winter, I said, how should I approach these two races? I'll never forget his answer as long as I live. "In the mile, go out at a relaxed pace and if they're going to let you run away with it, go ahead. In the two mile, hold back until the final couple of laps before you take over."
I laughed out loud. I'd never even won a medal at a high school race, much less challenged for a victory. This kook not only thinks I'm going to win, but win easily. Whatever.
Of course, as would be proven many times, Tom was smarter than me. I led the mile from the beginning and won easily in 4 minutes, 39 seconds, setting a personal best by an astounding 19 seconds. Later in the evening, I sat in the 3200m race pack for almost seven laps, before cruising past everyone over the final 600 meters to win in 10 minutes, 24 seconds. It was another personal best, this time by a minute.
As my sophomore track season progressed, I kept winning races. Three at the Bishop Ward duel, one at the SM South duel, another at Louisburg, a win and two PRs at Olathe North, three wins at the Aquinas Invite. It was nothing short of shocking how much better I'd become.
The season's highlight came May 4 at the SM North Relays, one of the city's most prestigious meets. I was slated to run the mile, two weeks after I'd set a PR of 4:37 at Olathe North. Among the competitors was none other than my idol, Thad Sketers. I led the race for 600 meters, before Thad passed me by, along with four others. I settled for sixth place and a big PR of 4:29, four seconds behind the winner.
The final few weeks of the season didn't go as I'd hoped. At the rainy Eastern Kansas League meet, I placed fourth in the 1600m and third in the 3200m. Despite my improvements, I couldn't quite compete with Miege's Dan Decoursey and BV North's Dan Wnorowski. The 4A Regional meet at Hiawatha was marginally better, as our 3200m relay finished third to clinch my first state qualification. I then outleaned a kid from Lansing to win the 1600m (my first regional title) before running a nauseating 6th place race in the 3200m.
With that, we were set for my first foray to the state track meet in Wichita. I'd be leading off our 3200m relay before competing in the 1600m, where I was top-ranked in class 4A. Another of life's turning points had arrived.
Tom's enthusiasm only grew as track season approached. He was convinced I was about to do some amazing things on the track. His confidence, combined with the coaching of Joelin Baxter, set up an amazing couple of months.
Coach Baxter was an assistant to Coach Wilson during cross country season. But she coached the spring track team's distance runners on her own during my freshman, sophomore and junior years. I loved running for her. She was a no-nonsense coach with a running pedigree. And she was encouraging of what I'd been doing during the offseason.
Due to some poor weather, we had a couple meets cancelled and didn't compete until five weeks of practice had passed. I could sense a greater fitness from last track season, but was eager to race and really see what I could do. I got that chance on April 6.
Coach Baxter scheduled me for the mile and two mile races at the Bishop Miege Invitational. I remember calling Tom a few days before the meet, knowing that he would say something that would give me a confidence boost. Based on what I did over the winter, I said, how should I approach these two races? I'll never forget his answer as long as I live. "In the mile, go out at a relaxed pace and if they're going to let you run away with it, go ahead. In the two mile, hold back until the final couple of laps before you take over."
I laughed out loud. I'd never even won a medal at a high school race, much less challenged for a victory. This kook not only thinks I'm going to win, but win easily. Whatever.
Of course, as would be proven many times, Tom was smarter than me. I led the mile from the beginning and won easily in 4 minutes, 39 seconds, setting a personal best by an astounding 19 seconds. Later in the evening, I sat in the 3200m race pack for almost seven laps, before cruising past everyone over the final 600 meters to win in 10 minutes, 24 seconds. It was another personal best, this time by a minute.
As my sophomore track season progressed, I kept winning races. Three at the Bishop Ward duel, one at the SM South duel, another at Louisburg, a win and two PRs at Olathe North, three wins at the Aquinas Invite. It was nothing short of shocking how much better I'd become.
The season's highlight came May 4 at the SM North Relays, one of the city's most prestigious meets. I was slated to run the mile, two weeks after I'd set a PR of 4:37 at Olathe North. Among the competitors was none other than my idol, Thad Sketers. I led the race for 600 meters, before Thad passed me by, along with four others. I settled for sixth place and a big PR of 4:29, four seconds behind the winner.
The final few weeks of the season didn't go as I'd hoped. At the rainy Eastern Kansas League meet, I placed fourth in the 1600m and third in the 3200m. Despite my improvements, I couldn't quite compete with Miege's Dan Decoursey and BV North's Dan Wnorowski. The 4A Regional meet at Hiawatha was marginally better, as our 3200m relay finished third to clinch my first state qualification. I then outleaned a kid from Lansing to win the 1600m (my first regional title) before running a nauseating 6th place race in the 3200m.
With that, we were set for my first foray to the state track meet in Wichita. I'd be leading off our 3200m relay before competing in the 1600m, where I was top-ranked in class 4A. Another of life's turning points had arrived.
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. Th
at'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.
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. Th
at'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.
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.
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