December 7, 1991

 Humility.

I got dosed in a big way my senior year in high school.  Here's the story of the kneecapping of my competitive drive, and the resultant zen of just being the best "me" I could be.

I was a pretty good runner in high school.  Like...I ran, and I had fun, and by doing this, I somehow finished ahead of most others.  In terms of ego, as a 17 year old male person, this was a REALLY good thing.  I'd always been a very competitive person... memories of losing soccer games still tramp upon raw nerves...and being the guy on the team that wouldn't necessarily yell at my teammates that weren't performing and instead going  and doing their jobs FOR them...has been a habit I continue to live with to this day.  Resentment of my doing so probably exists in my wake...but I can't change that.  Meh.  I was, and still am to a degree, a jerk.  It's always good to recognize and admit your shortcomings.

The end of my senior year cross country season was a pretty terrific time in my life.  I had an incredible group of friends, a girlfriend that would eventually become my wife, and a future that was most likely going to include college and running....although I wasn't sure where or to what degree.  I was taking things...in stride.  I'd been challenged during the season, but finished most races on the podium.  Per usual, being a fairly magnanimous person, I was friendly even with my racing rivals, and looked forward to every meet when I knew there was someone to gun for.  I won the conference meet on the toughest course in the state by over a minute, but I was more excited that my team brought home the trophy with an outstanding overall performance.  The regional meet saw me cramp up in a pouring rainstorm and finishing second to my rival George from Lincolnway...he and I had traded wins all season...a worthy adversary for sure.  Sectionals was a battle for the ages in my mind...and wound up with myself and three other guys I'd raced hard with all year breaking away from the rest in a race that...when it ended...saw me having to thaw my shoelaces before I could take off my spikes.  I qualified out of the sectional, but, sadly, my team did not.

At the state meet the year prior, I basically lost the race before I even got to the starting line. Again, as the only qualifier from my school, I was riding a wave of hubris brought on by the whole guys and girls team coming down to Peoria to support my efforts...and my 71st place finish was disappointing to everyone (mainly me)...my brain and my heart just wasn't in the right place.  Senior year, however, was different.  I was focused, I knew the competition, and I knew I had a real shot.

When raceday arrived, I felt great.  Once again, the guys and girls teams came down to watch, along with my parents and their friends...but I didn't pay attention to this...I had a race to attend to.  A couple inches of snow had fallen on the night prior, and I took that as a sign.  Adverse conditions were my favorite (years of playing soccer in ALL kinds of weather made me look forward to ridiculous condiitons.)  I handed my start-line bag to my friend Kevin.  Off I went on a warm-up run with my long-time running pal Jeff.  I felt great, the sun was shining...this was going to be my day.

The loudspeaker at the start line announced 10 minutes before the start...runners should find their boxes and get lined up.  I was wearing my racing shorts, training shoes, warmup pants, a base layer, and a sweatshirt, ready to strip off the pants, change into my spikes and my jersey, and do some pullouts...when someone asked...where's Kevin?  I didn't panic at first, 10 minutes is a long time to just basically change shoes...but then we were down to 5 minutes...and no Kevin.  When the 2 minute warning was called, they asked anyone without a race number to leave the start area...and I didn't have one.  After that...I don't remember much.  I heard the gun go off, but I was not in the race.  I saw my dad spike his video camera into the ground and I lost it.

The time that followed was NOT pleasant.  I knew I'd missed something HUGE, and I knew that it was something I'd never, ever forget...but chief among my feelings was how horrible my friend Kevin must have felt.  He didn't know what he had in that bag, and he was waiting for me to go by at the mile marker with his camera.  I can only imagine how devastated he was when he figured out why I wasn't in the leading group of runners...or in the race at all.  I had the whole team over to our house the next weekend, including Kevin, and made it known to everyone that I placed NO blame.  Kevin is still a friend today, and that is far more important than any race.

It was a lesson in life that was a bit harsh, but it was one that really changed my mindset when it came to competition.  I turned inward for answers, and was surprisingly satisfied by how simple they proved to be.  My harsh competitive edge was dulled forever...replaced by appreciation.   I basically learned the hard way to appreciate my own abilities.  From here on out, it was...go run, have fun, and the chips fall where they may.  The "have fun" part being the pertinent piece...just because life can SEEM cruel in a certain circumstance...that's really just LIFE.

My newly "zen" mindspace was supplemented by a phone call mere days after the state meet tragedy.  From my days in junior high...my fledgling days as a runner (I was just a soccer player that ran back then)...my chief rival was John.  He'd beat me, then I'd beat him, then he'd beat me again...most notably a certified ass-beating at conference in 8th grade in the mile.  We were, however, friendly rivals.  He, and his older brother, and some other former junior high compatriots ran for Stagg High School, our closest regional rivals, and the friendly rivalry continued through that time.  Now...my phone was ringing and John was on the other end.  We'd never really spoken outside of competition, so it was a BIT odd, but I was just overwhelmed when he expressed his condolences for what happened at state.  Truly an amazing gesture...but there was more.  John was calling to tell me about the Northview Track Club...which he and his brother and some of the other Stagg runners had been involved with in the past...and the AAU Junior Olympic cross country competition that continued for the next couple months.  He suggested I give the coach a call, go to a practice, and see where that could lead.  

I had nothing to lose (and nothing really to do), so I asked a couple of my teammates if they wanted to try this Northview thing.  Jeff, Brian, Karen and Pat were all game...and I decided to pass along the "good karma" vibe started by John, and called up one of my closest rivals, George, from Lincolnway ...to join us...which he did.  We hit a couple of indoor track workouts, and met another great group of people...a bunch of Illinois best runners at that, including the guy that had won the state meet I'd missed.  I was having a TON of fun, and running really well.  There were two local meets, and I qualified (along with my friends) for the AAU National Championship in Birmingham, AL.  So...we went.

Karen, Pat, Brian, George and myself...along with the rest of the Northview team...ended up toeing the line at the Magic City Runner's Park (a dedicated 5k cross country course) on December 7, 1991.  Being an avid student of the Pearl Harbor attack, I was more than a little aware of the "infamy" of the date...and was anxious to see if I might make it infamous on a personal level as well.  Our Northview uniforms were black long-sleeved shirts...and conditions in IL in November had justified them.  However, the beautiful sun and 70 degree temps of Alabama had us all cutting those sleeves off...so our uniforms were...rudimentary...shall we say?  Anyway...the race.  Previewing the course the day before, I was immediately in love.  It was hilly, twisty, wooded in spots...a perfect cross country course.  I was stoked.  From the gun, I just settled in at the front, with my teammates Scott and Pat J. (the IL state champ) in a group of 10-15.  We sailed through the first couple miles, and I was attacking on the hills and dropped much of the group...it was down to 5 with a mile or so to go.  Scott, who had finished 3rd in IL state, the IN state champ, and the guy who had placed 2nd in PA were among the last with me at the front...and after the last big hill, I found myself in 2nd place behind the PA guy with about 1/4 mile to go.

I have never had a great kick.  I'm an amazingly consistent runner...I hit a speed and can sustain it...but dropping a gear and flying to the finish has never been a trait of mine.  But that day was different.  I was already in a state of amazement at just how well I was doing (I had set a goal of top 10 or 15)...but I remember thinking to myself...why not run that guy down?  It was one of those surreal moments in life when everything seems to slow...and I can remember that thought so clearly even 30 years hence.  So I dropped the hammer.  

I flew past the first place guy with about 100 meters to go, and just kept pulling hard.  I'd NEVER finished a race that that before...it was like my legs were totally fresh.  I threw my hands in the air at the line...and then put my face in my hands and walked away from the finish.  Before anyone got there to congratulate me...I just took off my jersey and whipped it in the air.  I could NOT believe it.  Things got very real when my dad found me and crushed me with a hug, and later I was mobbed by my teammates doing same.

I never thought of it as "redemption."  I took it for face value...it was a great race, and somehow I'd pulled off a win.  It was, in retrospect, probably one of the best races I ever ran...I broke the course record by 30 seconds...but it was the feeling of flying along at that finish that resonates.  I don't think about it often, but when I do, my heart swells with satisfaction...not just from the race, but because of the hilly, twisty way I'd arrived there.  Natural ability put me on the course, but my family, my friends, and my competitors made this win special...infamous even.