The Running Diaries

SECTION UPDATE HAS BEEN ADDED 6/17/13
4TH SECTION UPDATE HAS BEEN ADDED 6/14/13 (both sections are marked NEW as a head's up)

Decided to try and make things a little easier to follow/read by just putting everything in one post. Let me know if this creates problems. I'll also put the word NEW!! above each new section I add so people know where to start up again. I'll probably update once or twice a week depending on demand. Also if you've got a good title hit me up.

The Running Diaries

November 7^th, 1999

The 1999 State Championships was truly a historic day in PA cross country. Jimmy Springer, the six foot one Senior from Union Valley, was looking to win his fourth championship in his four years of high school, a feat never before accomplished. He glided across the course with beautiful, long strides. Currently, he jogged lazily across the frosty Hershey golf course, seemingly unaware of his surroundings or the other hundreds of runners and fans flooding the course. As he approached the parking lot where he liked to do his pre-race stretching routine he passed a short runner wearing a purple sweat suit. The two locked eyes briefly, to which Jimmy responded with his usual stone cold stare. His own notoriety combined with this intimidating gaze was on many occasions enough to send his opponent’s eyes darting off in the opposite direction, but this runner’s eyes did not budge and as the two began to part ways, he gave Jimmy a small wink and a smile. “Good luck out there Jim-bo.”

Fear was not in Ben Havko’s vocabulary.

February 4^th, 1999

The weather in Lower Fairview was rarely conducive to a winter track season and the winter of 1999 was far from an exception to the rule. For this reason, Lower Fairview did not pour funds into the track and field department to allow for entry into any of the local (local being a relative word here) meets hosted by the TSTCA or PTFCA. The school had one of the best lacrosse programs in the state and that was how the school made money. Active track programs landed a school such as this consistently in the red.

But the school did have a track team and had actually had quite a strong history of producing quality state runners. Ryan Jewett ran a 4:14.72 mile at the 1979 state championships to claim state gold. In 1966, Kevin Donnelly ran a 9:03.66 2 mile at the Baldwin Invitational to set what was then a state record. The record stood for almost 30 years and was only beaten by a herculean effort by Paul Spooner of District One powerhouse Coatesville in 1995 to better the mark down to 9:00.05. He closed in a 57 second final quarter.

But Lower Fairview was now approaching the 20^th anniversary of Jewett’s 1979 state title, the school’s last state champion in any sport and the school had struggled mightily on the track during that time period. By this point the program was more of a club sport than anything. The school had no cross country or track and field coach and only three official team members, two of which had not raced during any of their four years at school but were simply using the team as a means of boosting their college applications.

The remaining member was quite the opposite. Ben Havko first joined Lower Fairview’s program as a freshman looking to run cross country. At this point he weighed in at roughly 90 pounds and was about 5 foot 4 inches tall. Needless to say, it was hard for him to contribute to any other high school sports programs. A competitive individual by nature, Havko’s father, Sam, suggested he take up running, a sport where everyone would get a chance to play. When Ben joined the squad, the team was a group of seven runners. The other six were seniors.

Ben was hooked immediately. He reveled in the chance to push himself to the brink, to compete on a weekly basis, and to be part of the running community. In Ben’s first race he clocked a 23:12 5k, but by the end of his freshman year he had cut almost four minutes off that mark to get down to 19:18. To say he was infatuated with running would be an insult to their relationship. Ben Havko was head over heels in love with running.

            Havko stepped out into the cold, swirling winter winds in his purple Lower Fairview sweats. He held a pair of spikes in one hand and a shovel in the other. The call came this morning to Ben’s house that the Edinboro Open track meet would have to be cancelled due to all the previous day’s snow. Looking out at his home track, it was clear that the meet directors had made a logical choice. But Ben was not to be deterred. He had adjusted his training preparing for this meet, preparing to hit the indoor state qualifying standard of 9:04.88 in the 3000m. He woke up expecting to race, and that, he decided, was what he would do.

He carefully stepped onto the track in his blue and black ASICS running shoes and dug his shovel into the snow. It was still relatively fresh and, thus, soft and easier to break up and shovel out of the way. After two hours of work, Ben had cleared out the entirety of lane one of the track. He had a pretty good sweat going by this point, so he figured he probably only needed another 10 minutes of jogging and some drills before he was ready to go.

As he jogged about, trying to keep his feet as dry as possible (which meant reasonably damp), he talked aloud to himself about the splits for his goal mark.

“So 9:00 is 72s meaning 9:04 would be about the same thing. I’d have to be at about 3:01 and 6:02, ideally closer to 6 flat so there is some cushion there if I start to tie up.”

It probably would have been odd to witness a little boy jogging around in the snow mumbling to himself, but there was no one else around to hear it or see it. There were no signs of life within quite the large radius of the track. But that didn’t matter to Ben. On the note he left for his parents before he left this morning he simply wrote, “Those who are truly great, are great when no one is watching”.

After a few drills and strides, Havko stripped down to simply his uniform, gloves and a hat. He was wearing roughly the amount of fabric that one would wear in a tanning salon in the aftermath of a February snow storm in Northern PA. He set his watch, toed the line, steadied himself and took off.

The first few steps of a race are always exhilarating. Even in conditions like this Ben still had butterflies in his stomach the first 200m, but those feelings had to be controlled. He didn’t want to waste all his energy in the first seconds of the race. The wind howled in his face on the home stretch has he went by the first time, nature was his opponent on the track today. Now he was coming back around towards his first 400m split. 72 on the nose, perfect split. He trudged on.

At 800m, it starts to hurt. It defies logic; there is still so much of the race left, why is it hurting so early? But in racing, pain is always present, but the best runners can shove it aside, convince themselves it’s all part of the plan and everything is going well. Ben did feel strong as he approached two laps and began to flood his mind with compliments. ‘You’re moving strong, this is perfect, this is easy.’ Then he split his watch. 78 for the second lap.

There are few worse feelings than thinking you are moving considerably faster than you are in a race. A pit dropped in Ben’s stomach and he knew it was time to work, he dropped his pace down and looked to hammer things back down. He was through the first 1k in 3:05, much slower than he had planned. He continued to put his head down, trying to stay on pace. He split his watch again and this time saw a 66. A bad overcompensation, his pacing was running him ragged around the track and he knew that lap could catch up to him. A sense of dread ate at the back of his mind, when would he pay the price for his mistake?

1600m in 4:47, 2000m in 5:59, 2400m in 7:10. He was rolling back on 72 pace, clicking off these even splits gave him confidence, but he was starting to feel the burn in his legs and in the back of his throat. It was hard to breadth in the cold winter air and the pace was faster than anything he had raced before. His Personal Best from last spring was just 10:08 for the 3200m, equating to roughly a 9:30 3k and 76 second laps. He was crossing the 400 to go mark, he imagined a tiny bell going off in his head as he hit the line. He fought the urge to look at his watch, it was sprint time from here on and he didn’t want to break form. But it was hard to keep it, down the back stretch his head began to wobble back and forth and his shoulders tightened up. The shoveling had probably not done his arms any favors as he tried to drive heading through 200m to go. He was tying up, clearly, over the last minute or so. His finishing kick was never really something he could hang his hat on.

As he made the turn for home, the wind really picked up, blowing straight into his face. He grit his teeth and bowed his head in agony hoping to use it as some type of battering ram against the wall of air he was trying to break through. After what felt like miles of fighting, he could finally stop his watch as he hit the line. His legs shook and he almost fell as he cross the line and stumbled over to the fence for support. Naturally before he could even catch his breath or understand his surroundings he was looking at his watch for the time. 9:05.2. He gave a frustrated sigh and staggered around the turn in what was intended to be a jog to go retrieve his clothes and start his cool down.

There were an unlimited amount of excuses that Ben knew he could easily make for himself, but he let those thoughts pass him by. When he was finally back home in a warm bath, soaking his aching limbs he could at least take solace in the fact that he had just set a 25 second PR.

September 30^th, 1996

            Jimmy Springer may have been born with all the physical gifts a runner can ask for, but he was certainly not born a runner. Growing up he much preferred playing basketball, baseball, football, soccer … really anything with a ball and he was sold. He liked being on a team and having friends and to him the idea of running always seemed pretty individual and lonely, not to mention boring and unpopular.

            But running, as it does for many, found Jimmy. His parents were both doctors and, although the family was quite well off, Mr. and Mrs. Springer did not always have time for their son. So if Jimmy wanted to get somewhere, he would have to run.

The summer before his freshman year he ran the two miles to the high school varsity soccer fields for try outs, carrying his soccer cleats under his arms. On the first day, Jimmy stood out as the top freshman on the soccer field, but got bumped around a bit by the older, stronger boys. The coach was still more than willing to have him come back for day two of try outs where the boys were surprised with a 2 mile time trial on a loop around the high school campus.

Coach Martinez, Union Valley’s head coach, proclaimed, “Anyone who can’t break 12 minutes … well you can just run on home and start training for next year.” The older runners knew this was an empty threat, many of whom had run slower than the mark and still been named to the varsity squad, but young Jimmy Springer had no such inside information. Considering Springer ran 4 total miles yesterday to get to and from try outs and had run 2 miles to get to school for try outs to today, he was nervous wreck as the group lined up to get the run started.

On the word go, Springer bolted to the front of the group and took off running scared. It just so happened that the boys cross country squad was practicing on the same day and head coach Sal Albertson, who usually tried to scoop up a few runners who were cut from soccer, was eyeing the 2 mile time trial. By the half mile mark of Springer’s run, Albertson was off jogging across the soccer field to talk to Coach Martinez. By the time Springer crossed the line and turned around, he saw that he was about a quarter mile ahead of anyone else and had clocked a time of 10:15 for the 2 mile loop.

While Jimmy was still catching his breath, Coach Albertson and Martinez pulled him off to the side (leaving a very frazzled assistant coach to try and collect the times for the rest of the players).

“Jimmy that was some remarkable running! I’m Coach Albertson of the men’s cross country team. You have the potential to be something great son. Our team could really use you, we a great group of returning runners this year and with you on the squad I think we could compete for a state championship!”

“Listen Jimmy,” Coach Martinez began solemnly, “You are a fine young soccer player, but you have a once in a lifetime kind of opportunity here. Why don’t you go to Cross Country practice tomorrow and if you don’t like it, I’ll keep a spot on the team open for you.”

Cross Country was different from “running” as Jimmy had always previously thought of it. There was a great team dynamic and runs were far from lonely. All the guys on the team were quite friendly and funny and right away Jimmy felt this was a place he belonged. There is a certain sense of family around a cross country team and the Union Valley squad quickly became Jimmy’s.

Springer jogged in the pack of Union Valley boys around the Lehigh cross country course as the team prepared for their third race of the season. The roster for the team was filled with talented harriers including Colin Leak, who had run 9:19 for 3200m the previous season and Dan Dallago who clocked a 4:18 1600m. The team filled out their scoring five with a couple of 16:20 guys in Sean Gross and Evan Fischer and James Burkhardt who was an 800m specialist but had a solid summer of mileage and was running solid cross marks. Coach Albertson had held Springer out from the first few races of the season saying, “I want to surprise some people with you. I can’t show all my cards too early.”

The team had managed to win its previous two invites without Springer competing, but the competition was nothing compared to what they would see at the Paul Short Invite. This year Cumberland Valley and LaSalle, last year’s state runner ups, both were looking to run fast times at this early season meet. Captain Colin Leak kept his team calm all week while still injecting confidence and positive energy at practice. Leak was the perfect general for this army. He was easy to talk to, optimistic, and, most importantly perhaps, a fast dude. He had logged 80 mile weeks over the summer in hopes of taking the next step and competing for an individual state championship. Leak was 18^th the year before at the state meet. However, his team goals outweighed his personal goals, he wanted to see his team place well above all else. A year ago, the team finished 19^th at the state championship, suffering from inexperience on the brutal Hershey course. It served as motivation every time the team touched the trails.

Springer was filled with nervous energy on race day. He trusted Coach Albertson, but he was sick of feeling like a caged dog. In workouts, he had been running just off Leak, in the pack with Dallago, Gross and Fischer and was hoping to prove he had not been training above his head. As the team switched from jogging to stretching, Albertson approached his nervous freshman.

“I don’t want you to get carried away out there. You are going to be excited and that is perfect natural, but I want to try and avoid having you bust out the gate with a 4:40 mile, ok? So here is what I want you to do, stick behind Fischer until the halfway point of the race. After that if you can go faster, go ahead and take off.”

When the gun sounded, Jimmy was off and running, so fast that he found himself at the front of the entire field by the 100m mark. Wildly he looked around, waiting for Fischer to come up and overtake him. He came to almost a complete stop as the field came storming by him, swallowing him up in a crowd of multi colored jerseys. It was all a blur as he pressed on, looking for a tall, brown-haired boy wearing orange. He almost ran into him when he finally found him and the two pressed on together towards the mile in a huge sea of competitors. Springer still felt jumpy, nervous and energized. It took a lot of self control to calmly breadth and run along his teammate. As they approached the mile all sorts of numbers were being called out amist the stampede of runners and the cheering of spectators. Somehow, Albertson’s voice stood out among the crowd. “5:08”.

It felt easy. Runners were panting and breathing hard all around him, but Jimmy was completely under control. He took a look to his side at Fischer who seemed to be pressing. Up just ahead was Gross, Dollago was a few groups ahead of him, and way at the front, almost out of eye sight, an orange jersey that Jimmy assumed was Leak was leading the charge. From the shouts of the other coaches, Jimmy figured he was probably in about 110^th or so. He wanted to move up but Fischer was struggling and his pace was slowing. It wasn’t quite halfway yet, but Jimmy couldn’t wait. The team needed him to make a move, he was in the scoring five and there was a team title on the line. He went by Fischer.

He caught up to Gross as they crested a small hill going back by the start. Just ahead of him was a pair of Red and White Jerseys. “Cumberland Valley right up here boys! We need these points” It was Albertson again, screaming at his runners, this time concern clearly imbedded within his tone. Springer responded immediately. He blew right by the pair of runners and kept his eyes up ahead. He was charging up the far right side of the course, doing his best to weave through runners, one after the other. He was almost at 2 miles now and he felt much worse than he had after the first. He charged up the course’s final hill passing a gold jersey that he thought read “LaSalle” and listening for a split. “10:19”.

The weaving through runners had zapped most of his strength; the hill was a struggle, his quads burned as he charged on. It was hard to have a lot of thoughts going on at once; he had to have a single minded approach. For now it was simply: finish. However, he had been making up a lot of ground, by the sounds of things he was up to about 35^th now. And then it happened. Around the turn in the cornfields he saw Dollago racing down the downhill, locked in a battle with a runner from Downingtown West. Extra motivation kicked in, goals changed.

The competitive spirit of running is always greatest between teammates. No one can motivate a runner more than the person he trains with every day, the person whose strengths and weaknesses are clearly known. Jimmy knew he was running well if he was within striking distance of Dollago. But he also knew Dollago was hoping for a top 10 finish to help the team, and he was off that pace. Springer charged ahead with a second wind. It was all down-hill from this point and he opened up his long powerful stride. He passed Dollago with surprising ease coming down the hill, but Dan was not going to let him go without a fight. The two continued to run hard, pushing each other passed what they had previous thought were their limits. Albertson was at the statue that marked 400m to go and just passed him was a clump of what looked to be 5 runners. “You boys are in 15^th and 16^th! Relax and go! Eyes on this group right here!”

It was a different voice now, excitement the dominant emotion, and Springer responded. He made the turn into the final, long straightaway with a huge crowd screaming him home. He couldn’t feel where Dollago was now, but it wasn’t about him anymore, it was about how many guys he could catch on the final stretch. He could feel spittle gathering on his face, his legs burning, his arms flailing but he pushed on to the roar of the crowd. As he approached the line, neck and neck with another runner with big powerful arms, he put in one final surge right before the finish and was able to edge him out.

The finishing shoot was a mad house as usual. All Springer wanted to do was lay down and find a nice, quiet place to throw up, but the officials ushered him through the shoot, yelling that he had to move. He was pretty sure he got a little bit of vomit on their shoes as pay back. In between gasps for breadth he managed to get in a few nice jobs and handshakes. A few of his other JV teammates who had been watching the race came over to congratulate him as well.

“You finished 10^th!”

“And ran a 15:52!”

“That’s unbelievable man!”

“It’s the fastest time by a freshman in school history!”

He was trying to do the math in his head, but the numbers didn’t easily add up. For a moment he thought he had closed in a 5:30 last mile, easily his slowest mile of the race, until he realized the mark was actually closer to 5 minute pace, since he had forgotten the extra tenth of a mile. It was all just a dizzy mess of numbers to him at this point. He had never run serious races before; his best comparisons were simply to the marks of his teammates.

But he knew he had run well when Leak came over and picked up off the ground in a large hug.

“That was fantastic man! You may have just gotten us the team title!”

In the end Union Valley did eek out a victory narrowly over Cumberland Valley, who finished second, and LaSalle, who took third. Leak finished in 3^rd place overall, his first loss of the season, but ran a 15:37 to lower his PR by almost 20 seconds. Behind him Springer finished 10^th and Dollago held on for 15^th to give the team a potent top three. Gross managed to finish 42^nd in the race but Fischer struggled after Springer passed him and ultimately it was a step up day from Burkhardt that helped the team take the title. Burkhardt was the squad’s 5^th man finishing in 68^th place. As the team walked back to the bus carrying the team title trophy proudly (Leak gave it to Burkhardt to carry after his big race), Albertson kept Springer back to talk with him.

“I cost you about 10-15 seconds by making you stay with Fischer. Weaving through all those guys on the hills in the second mile was brutal; I’m honestly amazed you managed to come out of that in one piece. You know, you could have your own state championship in a couple years.”

“Coach” Springer chose tried to decide how best to phrase it to try and avoid sounding cocky, “I’m winning the state championship this season.”

Sometimes there is no good way to avoid sounding cocky.

November 7^th, 1999

            As Ben jogged away from Jimmy Springer he thought to himself, “Jim-bo?” It wasn’t his coolest move by any sense, but he may have at least gotten in Springer’s head a little bit. Most people are too scared to even look at him straight in the eyes, but Ben was not most people. He had put in too many long hours to be afraid of someone like Jimmy. He had run over 1,000 miles in the past year and he had done it all by himself, without any teammates to share the load. All alone.

            He jogged by a few teams warming up together. He saw North Penn and Coatesville, the two favorites to take down the state title. He also spotted West Chester Rustin, the upstart program out of District One who was a sleeper team to say the least. Finally he came by the District 3 runner-ups, Manheim Central.

He spotted Jason Miller outside the stretching circle. Now this was a man who was not afraid of Jimmy Springer. But unfortunately, Miller had suffered his devastating injury and his state title hopes and likely his team’s hopes were all but gone. It was hard for Ben to relate to this team dynamic. He thought back on the last words she had said to him, “I think you will be happier alone.”

September 1^st, 1999

            West Chester Rustin was one of the smallest schools in District One AAA, but you wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at their sports programs. West Chester Rustin’s cross country team had qualified for states the past four seasons under their new, innovative young coach Kevin Vigilante. The team competed in the same conference as both Coatesville and Union Valley, but managed to hold their own against these large, impressive programs. Coatesville had taken cross country state championships in 1991, 1993, 1995, 1996, and 1997. The years in between they were always in the top three. Only other large schools had managed to unseat them such as North Allegheny (1992, 1994) and North Penn (1998). A team like West Chester Rustin was thought to be too small to have any sort of chance.

            But in 1998 the program took a dramatic step forward and finished 4^th at the state championship meet just behind Coatesville and just ahead of North Allegheny and LaSalle. The team returned a fantastic five of their top seven runners and was poised to compete for the 1999 state title. However, the small contingent of runners was overshadowed by the school’s other top program: football.

            In 1998 the football team had its highest finish in school history, making it all the way to the state title game before losing at the hands of Neshaminy. The team’s success was due in large part to the success of the team’s Quarterback: Chris Cline. He was a High School All-American and being heavily recruited by just about every college in the country. He was fast, elusive, strong and intelligent: the total package. He played the position differently than anyone else in the NFL.

            Cline’s greatest attribute was his competitive spirit. He hated losing. In tight games, he played both sides of the ball and returned kicks. In the semi final game he scrambled 68 yards for the game winning touchdown against North Penn, carrying the Knight’s All-State linebacker Mike Adams with him into the end zone.

            Chris walked out onto the field, the lights shining down on him and crowd cheering behind him. There was nothing quite like a Friday night football game. This is what he felt he was born to do. Rustin was playing their in conference rivals: Coatesville. Cline hated Coatesville and he knew that they felt the same way about him. But that was what drove him to be at his best, he always seemed to step it up when the pressure was at its greatest. He lived for moments like these.

            In the pregame huddle, Cline tried to fire up his brothers to take up arms with him in battle.

“This is it boys. I still got a bad taste in my mouth from that championship game last year. I want to get back there and take that state title that we deserve. Everything starts with tonight. These guys over there on that sideline think they can come in here, on our home turf and take this away from us? We gotta give it everything we got and show them that last year wasn’t a fluke! Warriors on 3 … 1, 2, 3 … Warriors!”

And with that it was game time, the Coatesville defense came out strong and Rustin could only pick up a few yards on their first possession before punting it away. The Rustin defense struggled early, but a key shoe string tackle on third down and missed field goal kept the game scoreless. But Coatesville’s defense continued to put the pressure on. They had a constant attack on Cline, daring the team to run the ball with somebody else, but not letting Cline and the Rustin offense play to their strengths.

The Coatesville defense paid off, Rustin’s running back Jay Williams fumbled the hand off from Cline and the turnover led to an easy TD. The Warrior’s were down 7-0 early. But Cline was unperturbed. On the first play of the next drive, the Warriors ran a wide receiver reverse to Luke Naughton who began to sprint up the right side. The Coatesville defense stormed to the right, while Cline, left uncovered, sprinted down the life side. He made the catch at the far side line and sprinted easily into the end zone for a touchdown.

The momentum carried over and Rustin got a turnover of their own on the ensuing Coatesville drive. Cline waved his arms to the crowd to get them pumped up as he ran back out onto the field with the offense. They were on the opposing twenty five yard line and hoping to punch in. The first play, Cline ran a play action fake and rolled out to hit Naughton on the sideline. It picked up 9 yards. Then Cline set up in the shot gun and the Coatesville defense showed signs of bringing pressure. He audibled into a screen pass instead of the designed quarterback run the team was planning. Then, he quickly called for the snap. Coatesville’s pressure came as expected and Cline got the ball out in a hurry. However, even after Cline got the ball out the Coatesville defense continued to go after him. He put his arm out for protection as a onslaught of opposition came collapsing down on him.

The crowded was up in arms. It was a blatant late hit by multiple members of the Coatesville team as they completely ignored Williams who ran in for the score. They had clearly gone out of their way to try and injure Cline. And it had worked. The star QB came up clutching his throwing hand. Rustin fans were on their feet yelling and Cline’s father, Charlie, had come down along the fence to scream at the referee. Rustin’s coach, Andy Berry, sat Cline down on the bench.

“You are not going back in this game. You probably just jammed something, no need to make it worse.” He gave Cline a pack of ice. He sat there with his hand in the ice, unable to even clap and cheer his teammates on. Rustin clung to a 14-7 lead at the half, but Coatesville came charging out the gate to start the 3^rd Quarter. They tied it on the opening possession and after an interception by replacement quarterback Andrew Macany, they were in position to take the lead.

“Coach, my hand’s fine, just let me go back in,” Cline pleaded on the sidelines, but it was only half convincing, his hand still throbbed with pain and coach Berry saw through his lie. By the time the fourth quarter began, Coatesville was on top 31 to 17. Cline began trying to throw some warm up passes on the sideline. His grip was off and his passing was erratic at best. His thumb seemed to be the problem: that was where pain shot out from. But the ice had numbed it fairly well and if the game got close he would try and force his way back in. Almost on command, Rustin intercepted the next pass and ran it back for a touchdown. With just 3 minutes to go, Rustin was back within one score of Coatesville.

Rustin set up for the kick off and surprised the stadium by going for an onside kick. To the horror of the Coatesville sidelines, the ball bounced off a confused offense lineman and fell into the hands of Rustin on the recovery. Again Cline tried to reenter the game but his coach refused. However, after two straight pass attempts tipped off Coatesville defenders, Coach Berry’s hands seemed tied. To the joy of the crowd Cline came running out onto the field. The eruption of noise made it hard to hear in the huddle.

“You sure you’re good to come back man?” Center Brian Mao asked.

“I’m fine, let’s just go win ourselves a football game.”

Mao snapped the ball to Cline who dropped back to pass, stepped up in the pocket and launched the ball sailing well over Naughton’s head. It brought up a 4^th and 10 for the Warriors from the 48 yard line. Coach Berry called a time out and called his troops over.

“Chris, there is no pressure here, we can still win this game without you, if you’re not at 100% just sit down.” But Chris Cline would have to die before coming out of the game. He had something to prove and his throbbing left thumb wouldn’t slow down his legs, he knew that much.

“Everybody get open downfield and I’ll make the play” Cline said with confidence and he trotted out on to the field with his team behind him. This play would likely decide the game as little time remained on the game clock. Cline set up in the shot gun and called again for the snap. The snap was a bit high and he was unable to catch it clean, the football fell to the turf as the Coatesville defense closed in. Quickly Cline picked up the ball with his right hand and took off on the run. He cut to the outside, split two Coatesville defenders and turned up field. Slicing back across the middle of the field he moved off a nice block from Naughton and sprinted up the far sideline. He just had to beat the Coatesville safety to get into the end zone and keep his team’s chances alive. The safety went low and so Cline had to go high, hurdling over him and landing cleanly on his two feet. He gave a fist pump to crowd as his teammates came running over to celebrate.

“It’s not over yet, stay calm, we are going to win this game right now, we aren’t waiting for overtime.” Cline waved the kicking team off the field. Coach Berry stood by agitated on the sideline as his kicker turned back to look for guidance.

“He got us this far, if he wants to throw the game away, he earned the right.” Cline flashed a thumbs-up to his coach as he set up the offense for the final play of the game. Berry looked on tormented, hoping he would not pay for his decision.

Cline took the snap and rolled out to his right. The Coatesville defense moved with him, determined to not let him run for the score. Cline was sprinting, hoping to get to the corner first, but Coatesville was ready, they had him cut off. Realizing this, Cline froze and flicked the ball with his left hand outstretched just over the defense to Naughton who was waiting in the corner of the end zone, having slipped through the rush of defenders. Naughton made the catch and completed the improbable comeback for Rustin with a final score of 32-31.

But Cline didn’t get a chance to see Naughton make the catch. The Coatesville defense closed in again and a helmet launched directly into his outstretched left thumb. There was a horrible breaking sound, a cry of pain and a cold, cruel certainty: Chris Cline had broken his throwing hand.

NEW!!

August 28^th, 1998

            Jason Miller was considered by many in the Manheim Central community as the town’s “Golden Boy”. By the summer of 1998 he had established quite the reputation as a scholar, athlete and, as the ladies said, “he wasn’t too hard on the eyes either”. By the time Miller finished his sophomore year he had already become the talk of the town, winning the District Championship in the 3200m the previous spring and placing 4^th at the state championships. It was the highest finish at states for any athlete in school history. In addition, he scored a perfect 240 on the PSAT examinations and allegedly had his sights set on either Harvard or Stanford for his college.

            For this reason, it was extremely hard to be Mark Miller. Mark was a solid student in his own right and no slouch on the track, he finished his freshman campaign running 4:37 and 2:01, but the expectations surrounding him because he was “Jason’s brother” were seemingly unobtainable. It wasn’t easy to walk into all of his classes on the first day of school and hear, “Your brother was my favorite student!” about six times in a row. His first cross country practice he was put in the top group before even running a single stride and after receiving a 95% on his first Chemistry exam he couldn’t help but feel the teacher handed the test back disappointed.

            But despite the natural comparisons that would undeniably begin when he started running for Manheim, Mark joined up anyway. He didn’t see his performances as a “Me vs. Jason” race as much as a “Me vs. Me” one. On the track, he could clearly improve from race to race and he didn’t have to better than Jason, he just had to be better than he was the week before. That was the ultimate satisfaction and the greatest joy to him of running. He could share in his brother’s success and vice versa.

            Mark jogged out the door and headed for his brother’s car. It was 5:50 in the morning, 10 minutes before the team’s first captain’s practice of the summer.

            “Sorry, I forgot I put newspaper in them last night.” Mark mumbled sliding into the passenger seat with his running sneakers.

            “Works wonders doesn’t it?”

            “Haha I guess I just would rather avoid running through the creek in the first place next time.”

            Jason smiled at his brother as he backed out of the driveway and headed off toward the high school. The two brothers had run a 7 miler through the back woods behind their neighborhood the previous afternoon.

            “Well we race at Central Dauphin this year and the last time I raced there they took you down all sorts of trails and tight turns and stuff. Not bad to pick up a little extra experience.” It was natural for Jason and Mark to talk racing, the two were talented, passionate runners on the squad.

            “Shoot I was hoping we’d get them at home. I really wanted to try and get some revenge on Schrom for outkicking me at Leagues last year.” Mike Schrom finished as the top freshman in the district a year ago and Mark had a special rivalry with the other top runners in his year as many top underclassmen do.

            “With Rotz gone we should be able to take 5 out of the top 6 against those guys now. We gotta just start worrying about CV and Conrad Weiser really, those are the best two teams in the district. I’d love to sneak in there and give them a scare. Just let ‘em know that we’re coming you know?”

            They pulled up in the school parking lot in which a small clutter of 7 scrawny, shirtless kids were tying shoes or stretching against their cars. The full size of the team was close to 25 boys, but when Jason and Mark got out of the car they knew they were the last ones. Believe it or not, 6 AM practices did not appeal to everyone. Only the most dedicated team members came out to these morning runs, half asleep and hungry, but underneath it all they understood it would make them stronger by season’s end.

            Jason’s success a year ago had provided inspiration for a number of new runners to join the cross country and track and field teams. The men’s distance team had roughly tripled in size (the girls team also saw considerable growth), stealing a few JV soccer players to come out including Stan McNally, a promising new addition to the team’s varsity. It was a young group with no seniors projected to be on the varsity 7, but Jason had the team thinking big for the season ahead. They were 6^th at districts the previous year, one spot away from the state championships.

            “We thought you boys were going to be skipping out! Would have been a cruel prank for you to call this and not show up Jason!” Brad Dennin called out to the Miller boys as the approached.

            “Haha I just wanted to see who would be the first one to bail, and you guys all passed the test.”

            “Well it’s good you showed up because we were about to have to promote Meyers to take your place.” This produced a good round of laughter. Zach Meyers was the only senior on the team and was notorious team know-it-all, trying to correct peoples form or training tactics at every turn. Meyers was a 400m man outdoors, but ran cross to “stay in shape” although he would only attend a few practices a week. It was likely this reason that kept his PR at 57 seconds year after year.

            “Well Dennin, I hope you’re going to run these hills as quick as you’re wit.”

            “Nice line super nerd.” Mark responded. The group chuckled again, even Jason who was a good sport about self deprecating humor. The group set off on a modest clip for the warm up, running down the road towards the state park on Tilghman street which was home to some viscous up hills. Mark hung back with his friend Corey Groff, another sophomore on the team hoping to make the varsity squad.

            “I was up til 2 last night trying to finish off my Madden season. It’s addicting man, I’m telling you, computer games are sick.”

            “Corey, I don’t have time to stay up til 2 my Mom still is kinda a tyrant about that stuff. I’m almost 16 years old and it’s the summer, but she has all the electronics off by 11. Jason’s asleep by then anyway so it doesn’t make much of a difference to him.”

            “Ah the price one pays for success. Sometimes you just wonder where it is you want to draw the line? I mean I could cut out all the crap from my diet and eat only cael and crap like that and live to be 105, but is it worth it? I like Oreo’s a lot man …”

            The boys were at the bottom of the first hill now. It was a long, gradual up-hill of about 600m.

            “I’m thinking 3 on Playground, 3 on Powerlines and 3 on Wood Chip to close it out.” Jason instructed. The group mumbled and nodded in general agreement. They group up into a few packs, two juniors and a new freshman were in the first pack, the slowest group, and set off briskly up the hill to start. Then playing catch up was the sophomore trio of Groff, Mark Miller and McNally and then finally the Junior pack helmed by Jason and Dennin. The first few hills were up tempo, a long sustained effort. The group timed things fairly well on these hills and all finished together at the top.

They rolled through the second set of hills at a steeper grassy hill in the middle of the park and Jason and Dennin started to pull away from the group leaving a bit of a gap between the remaining members of the varsity team. McNally was trailing of the back of the pack a bit; he was fairly inexperienced in workouts like this. The boys closed in the final hill, Wood Chip hill, having already completed, in total, about 8 miles of hard running. Wood Chip hill was a pulverizing hill with the first 200m being a gradual up-hill before a sudden steep incline that felt straight up and down for the final 200m. At this point in the workout, everything felt like an all out sprint through quicksand.

It was at this point that Jason proved his dominance. He tore through the first rep with ease as Dennin hung on the best he could, but a gap was beginning to form. Behind Dennin, Junior Craig Weller led the chase group that included Mark Miller and a slowly fading Corey Groff. The second hill was just as pulverizing and Jason was practically up the hill by the time Weller started it. At the bottom, Jason waited, telling the young freshman to take a breather and grouping up the remaining seven runners at the bottom of the hill. He pulled aside a visibly exhausted McNally while the others keeled over with their hands on their knees. Corey didn’t have enough energy to ask, so he just made a face that Mark recognized as “What is he up to?” to which Mark responded with a well worded shrug.

“Alright boys last rep” Jason said as he jogged in place, “Feel free to go a little crazy on this one and let the competitive juices out. We got some time before we will be able to go this hard again.” Mark always loved the sprint to the finish. He viewed himself as an 800m runner at heart and he could usually take the top guys at the end of a hill workout.

“Corey, count us off.”

“Ready, go.”

The boys went racing up the hill, the first stretch being the easy part before the legs really began to burn. Mark held back a bit as Corey, Brad and Craig all got a solid jump on him. Jason was of course already strides ahead of the bunch. They turned and hit the steepest part of the hill and Mark took that as a cue to go. He pumped his arms and began to power up the hill, legs struggling to turn over. He had timed his move well and it was now only his brother ahead of him. As he hit the final 50m, thinking he had his position locked up, a rush of body came flying by him. Powerless to respond, the ex-soccer player’s muscular arms carried him with ease over the crest of the hill past Mark into the finish. Jason, noticing, turned around to whoop with joy.

“What I tell you kid! Now that’s why we recruit soccer players!”

NEW!! 

November 5^th, 1998

            In the state of Pennsylvania schools were divided into two class systems: AA and AAA. The smallest schools were placed in the AA category so that they could fairly compete for state qualifying spots and state medals. The AA competition, in most years, was far easier than that of the AAA field. In 1997, Jimmy Springer won the AAA title over a minute faster than AA champion Vincent Beveridge whose 16:26 would have gotten him 24^th in the large school race. But all the same someone in this race would leave with the title of “state champion” and no one would be able to take that away.

            In 1998, most of the top AA runners had graduated, leaving behind a wide open field of potential new state champions. Ben Havko was hoping it would be him. He had won the District 10 Championships the previous weekend by 18 seconds over Garrett Beasley from North East to qualify for the state championships for the first time in his career. Beasley had been a top 5 finisher the previous season at states which made him the top returner from the field.

            But Havko knew it was not as simple as beating Beasley again. Havko had spent the past 4 months reading everything he could about running. He read about proper training, proper form, and proper race strategy. He read about the other top athletes in the world like Hicham El Geuorjj and Halie Gebersallassie. He even looked back on the work of Jim Ryun and Marty Liquori. He could close his eyes and name the other top guys in the AA field: Brendan Jones, Luke Jaskowak, and AJ Gruschow. All of those runners had flashy PRs from big invitationals on the East Coast while Havko won most of his races with ease. His 16:21 on the District 10 Course was easily his best mark of the year. He figured he need to match that mark on the impossible Hershey course if he was to take home gold.

            Ben nervously jogged around the Hershey course through the early morning fog. This was a meet unlike any he had ever participated in before. He was completely out of his element and completely inside his own head. He figured the start would be crowded and he would have to get out hard. He also knew that the first mile was by far the easiest and if he burned out the first mile he would crumble in the hills. It had never been his style to front run, his best races had come from a well timed move at the 2 mile mark. There was a sharp up-hill at this point on the course and if he could surprise the pack there, he felt he could steal the gold.

            He entered his starting box in his purple sweat suit, petrified by the moment. Brendan Jones came over to shake his hand which was coated in sweat.

            “Good luck man!”

            “Thawk … ewe”

            He could barely get the words out. He mustered a feeble smile and turned back to do a few pre race strides and try and get out the jitters. His first stride didn’t help. The whole first straightaway was lined with hundreds of fans, walls of noise surrounding the runners on the start of their quest for glory. He was not prepared for this, he didn’t belong here.

            Unfortunately, even all the reading in the world cannot prepare someone for these key moments in the sport. It’s hard to put into words the atmosphere around a state championship or the nervous pit in your stomach you get when you realize you are surrounded by the best runners you have ever raced against.

            Ben stripped down to his uniform, did one final run out, and then prepared himself for the inevitable. A few boxes to his left was the Elk Lake squad favored to win the state title while a few down to the right he saw the boys from Quaker Valley who were the defending champions. It dawned on him there that he had to get out hard or these two squads would flush him into the crowd where he would be vulnerable to all sorts of pushing, shoving and tripping.

            As the runners took their marks at the line, Ben took a deep breath and forced himself into a big smile as was his pre-race routine. He felt you had to make yourself remember that this was what you did for fun at a difficult time like this to feel anything but the numbing of cold of apprehension. If he could trick is mind into believing this was what he wanted to do, the pain would be easier to fight. And hey, he was at his first state championships after all and that was a pretty cool achievement.

            The gun blasted and Ben sprinted as hard as he could off the line. He was going with his instincts and getting out hard. Unfortunately, Ben’s sprint speed capped out right around 30 seconds for 200m so getting out hard required an all out effort. But it worked, as the group began to narrow he was clear of the imposing packs of Elk Lake and Quaker Valley and out at the front with Beasley, a notorious front runner. Now, he deduced, he could settle in.

            The problem with being in perfect position is everyone wants it. So as the group continued on the narrow path towards the half mile, runners were elbowing and pushing their way through the pack trying to move up. Right around 1000m in the aggressive running had worked through the pack up to the front and a well placed elbow knocked a runner to the ground. The tangle of feet took down a few more and Ben felt an outstretched hand pull on the bank of his jersey for balance. He wasn’t prepared for the contact, unable to see the movement behind him and his body crumbled under the pressure. He fell hard to the ground as a mass of swarming bodies hurdled or stepped on him as he tried to scramble back to his feet. He could feel blood dripping down his right calf and his body stung from the impact of his collision with the gravel path. But the greatest pain was psychological: he had given up at least 50 places in a matter of seconds.

            With a rush of adrenaline that came from the fall he began to surge his way up pack, forgetting that he normally liked to hang back in the early going. In a race, it isn’t easy to think logically. Thoughts come into your brain and you act. Sometimes foolish thoughts that when you look back you are stunned you could possibly believe, but this is the magic of the race. Havko weaved through bodies as he approached the mile. He was clocked at about 4:53, roughly 10 seconds off the leaders. It was the fastest opening mile he had ever run despite the fall and his fastest mile ever was just a 4:45, two seconds slower than the time for the leaders.

            He trudged on as the packs approached the back hills. He was breathing hard already, feeling the effects of his hard 800m before the fall and his hard 800m since. On all sides of him there were other runners. Some were slowing down, some were speeding up, but everywhere he looked there was someone. It was another completely different feeling. He was the only one on his cross country team and his District barely could field a full AA race. But this, he had decided long ago, was just what he needed. He would respond to the push provided by these other athletes, there would be constant pressure to keep up the pace or chase another runner.

            As he went into the first hill he geared up for a surge. He estimated he was about 50m back from the leaders by this point, sitting in somewhere around 20^th place. He pushed hard up the first hill passing a small pack that included twins with yellow jerseys and was beginning to gain confidence. The doubts that had been fighting his will power in the back of his mind ever since the fall were starting to subside. As he crested the hill he saw the course make a quick turn to go back down hill and began to try and lengthen his stride, but he didn’t realize that just ahead was AJ Gruschow whose long strides and big back kick were blocking his path.

            Ben’s legs tangled in Gruschow’s as he whipped around the bend and the two went tumbling down the hill as if they were some type of Jack and Jill rag dolls. That was it, the dam was broken and the doubts flooded his subconscious. A second fall! All momentum gone, dizzy and broken, Ben began running again, promptly turning and facing another grueling up hill. It was the last thing he needed at a time like this, he tried to power with his arms but his weak, fatigued frame was no match for the unyielding mountain of grass.

           

            Ben went on to finish 38^th in the race. He and his parents drove home from the meet in silence as he wiped away tears from his face with the back of his hand. He kept his blood stained, sweat-coated bid number and taped it up above his head so it would always be the first thing he saw when he woke up each morning.