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.

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.

My brief flirtation with football was over. I was a member of the St. Thomas Aquinas cross country team. And I'd just met Greg Wilson.

Buses, bikes and thanks

Thoughts while enjoying a very quiet evening at home…

• Took the bus most of the way home tonight, then jogged the remaining few miles. I brought an MP3 player and headphones along to listen to on the bus. So I figured I’d leave them on while running. I never run with headphones and today reminded me of why. They altered the running experience to the point that it was almost completely unfamiliar. I didn’t have a full sense of what was going on around me. I wasn’t dialed in to my breathing, stride or much else going on with my body. All in all, the music was just a big distraction. I’ll stick with running the old fashioned way.

• A young man was killed while riding his bicycle to work this morning. He was riding northbound on I29/35 just south of Front Street when a semi-tractor trailer hit him. Early indications are that the cyclist was riding where he shouldn't and the driver couldn't have avoided the accident.

Posters to the KC Star’s comments section of the story will inevitably hide behind anonymity to spew hate about how this is another example of why bikes shouldn’t be on the road. Wrong. This is an example of two things. First, some bicyclists ride where they shouldn’t. Cycling on the interstate is illegal. Not only that, but it was 4:30 a.m., dark and raining. Second, Kansas City hasn’t done many favors for people who don’t drive cars. I’m guessing anyone riding a bide on the interstate at any time of day isn’t doing it by choice. He simply had to get from one side of the river to the other and that bridge was his only way. Despite that, the Missouri Department of Transportation designed the currently under construction Christopher S. Bond Bridge without a pedestrian/bicycle lane. Brilliant.

• Our church, St. Pius X in Mission, always pays tribute to veterans on Memorial Day weekend. And Father Ken Kelly always makes a particular comment when recognizing veterans of World War II: “Thank you for saving our lives.” Each year, when he makes that comment, I think of people like my grandfather, who served his country in the war and in the Battle of the Bulge. Could they have possibly known then what their service and sacrifice would mean to us and to the world?

Simply put, if it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be here now enjoying a very quiet evening in Lenexa, Kansas.

Close encounters with the canine kind

I mixed it up a bit and ran a route that took me from Crown Center back home this morning. Bike To Work Week is coming up. So I loaded up the car with a week’s worth of clothes, dropped it off at CC and ran back.

I was hoofing it down Gillham Road at about 40th Street when I heard the familiar jingle of dog tags behind me. Turned and saw a dog racing toward me, drool glistening from its mouth. It started barking when I turned to see it. Those who know me and are aware of my bravery won’t be surprised to hear that I jumped in the back of an F-150 that was parked on the street. (I’m not sure what made me think the dog couldn’t have jumped right in there with me if it wanted to.)

As the snarling dog crouched in front of the truck in what appeared to be “I’m about to eat you” position, I heard a female voice say, “Oh, he won’t bite.” The woman was standing at the closest house, sucking down a cancer stick. I replied, “I’m not sure how I could have known that.”

She walked over, grabbed the dog by the collar and led it back to the house. (It was then that I noticed her other dog tied to a tree.)

I tell this story to bring up a few points:

• I am a very tough and brave person.

• Unless I know you and your dog, I have no idea whether your dog is good, bad or indifferent. I don’t know if it will bite. I don’t know if it will jump on me. I don’t know anything about it.

• What I do know is that I’ve been bitten, knocked over and otherwise bothered by several dogs over the years. In each and every case, the owner said something to the effect of, “I can’t believe he/she did that!” Well, maybe it’s because the dog saw something running and that triggered one of any number of instincts….fear, aggression, playfulness….who knows.

For whatever reason, lots of people believe they and their dogs are exempt from leash laws. I’ve never understood why. I see loose dogs on at least half of my weekly runs. One time I was running down Johnson Drive during rush hour and a dog ran at me from across the street, causing several approaching cars to slam their brakes to avoid it. In that case, the dog just wanted to play and I stood with it until its jogger owner crossed over to retrieve it.

Bottom line, please leash the dogs. I’d love it if you did it because you cared about my well being. But if that doesn’t do anything for you, then do it for your dog’s.

On the road again...and again.

A classic novel you've likely never heard of was reissued this month. John L. Parker Jr.'s "Once A Runner" was first published in 1978. Whenever someone asks me why I run, what running does for me, or anything in that vein, I direct them to "Once A Runner." It answers those questions in ways I never could.

The problem, until this month, is "Once A Runner" was almost impossible to locate. It was reprinted a few times over the years, but was generally only found on eBay (for upwards of $200) or in too few public libraries. (My autographed copy is currently in the hands of a friend, if his baby girl hasn't eaten it yet.)

Anyway, I was thinking about the book on Sunday morning. It was one of those mornings when I really wasn't sure I wanted to go out to run. It'd been pouring rain all night and while the downpour had lessened to a sprinkle, it looked like it could start gushing again at any time. And I was a bit sore from Saturday's 5K race. But when you've been running as long as I have, you tend to find those kind of mornings can turn into the best kind. I could probably count on one hand the number of times I've stayed in on a morning like that. So off I went.

As has happened so many times before, it turned into a special run. The weather had scared everyone else into staying inside, so I had the roads and trails to myself. The race soreness faded away and I settled into the kind of groove that makes me love running so much. Here's what happens during those grooves...

Time and distance don't seem to matter. Both simply pass by without much thought. Nothing hurts. You breathe the same way you would while walking down a grocery store aisle. It all seems absolutely effortless. You can only hope you don't notice the groove. Because once you notice it, you start wondering when it will go away. It almost always goes away.

And that brings me to how running is a lot like golf. The average golfer hits a lot of balls into the rough, the sand, the water, even neighboring homes. It's so frustrating that a lot of golfers quit. The ones who keep at it do so because every so often you hit the perfect shot. It feels so good that you can't wait to do it again. So you persist through the sand balls and the water balls and the house balls. All because there's a chance the next shot will be THE shot.

That's how running is for me. I have days where it's a major chore to complete just a few miles. On those days I can't help wondering why in the world I do it. I have other days where running isn't spectacular, but it's a fine way to fritter an hour away. And then I have those special days when the groove happens. And it's a feeling you wish you could bottle up because everyone in the world would want to buy it. That's what Sunday was like.

Of course, Monday's run was average. Today's run was just so-so. But there's always the chance tomorrow will be special. And that's one of the reasons I run.

Random thoughts from the Arizona getaway...

Phoenix traffic can be horrible. We Kansas Citians don't realize what a blessing it can be to have so many highway options.

The Royals can be horrible. Man, they looked bad against the Rangers. But it was easy to overlook that when the sky was blue, temperature was near 80 and you're sitting 5 rows from the dugout. That said, there should be a law against funnel cakes costing $6.

Every vacation should include time to just do nothing.

Sedona is like Manitou Springs, CO on steroids.

What a great place for running in April. (June/July/August/etc., not so much.)

If you're ever in Scottsdale and think it'd be nice to visit Taliesin West, one of Frank Lloyd Wright's homes, bring your wallet. You can't go in without going on a tour…and a tour costs a minimum of $27.

Kudos to Valle Luna restaurant in Scottsdale…and to Cary for recommending it.

Thoughts during the Springsteen show:

#8 show I've seen…and I'd probably rate it 8th out of the 8. It was a great concert, just not as great as the other seven. Only the second show of the tour, so saw a few more screw-ups than I'm used to.

Updated concert rankings (in order): Kansas City, Houston, Dublin #2, Omaha, St. Paul, Dublin #1, Dallas, Phoenix

Kind of weird to see "Badlands" open the show.

Lots of stuff from the new album—"Outlaw Pete," "My Lucky Day" and "Kingdom of Days" were great.

There should be a law against a bag of roasted nuts costing $7.50.

Clarence is showing his age...but the big man looked great dancing during "Out In The Street," whistling during "Working On A Dream" and hitting all the big notes when he had to.

Does any song really need two tambourines? ("Because The Night")

Two new backup singers for this tour…that means 12 people on stage.

I could do with "American Land" leaving the setlist…but it was great to finally hear "Land of Hope and Dreams" live.

Can't wait for the Denver show (Good Friday)