I know most of my posts are on the humorous side and some are even a bit absurd. I might take a different approach and talk about something a bit more serious. This might be a bit lengthy, but it’s something I am writing more for me. But you’re welcome to read.
Something happened recently. I sold my entire collection of sports cards. Well, not my entire collection, but 99.99% of it (0ver 200,000 cards). I kept a handful of cards, not because of value, because nothing I kept was of “value”, I just kept some cards of my favorite players that I grew up watching. I did enjoy going through my cards in the week it took to assemble them and to get them all in 1 room, had cards I didn’t even know I had. I had several Lebron James Rookie Cards, a few Kobe Rookie Cards and a handful of Shaq RCs as well. I didn’t really collect Basketball cards, so these surprised me. It was fun spending a week looking through them. I miss them, but at the same time, I don’t miss them.
It did make me really reflect on the sport I grew up with and did for quite a long time. As I’ve gotten older, it’s now that I’ve not been in my sport more than I was in my sport. I still miss it. I still miss the training. I miss the comradery of my teammates and how we relied on them to help get through those grueling practices. I miss the races most of all. I miss the excitement and suspense and nervousness that went into the warm up and getting psyched up to push yourself to the limit. I always liked to explain it as “Embrace the Pain”. Because that’s what it was – pain. I ran track (and cross country) and my specialty was the 800 meter (1/2 mile – 2 laps) and I can tell you that often, that last 50 to 100 meters were sheer torture. It all came down to breathing, trying to focus on form and letting your inner beast take over – all while every single muscle in your body is screaming for oxygen and begging for you to stop. But I digress…… talking about track and racing gets me going.
As I spent the last few weeks without the collection that I have spent decades assembling it made me rethink a lot of things. What are possessions and what do they mean? Of what use are they? I have two daughters. Will they think my “possessions” are silly or down right ridiculous? Who knows. What will I do with my possessions? Will I leave them in my will? If so, who will want them? Will they have any meaning?
As far as physical possessions go, I have pictures – yes, actual pictures – before the digital camera age and before you could store then on your phone or on the cloud. Remember, I am not Moses. I have clothes and I have vehicles and I have furnishings. I have things I use and I have tools. Oh boy do I have tools. But with my cards gone, I no longer have anything that I’d say I collect.
Aside from pictures of my family. I have two things that pre-date them. I have two actual pieces of my history that I can hold that not only mean something to me, but in a way, made me who and made me what I am. These two things might be meaningless to anyone else but me. For I alone know what these mean to me.
My mother brought me a box a few years ago, and I had a bit of nostalgia looking through it. It was a box with a few medals and plaques and ribbons I won while racing in high school and in college and a road race or two. But of all these racing awards – two in particular stood out to me. And it brought me a bit of joy to see them and to actually look at them again. There are two medals that I won in high school on the same day, the Maryland State Track and Field Championship meet my junior year in 1982. Medal 1 symbolizes something that I worked for, for many years. It was the result of years of training and dedication and running in the rain and snow and running in the heat and the cold. It was something I worked hard for and it symbolized the reaching of a goal. Medal 2 is something I’m still to this day not quite sure about. I’m not sure if it was a blessing that changed my life, or if it was the curse that ruined my life. It’s maybe a little bit of both. But Medal 1 first.
Medal 1. I was kind of good as a freshman and sophomore in high school. I was on a really good team and in cross country I ran varsity both years. I was #5 my freshmen year and I was the #2 guy my sophomore year. But cross country never really did it for me. My passion was always on the track. However, in track I had the roadblock of always being on a good team, with older runners ahead of me. I qualified for the state meet my freshman year in the 3200 meter run (2 mile). In Maryland to qualify for the state meet you had to finish in the top 4 at the regional meet. I don’t recall the time I ran, but I finished 4th and qualified for states. In the state meet I ran a 10:24 in the 3200 meter run and I think I finished 8th or 9th, I don’t remember.
Sophomore year, I wanted to run the 1600 (mile) but there were juniors and seniors on the team that were pretty good and I just never got the chance. I also knew I was one of the top 800 meter runners and wanted to be on the 4×800 relay, but I never got the chance. I was always odd man out because I was only a sophomore and once again was relegated to the 3200 meter run. In regionals I finished 2nd, qualified for states, and at the state meet ran a 10:18 and finished 6th, scoring 1 point for my team. 10:18 as a sophomore and that’s the very last time I ever ran the 3200 meter run. See, something happened that day.
I kind of had a chip on my shoulder about being relegated to the 3200 meter run – again. But I wanted to race my best. I remember watching the guys warm up for the 1600 (1 mile) and I watched how they were concentrating, chatting with each other. You could feel the excitement as they approached the starting line and as they lined up, it hit me like a lightning bolt. I said to myself that “I wanted to be that guy”. Right then, I was done with being relegated to the lesser event. (The 3200 meter run is not a lesser event, but in my mind at the time it was) I made up my mind that from now on, I was gonna be good.
The next morning, it was a Sunday in late May as I was getting ready to go out on a run, I looked at myself in the mirror and I said out loud, “I wanna be good”. That summer I ran every day. Didn’t miss a day. Ran all through Salisbury, from home to the park, then crossed the highway to the downtown area, through downtown and up Riverside Drive then by the college , down College Avenue to home. Every day. Sometimes if I felt pretty good, I’d extend it and run down Camden Avenue and go around the college or even down the Tony Tank Lane where I found this block that I really enjoyed running on. Every day in the summer and not a single day off – not for any reason.
It was August and I got a phone call. I didn’t know that Coach Ron Peterman was not going to coach anymore, but our new coach, Coach Bob Cannon was going to be our new high school coach and was organizing a pre-season workout schedule. “Sure I’m ready.” And with a distance base under my belt – I hit the season running. Cross country wasn’t my strength, but I did okay. Coach Cannon was the coach who knew how to get the best out of me. He didn’t play games and when I wasn’t performing well, he let me know it. Cross Country season ended and I was team MVP – and we went into Indoor Track and I was just beginning to really hit it. I cruised through the regular season undefeated and at the State Meet took 3rd place in the 1600, my first medal at a state meet. Outdoor Spring Track was next and I hit it running hard. Coach Cannon beat me up early season and back then, I could never understand why he worked me so hard the day before a race, never taking an easy day to “rest” before a race. Now I understand it, and I use that same philosophy when I coach. What difference do these early races matter. The concern wasn’t what time I ran in March and early April, but rather, what time I could run in mid or late May. Often, I’d be at the starting line a little leg weary. But it paid off. I ran the same 3 races every meet. Lead leg on the 4×800 relay, 1600 and 800. At the time, the two 800s were mere after thoughts, or so I thought. As the season went on, I learned a lot about racing and strategy. I learned about pace and how to hit my marks. State Meet and I am rolling. I am now at the starting line with many of the same guys I watched last year and it was a bit surreal. Gun went off and I hit my first lap right on my time I wanted. Last lap and I was in position to medal. Had a good last lap and a strong finish, but couldn’t catch the guy who won, and I finished 2nd with a 4:23.0. Still my high school and Wicomico County Maryland record. I’ve run faster miles since and my senior year didn’t have the results I wanted (many factors) and I will always hold this race as testament that once I set my mind to something I can accomplish anything. I hadn’t seen this medal in many many years until seeing it in that box and it always reminds me of that moment when I told myself, “I wanna be good”. That’s medal #1.
Medal 2 is one that wasn’t planned or even thought of. In the season I ran 3 races every meet, 4×800 / 1600 / 800 and on occasion ran the 4×400 also. But at the State Meet where we were seated 4th in the 4×800 relay with a probability to do better, it was decided I’d not do the 4×800 relay to stand a better chance in the 1600 as they were very close together. Plus, the open 800 would be my 2nd race, not my 3rd and I might fare better in that as well. Not a lot of strategy or tactics had ever gone into my 800, I just went out and ran, careful not to go out too slow and also (very importantly) not go out too fast. I remember at the starting line I was still kind of on a high of my 1600 race and many of the same people in that race were at this starting line. Gun went off and I went out well and after the 1st lap was in the mix. Rounding the turn and into the back straightaway, the crowd thinned out and I found myself comfortably in 3rd place. I looked ahead and the 1st place guy had gotten a nice lead and the 2nd place guy was maybe 20-25 meters ahead. I was beginning to tire and I found myself both excited and content. I felt good and I was confident that no one would catch me from behind and content that I might have just gotten my 2nd medal that day and I think I actually smiled a bit. But then it happened. Just into the last turn, up ahead, I saw the 2nd place guy stand straight up. His form was gone, and he had hit the wall. In an instant I thought to myself, “Self, you can catch him”. I made up my mind in a split second and I went for it. Caught up to him into the final straightaway and we fought for a bit, but he had hit the wall and had nothing left. The eventual winner was too far ahead (he was strong and ran a great race) and I came home in 1:57.3, a full 2 seconds under my PR. It was right then that I fell in love with the 800 meter open. My entire racing persona and my entire focus became the open 800. I wanted to learn all I could about running the 800, from best strategies to race tactics and everything in between.
To this day, not sure if that medal was a blessing or a curse. It literally changed my life and the 800 became my passion both in college and even today. I no longer run the 800 (or anything else for that matter), but if I’m watching a high school meet or watching the Olympics, I tune out everything else when it comes time for the 800 open. I won a few college 800s and with great teammates, we won many 4×800 relays and also a bunch of distance medley relays and even some sprint medley relays where the 800 is the anchor leg.
I still ran the occasional 1600 or the college equivalent 1500 and I did okay and had a respectable PR. I struggled mentally piecing together a good race in the 1600/mile. It was always the 3rd lap that got me. The 800 made me so reactionary that I wanted to chase down the leaders in the 3rd lap, which destroyed my last lap. Or, in order to not do that, I’d hang back a bit too much, then, even with a strong finish, there was too much distance to catch up. The 800 had become my passion.
But what will these medals mean to anyone else? My sports card collection had a dollar value. They were something someone else wanted and something someone else would pay for. But these two medals, they only mean something to me. I have other medals from other races, even some 1st place medals. But nothing means more to me than these two 2nd place medals. For now, they are in that same box. I don’t look at them often, and they show a little wear as they are now over 40 years old. But I know they are there.
And Kevin Gebhardt (the winner in the 1600 that year and later a teammate in college and we became good friends) and Mr. Coates (the winner in the 800 in that year, I don’t recall his first name) if you ever read this – congratulations on a fine race that day in 1982. I hope you remember that day fondly.
And I told myself I wouldn’t cry.
My Take on Life and Events 