(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.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Running: 1991 Cross Country
I didn't realize it at the time, but during the summer of 1992, I transitioned from the up-and-coming runner to the one everyone else chased. For nearly two years, I'd been obsessed with the beating certain people and winning a state championship. Now, I'd beaten everyone on my list, won two championships and had a hard time focusing on new goals.
I worked for my dad's roofing company every summer of high school. Most days, including Saturdays, the work lasted from 6 a.m. to around 5 p.m. The money was great, but it did my running no favors. Between mid-June and mid-August (when cross country practice started), I averaged 88 miles of training per week. So, that's 50+ hours of outdoor construction work, plus at least 10 hours of running, every week. It was too much.
But, again, I didn't realize it at the time. I opened my senior cross country season by winning our home invitational, which was my first-ever cross country victory. I placed third at the Park Hill Invite, behind Missouri's top two runners, Randon Richards and Sam Wells. At Leavenworth, I ran my only poor race of the year, finishing fourth. I was ill that week, but my journal entry for that race was unforgiving: "…was close to winner at end, but wimped out and didn't go after him."
After Leavenworth, I bounced back with wins at the KC Metro meet and Blue Valley Invite. Randon got me again at the STA Fall Run. But I went undefeated the rest of the season. I won the Eastern Kansas League meet by a minute, after which Bishop Miege's coach (a friend of our coach) approached me with some advice. He'd heard I jogged a few miles before school each day and suggested I stop because it was probably tiring me out. I replied, "With all due respect, coach, I just beat your best guy by a minute. I think my routine is working pretty well."
I capped the season with a regional title (and course record) at Blue Valley, then a 25-second win at the state meet in Manhattan. (That meet was delayed a week due to snow/ice and we ended up running on the roads at Tuttle Creek Park.) All told, six wins and three more top-four finishes. I didn't lose to anyone from Kansas. Pretty good season, especially for someone who didn't (and never did) see himself as a good cross country runner.
I wish I allowed myself to have more fun that season, though. I approached every workout and every race with this feeling that I had to be "on" all the time. And that kept me from enjoying the ride as much as I should have. Beyond what I accomplished individually, our team went from not qualifying for state in 1988 or 1989 to becoming a serious title contender in 1991. We finished in the top three at seven of our nine meets. It really was a great group of guys.
There's this piece of video that sums the season up for me. I'm standing on the podium at the state meet, along with two teammates who placed in the top 15. And I look like I'd rather be anywhere else. Partly because I don't care for that kind of attention. But mostly because I was already thinking about the next race.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Running: 1991 Regional Track
(To recap, 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's Part 10:)
My running confidence was at an all-time high as I approached my junior season regional track meet. I’d never felt so driven. The regional was held at Shawnee Mission North, site my disqualification just two weeks earlier.
Aquinas had jumped from Class 4A to 5A between my sophomore and junior years. As luck would have it, DeSoto also moved up and was in our regional. So I would again get to meet my rival, reigning 4A 1600 champ Ryan Johnson.
As disappointing as the 1990 State 1600 “tripping” was, it taught me the front of the pack is sometimes the best place to be. It’s a lot harder to trip and fall when you’re leading. (Though I almost managed to do it. More on that next time.) I left nothing to chance in the 1600, my first race of the regional. I bolted to the lead on the first curve and stayed there through laps of 62, 67, 66 and 63 seconds for a perfectly split 4:18.9. Ryan finished seven seconds back.
A few hours later, I toed the line for the 3200. This time, I was content to let others set the early pace. My confidence was such that I had no doubt I would own the last 600 meters. We hit the mile mark in 5:01. The pace slowed and my sixth lap was run in 80 seconds, the slowest of the race. I took the lead and, as we entered the backstretch of the seventh lap, Miege’s Dan Decoursey passed me, sparking a roar of approval from his cheering section. I shook my head and said to myself, “Well, if that’s the way he wants to play it…,” and started my kick a little early. I ran the last lap in 65 seconds and won by 16 seconds.
In 1991, it wasn’t nearly as easy to know who was running fast throughout the state as it is today. But I did know our regional was one of the better ones. Having defeated Ryan in the 1600 and Dan in the 3200, I was pretty sure I was the one to beat at the state meet in Wichita. But if there’s one thing I’d learned from the previous year’s “tripping,” it’s that I couldn’t count on a state title until the gold medal was in hand.
My running confidence was at an all-time high as I approached my junior season regional track meet. I’d never felt so driven. The regional was held at Shawnee Mission North, site my disqualification just two weeks earlier.
Aquinas had jumped from Class 4A to 5A between my sophomore and junior years. As luck would have it, DeSoto also moved up and was in our regional. So I would again get to meet my rival, reigning 4A 1600 champ Ryan Johnson.
As disappointing as the 1990 State 1600 “tripping” was, it taught me the front of the pack is sometimes the best place to be. It’s a lot harder to trip and fall when you’re leading. (Though I almost managed to do it. More on that next time.) I left nothing to chance in the 1600, my first race of the regional. I bolted to the lead on the first curve and stayed there through laps of 62, 67, 66 and 63 seconds for a perfectly split 4:18.9. Ryan finished seven seconds back.
A few hours later, I toed the line for the 3200. This time, I was content to let others set the early pace. My confidence was such that I had no doubt I would own the last 600 meters. We hit the mile mark in 5:01. The pace slowed and my sixth lap was run in 80 seconds, the slowest of the race. I took the lead and, as we entered the backstretch of the seventh lap, Miege’s Dan Decoursey passed me, sparking a roar of approval from his cheering section. I shook my head and said to myself, “Well, if that’s the way he wants to play it…,” and started my kick a little early. I ran the last lap in 65 seconds and won by 16 seconds.
In 1991, it wasn’t nearly as easy to know who was running fast throughout the state as it is today. But I did know our regional was one of the better ones. Having defeated Ryan in the 1600 and Dan in the 3200, I was pretty sure I was the one to beat at the state meet in Wichita. But if there’s one thing I’d learned from the previous year’s “tripping,” it’s that I couldn’t count on a state title until the gold medal was in hand.
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