Final Thoughts

Well, it has been a terrific season. This squad performed fantastically and set new marks for future CKS teams to match. Shaving almost 15 minutes off of their time between two meets is a record that will go unanswered for some time to come. We have added to the hardware in the bulging trophy cases at our school and even set a new mark for participation - I don't think there is any other sport that features 83 of our students...I believe that's about 37% of the student body!

And so another year passes. I tend to divide my year up into seasons - there's the Holiday Season from Halloween through New Years, the "I'm an adjunct professor at Vanderbilt" season, the "whew, I'd better start training for the Triathlon season" and then, my favorite, the CKS cross country season. I drive past our training field in the non-cross country seasons and often reflect on all the beautiful faces I have seen there through the years. I think about where they might be now and hope that in some small way, the experience they had here is helping them live life more fully.

Thank you all for your more than generous gift to me...I greatly appreciate it, but the greatest gift you give me every year is the privilege of working with your children. . The satisfaction I get from watching them develop affection for the sport I love so much is immeasurable. I am reminded of the commitment they show to excel throughout the school year as I scan the honor rolls and notice the disproportionately high number of runners on the list!

The end of the season is always bittersweet for me. At the last race, I watch the 8th graders run their last races in the "Flying Pizza Man" shirt...some of them I have coached since Kindergarten. I see them approach that last rise before the finish and muster the energy for a final push to the finish. I know as I watch them cross the line that they are ready to move on. I wish them well. Like those from our school that have gone before them, they will make us all very proud. But to Mary Catherine, Zoe, Shea, Kalyn and Rachael...to Nick, Kenneth, Michael and Patrick - I wish you the best and as we say in the Navy, "May you have fair winds and following seas." You are always welcome back at our practices, if nothing else, to brush up on your "Sharks and Minnows" skills. I will look for you among the ranks of high school runners next year at Vaughn's Gap and Steeplechase next fall.

I pedalled over to our practice field on my mountain bike the other evening. The air was still warm, but the moon as big as a stadium was rising over J.T. Moore illuminating our course. I am an amateur astronomer, a hobby borne of too many nights at sea as a Navigator in the Navy so I am always fascinated by movements in the heavens. The astronomy nugget led me back to an essay by a more serious astronomer, Owen Gingerich, titled "Is Mediocrity a Good Idea?" It is a wonderful defense of the spirit of man. To be human we must defy mediocrity.

I saw the defiance of mediocrity and the triumph of indomitable spirit in each of your children's faces this past weekend. I saw kids defy physics and meteorology to turn in gutsy performances in the face of stiff competition! What a privilege to be on the same field as these spirited representatives of the fact that mankind IS special. We are endowed with the spirit of God and each of them in their own silent way spoke that truth with their sneakers.

There's an old saw among the astronomers/astrologers/theologian type crowd...it goes something like this: the scientists will strive all their lives to climb the mountain of knowledge. And when they finally crest through the clouds at the top, they will find the theologians comfortably sitting there sipping tea and wondering what took them so long. We don't have to climb that mountain. All we have to do is show up for a Diocesan Cross Country Meet in the Fall and watch ordinary children do extraordinary deeds. We are blessed!

And so, runners, all of you, keep running, keep your heads up and remember as George Sheehan once said: "Success rests in having the courage and endurance and, above all, the will to become the person you are, however peculiar that may be. Then you will be able to say, 'I have found my hero and he is me.'"

You are all my heroes. Until next season, God bless and thank you!

Last Meet Photos

This is where we always begin - "Lady Queen of Victory, Pray for us!"

Kayln started the medal haul...

Then came Zoe...

Patrick led off for the boys...

Then came Nick...

Combined the boys helped bring home a team trophy, leaving our five straight streak intact...

Coach Holmes relaxing after a job well done...who was playing anyway?

Congratulations CKS Runners - you did it again!

SEEKING

"In a race, we are not opponents, but seekers after a common goal." -George Sheehan

So here we arrive at the last meet of the season, the Championship. Everything we have done up to now is to be put into the grand total of the ultimate performance on Sunday afternoon. Our common goal is to do the very best we can. This is why I asked the team on Thursday to pledge to their teammates on either side that they would do their best. This oath will make them resist the urge to slow down before the finish. When the "little voice" pops up and says: "This hurts, slow down," they will resist because they have pledged their word of honor to do their best. All of these kids have shown the commitment, courage and character to be great runners, now they have pledged their word.

But what is "great?" The race, George Sheehan once observed is "a synergistic society - a society in which everyone can be a winner." When your runners get out there on Sunday and toe the starting line, whether they run the 3/4, the mile or the mile and a half, they will learn that winning and losing is a process inside themselves. In that process, greatness emerges whether it is in the strength to fend off a late race challenger sprinting to the chute, or in the will to "carry on" even when you still have a half mile to go and everything inside hurts.

Becoming an athlete is special, especially for children because they learn that they can't expect anything for nothing...without training, your distance is limited. The personal control you gain from that knowledge is invaluable. It is a discipline that carries over into all aspects of life. I am always thrilled to see the numbers of our runners that make Principal's List and Honor Roll. I would like to believe that the discipline gained from conquering the personal ghosts on the training field and the race course help lead them to these academic heights.

The purest expression of the athlete is his or her performance in the contest. "Contest" has a Latin root, "contestere" which means "to seek together." When the starting horn sounds, each of those runners departs the chalk line and enters a new world, fresh with possibility and pulsing with urgency. They are seeking a common goal...they are no longer opponents, they are witnesses.

Godspeed to all!

PRE

A couple of you had asked me to reprise this piece I wrote a couple of years ago. Fortunately, in the transition from PC to Mac it didn't entirely disappear!

(As a reference point for those of you that don't know me well, I grew up overseas in the Diplomatic Corps of the United States. We lived in the Azores, Brasil, Japan, Brasil again, India etc. I went to school in the US for 8th, 9th and 10th grade. Oh, college too. Nevertheless, we grew up as blue blooded Americans, proud of our country and our athletes. Steve Prefontaine symbolized the United States for me...hard working, competitive, brash but fundamentally good.)

The news from the States arrived a day late in Brazil. May 31, 1975 and we were buckling down for another wet winter in Sao Paulo. It never snowed there, just got damp, cloudy and cold. Remember, in the southern hemisphere, the seasons are reversed. Dad brought home a digest of newspapers put out by the U.S. Chamber of Commerce – it was our connection in those pre-Internet, pre-Cable News days to what was happening in the USA. I remember flipping through them and having that sensation of bitter cold flow through my body when I saw the headline: “American Runner, Steve Prefontaine Killed in Car Crash.” I had lost a hero.

“Pre,” as he was known to his fans, wasn’t the prettiest runner that ever graced the track. His legs were short, a lot of his height was in his trunk, and he had a running style that was reminiscent of his background – he swung his arms, especially when he kicked almost like he was chopping wood. But he was beautiful when he competed! “I’m going to work it so that it’s a pure guts race at the end, and if it is, I’m the only one who can win it,” he said. And he did…he trained twice a day in the pre-scientific era of running and recovery. His philosophy on training was that he wanted to push his body to levels of pain that only he could bear. If he could do that then no one could keep up with him. This was the America I was proud of. Not the America that had self-immolated in front of the world as we withdrew from Vietnam in April of that year. Not the America of self-doubt of Richard Nixon and Watergate. This was the gutsy, can-do, back-to-work America that I felt I was a part of even though I was growing up overseas.

I first learned about Pre from my 8th Grade cross country coach at Mater Dei in 1971. He was a big fan of the young upstart from Coos Bay that was going to the Munich Olympics to restore American running to its grandeur. He regaled us with stories about Pre’s competitive spirit which motivated us to try harder in our battles with St. Alban’s (the Protestant boy’s school in D.C.). Showing up late and seemingly unprepared for the NCAA Championship Meet in Eugene in 1970, Pre turned to a stunned Frank Shorter (who was his closest rival) and said: “I will destroy you and everything you believe in.” Not exactly the model of great sportsmanship, but a master of the “head game.” Shorter, who had beaten Pre earlier that year in Florida was left flat footed and later admitted “I was so surprised by his remark that I never recovered to race.” The two continued to be great friends until Pre’s unfortunate passing. Mater Dei beat St. Alban’s and Landon that year…it had never happened before.


He owned every (8) American record between 2,000 and 10,000 meters and between two miles and six miles. He also held eight collegiate records while at Oregon, with his three-mile (12:53.4) and six-mile (27:09.4) still standing. During his career, he broke his own or other American records 14 different times, broke the four-minute barrier nine times, ran 25 two-mile races under 8:40 and 10 5K races faster than 13:30.

At the 1972 Olympics in Munich, the disruption caused by the Arab terrorists when they killed 11 Israeli athletes weighed heavily on Pre and he finished a disappointing 4th in the 5K, well behind the great Lasse Viren of Finland. The coach at my high school, Georgetown Prep, was certain that Pre would be back in 1976 and would carry the day then. He too, was a Pre fan and had actually met Bill Bowerman, Pre’s coach and swapped tips with him. His philosophy was that if you didn’t throw up after crossing the finish line, you weren’t trying hard enough. Cross country was not about outsmarting the competition, it was a mano a mano death struggle to see who could hurt more. Despite that, I kept running, largely because of Pre. We had these workouts on our golf course where we would see who could run the most number of hills in a row before buckling over…we wanted to make our competitors hurt like Pre made his hurt.

By sophomore year, Prep had the toughest team in the league and I was fortunate enough to make my conversion. I read something in a running magazine that Pre had said: "Some people create with words, or with music, or with a brush and paints. I like to make something beautiful when I run. I like to make people stop and say, ‘I've never seen anyone run like that before.’ It's more then just a race, it's a style. It's doing something better then anyone else. It's being creative." I realized it wasn’t about the pain…it was about doing something well…it was about trying my best, or as Pre would put it: “To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice your Gift.” Running became enjoyable!

I kept running even after cross country season. I ran to see things…like Forrest Gump, I ran to get places. I ran because it was beautiful. Regrettably, I strayed for several years away from that…college and the Navy was hard on a runner. But I was fortunate enough to come back. I came back to running initially to help me stop smoking…then it was about the competition. Finally, on a crisp fall day in 1993 as I was running a trail in Warner Park, lost in my thoughts, I realized again that it was about the beauty and the giving of a Gift. This is the essence of what I hope to pass on to the kids who toe the line for Christ the King…it’s about the satisfaction of having done the job well. Or again, as Pre might put it: “Over the years I’ve given myself a thousand reasons to keep running, but it always comes back to where it started…self satisfaction and a sense of achievement.”

A few days after Pre died, a somber ceremony was held at Hayword Field at the University of Oregon. The hearse, carrying his body was brought onto the track and it slowly circled the infield four times…the distance of a mile. At the first lap, the crowd was standing and silent. At the second some smattering of applause. At the third, the familiar chant of “Go PRE!” was heard and by the fourth lap it was deafening. The clock read 3:14…he could have run another quarter mile and still been under four minutes.

Adults Running!

What a great example our parents and pastor set for the kids this past Sunday! Thanks to all who participated. Courtesy of Coach Holmes, we have the photo evidence as shown below.

Father shows the way...truth is he had already run a couple of miles to get to the race on time after 11:30 Mass!

Larry has learned from the kids how to hug that turn...


Bob showing that determination as he crosses the asphalt for the first time...

Rick putting on a last burst to the finish...
Coach Thomas prepares to pass one of those St. Matthews people...

Finishing first for CKS, Larry surges across the pavement...

Connie grooving to the beat as she closes in on the finish.

Thanks again for showing so much grit and determination!

Round Three

Our third meet is upon us this Sunday at 1:00PM at Overbrook. I am very pleased with how the team is gelling and performing. Reviewing some statistics of prior teams, two things jump out:

1. This team had a greater improvement in time from week 1 to week 2 than all the others. This bodes well. Typically, week 2 to week 3 is the biggest improvement in time, with the final week being only marginal improvement. We'll see how they respond...a lot of it is weather related so I am praying for this wonderful cooling trend to hold, although the forecasters are saying otherwise.

2. The course is a true mile now. For returning veterans that have kept track of times in years gone by, worry not! You are not getting slower, the course got a little longer. It had always been suspect to me - 5 minute miles are not usually common among 6th graders! I wrote it off to the extraordinary talent of our kids and Coach Donnely's Heartbreak Hill harrassment...but alas, we are human.

Please review pre-race instructions posted earlier in this blog and fine tune the process. Review the last two races with your runner (or yourself if you are the runner reading this!) and assess what went right and what went wrong. Double check diet and fluid intake...the chocolate donut and coca cola option is probably not working!

Speaking of diet, a quick word on "carbo loading." First, it really isn't necessary for a race of this distance. Second, nutritionists tell me that if you are going to do it, the heavier pasta intake should be two-three days before the race. I have always found a light pasta, like the recipe below works best.

I look forward to another great meet!


Lemon Pasta:

3-4 cloves garlic - pressed or finely chopped
Juice of three lemons squeezed
3-4 TBS of olive oil
Black pepper to taste
3-4 tomatoes chopped up (hand squeeze them if you like your sauce to have a little more body)
2/3 cup of walnuts toasted (you can use pignoli or pecans, I vary it)
Handful of fresh herbs - basil or Italian parsley works well

Toss all the above together in a large bowl

1 lb. pasta (I go for a cavatapi or rotini - soaks up the sauce better)

Cook the pasta and toss it in the bowl.

Serve with a salad or fresh fruit...mangia bene!

Alternative Visualizing

This is a little piece I got published a long time ago in a running magazine - I stumbled across this cleaning out some old files - since we were talking about visualization, here's an alternate approach to add to your training regimen.

VISUALIZING WITH HISTORY

I can still hear their voices. Cries of anger, cries of fear and despair, cries of anguish. Battered men, out of breath and desperate for water. I hear them through the bare trees of late winter even though the voices were stilled one hundred and thirty four years ago.
I am running in the early twilight of mid-February along the northeastern ridge of Shy’s Hill. It was here that in late December, 1864 that young boys from Maine and Massachusetts charged out of the gully in the bottom of the hill and swept over the crest breaking the weak Confederate siege of Nashville and pushing the Army of Tennessee into the mists of tragic history.
The Confederate General Hood had brought his army to this spot after being hideously bloodied in the Battle of Franklin. Hood’s grand scheme, after losing Atlanta, had been to march north, defeat two Union armies and return Tennessee and Kentucky to the Confederacy. Then he would hang a hard right up around Cincinnati, and head east through Ohio and Pennsylvania towards Washington DC uniting with Robert E. Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia somewhere on Pennsylvania Avenue. Hood was a “big picture” guy! Mail was pretty slow back then, so it is unclear if Confederate authorities ever approved of his plan. Even if they had not, there wasn’t much they could do. Hood was loose heading north, leaving the Union army under Sherman to head for the Georgia coast playing with matches along the way.
Hood’s grand plan fell apart on the slopes of Shy’s Hill, and now, a century and half later, I run the same route the attacking Yankees ran but without fear. At times I feel the speculative twinges of the fright they must have experienced as they rose up and began their charge into the gathered guns at the top of the hill. As I burst out of the same small valley at the base of the hill, I am greeted with the lights of oncoming cars on Hillsboro Road. They would have been greeted by grapeshot and minnie ball. My Sauconies are a little worn, but the rest of my clothing is comfortable given the unseasonable warmth. They would have worn heavy leather boots, heavy wool overcoats and wool clothing. They were carrying monstrously heavy rifles, which they desperately reloaded as they ran.
I work my way around the hill and in the gathering darkness find the historical marker that marks the path through the woods to the top of the hill. I make this charge as part of my strength training. Arms swinging I pound up the trail to the top. I feel the massive lactic burn turning my legs from pistons to gelatinous non-compliant goo, breaking down my will to carry forward. But I persist, imagining bullets whizzing around me as I reach the crest and find the small cross that marks the center of the Confederate line.
From here, the lights of downtown Nashville spread out before me. This was the high ground that had to be captured by the Union forces. Catching my breath, I imagine myself as one of the young boys from Alabama or Tennessee that fought to the end. They were not encumbered with the material goods of their Union counterparts. Few had shoes or coats, ammunition and food were scarce. Their perseverance rested on the simple premise that “they” were down “here.” And “here” was home for these boys. For some, home was a short walk away. Some would die able to see their homes in the distance. Later that evening, their mothers and wives would search the hillside in the darkness hoping and praying not to find their loved ones.
Now I scramble down the backside of the hill toward Granny White Pike, following the pattern of retreat and dissolution of the Confederate Army. Returning to streetlights and the trappings of a modern subdivision I regain my modern self. Still, as I slowly jog home I hear the voices.