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.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
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.
Monday, November 16, 2009
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 warm
ing 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.
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 warm
ing 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.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
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.
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