etrain11's Track Blog: Nuff Said
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Goodbye XC
Alright so I'm a little rusty on the whole blogging thing so you will have to bare with me on this one.
Has anybody ever used spotify before? It's pretty much the best new discovery of my life right now and basically you can pick any song online and listen to it for free (with some ads in there somehow but I mean somebody's gotta pay the bills). So naturally that has allowed me to fill my life with an excess of Drake music. Due to this little influx of musical talent, you will notice the theme of this post may remind you of some popular songs out there.
Started From The Bottom
Much like Drake, I was far from ever starting at the true "bottom" of cross country, but relatively it is cool to look back at the improvement curve I have made over the years. It's honestly one of my favorite parts about the sport: you can definitively prove that you are improving and that your hard work has paid off.
In 2009, I ran my first ever cross country race in somewhere between 18-19 minutes at Belmont Plateau. Sounds like a pretty solid freshman 5k time right? Yeah, I'd agree that is a reasonable 5k for your first race. Too bad that race was a 4k.
But I persevered, and I got a heck of a lot tougher than I was that day. By the end of the season I ran 19:12 for 5k and I went back to Belmont the next year and started my season by running 19:20 for 5k this time around.
By the time I was finished high school I dropped my 5k time to 17:05 and by the time I was finished college I was coming through the 5k mark of races somewhere between 17 minutes and 17:20 on my way to a PR of 27:29 over 8k. 8 years of hard work and lots of miles got me something. It's nice to know it was all worth it.
And the cool part was I wasn't the one making these drops alone. My friend Ian McGrath went from a 23 minute first ever 5k to a 16:50 guy in the span of two years. Another guy on my college team went from 30 minutes 27:30 in two years. I don't know if he ever really put in perspective where he has come from, but I think that's something to be proud of.
Best I Ever Had
Running Cross Country has been an unbelievable experience. I built up my etrain reputation off the sport of cross country, ranking individuals and teams from all over. There is so much more to question and to judge and to rank in the Fall. The courses are all different and each has their own shortcomings or difficulties. I stopped my etrain games this year but I never stopped being etrain. I kept a file on the top 200 runners in the region this year and was projecting how things would shape out all year. Same stuff different day.
I found it really cool how things ended for me. I ran the Lehigh XC course about 15 times for races in 8 years. I ended my career there yesterday. There was no extra magic because it was my last race. The pain wasn't any easier to handle. It was exactly the same as any other race and what got me through was motivation and heart. That's what it was about when I started and what is what about when I finished.
I finished my high school and college careers at the same place with the same kind of race and of the course, the same picture. Thanks for putting up with my crap guys.
So sorry Drake, doesn't look like Nothing Was the Same applies here.
All Me
The last song on Drake's album is a real good song. But it's actually the opposite of what I want to say. Cross Country has never been All Me. To me the team aspect in XC is nothing like the team aspect of track. You train all summer and sweat and fight and bleed and puke with a family of guys that you lay it all out there for every day when you race. Almost all the best friends that I have today came from this sport and I am truly thankful to have had the love and support of so many dedicated people all my life.
And so as I close out 8 years of cross country I have some thank yous to make. It's impossible to thank everyone but I will give it my best shot.
First, to my parents. My dad pushed me to do cross country before it ever existed. And not because he was a runner himself, he was a baseball player and a wrestling coach. He pushed because he knew it was something I would love and he was right. My mom and dad were there at my last race and that was a big part of what made it so special. I love you guys.
Next I have to thank all my great coaches. I ran a PR under every coach I ever had and some of those were not easy to come by. Thanks Grift, Ames, G, Bracetty and the Fins.
I also have to thank all my teammates. There are too many to all thank individually but I will throw some names out there. Ian McGrath we were great rivals but without you I wouldn't be who I was today, I owe you a big thanks for your trash talk. Mike Palmisano, the Reillys, Sam Stortz and heck even Gourlay. You guys made me a part of that team at Upper Dublin and you showed me what good runners are like. Without you guys there is no way I would have become who I did as a runner. And of course my buddies Todd and Tanzer. I started with you guys from the beginning and both of you helped me enjoy the sport and pushed me to continue it from the beginning. Fran and Mitchell thanks for all the summer training and the fantastic friendships.
As for my college teammates, I have to give a special thanks to Luke Munyan this year. I think a lot of my improvements were made from running and training with you. You gave me the confidence to think I could hang with the big dogs on the squad. Also I'd like to say thanks to Josh and Zach. Together we went through some hard ups and downs in the past two years on the XC course. I wish we could have all been out there together on Saturday for that last one, but as you guys have said so many times sometimes this sport is cruel.
Another thanks belongs to Bob Torphy. He really showed me what it takes to be a top notch college runner. I never really became one but I always strived to imitate his example as a runner and a leader. Will and Andy were two great captains to have as well and took me under their wing from the time I was a freshman.
And finally to my fellow class of 2014 members.
Tom you were always the Thor to my Wolverine, without you there to push me every day I never would have gotten to run either of the regional races I was lucky enough to run. I owe so much of my success to you. We will always be Thor and Wolverine.
Bobby I'm so proud that you had the race you did at regionals. Honestly, I think it's the greatest and most clutch performance I have ever seen from a Muhlenberg guy at Regionals. It was unbelievable. I'm inspired by your hardwork and you are truly an extremely nice person. You deserve success.
And my roommmate Charlie Kline. Thank you for always being a great friend. We went through it all together and you were always supportive and level headed and a true Players Player. I've voted for yo the last two years, and I will be voting for you again one more time. Go get that 5k record this year baby.
Thank you to all my teammates I have ever had and all my great friends in the sport including guys I didn't mention like Kenny and Tom Lorenzi and Pete Schartel and even Ryan Desch and so many more. I will always remember these teams and these friendships. It made me etrain and it made me Jarrett Felix.
Last but certainly not least to my Nicki. You have always been my biggest fan. You keep me in one piece and you always show me what is most important when I get lost in the numbers and the pressure: having fun. You brought me back two years ago when it looked like I was done and ready to quit and you brought me back this year once again. I love you.
So this is it XC. Thanks for the memories. But as Drake said, I'm not gonna quit til it's over. And it's far from over.
See you on the track.
-train
Has anybody ever used spotify before? It's pretty much the best new discovery of my life right now and basically you can pick any song online and listen to it for free (with some ads in there somehow but I mean somebody's gotta pay the bills). So naturally that has allowed me to fill my life with an excess of Drake music. Due to this little influx of musical talent, you will notice the theme of this post may remind you of some popular songs out there.
Started From The Bottom
Much like Drake, I was far from ever starting at the true "bottom" of cross country, but relatively it is cool to look back at the improvement curve I have made over the years. It's honestly one of my favorite parts about the sport: you can definitively prove that you are improving and that your hard work has paid off.
In 2009, I ran my first ever cross country race in somewhere between 18-19 minutes at Belmont Plateau. Sounds like a pretty solid freshman 5k time right? Yeah, I'd agree that is a reasonable 5k for your first race. Too bad that race was a 4k.
But I persevered, and I got a heck of a lot tougher than I was that day. By the end of the season I ran 19:12 for 5k and I went back to Belmont the next year and started my season by running 19:20 for 5k this time around.
By the time I was finished high school I dropped my 5k time to 17:05 and by the time I was finished college I was coming through the 5k mark of races somewhere between 17 minutes and 17:20 on my way to a PR of 27:29 over 8k. 8 years of hard work and lots of miles got me something. It's nice to know it was all worth it.
And the cool part was I wasn't the one making these drops alone. My friend Ian McGrath went from a 23 minute first ever 5k to a 16:50 guy in the span of two years. Another guy on my college team went from 30 minutes 27:30 in two years. I don't know if he ever really put in perspective where he has come from, but I think that's something to be proud of.
Best I Ever Had
Running Cross Country has been an unbelievable experience. I built up my etrain reputation off the sport of cross country, ranking individuals and teams from all over. There is so much more to question and to judge and to rank in the Fall. The courses are all different and each has their own shortcomings or difficulties. I stopped my etrain games this year but I never stopped being etrain. I kept a file on the top 200 runners in the region this year and was projecting how things would shape out all year. Same stuff different day.
I found it really cool how things ended for me. I ran the Lehigh XC course about 15 times for races in 8 years. I ended my career there yesterday. There was no extra magic because it was my last race. The pain wasn't any easier to handle. It was exactly the same as any other race and what got me through was motivation and heart. That's what it was about when I started and what is what about when I finished.
I finished my high school and college careers at the same place with the same kind of race and of the course, the same picture. Thanks for putting up with my crap guys.
So sorry Drake, doesn't look like Nothing Was the Same applies here.
All Me
The last song on Drake's album is a real good song. But it's actually the opposite of what I want to say. Cross Country has never been All Me. To me the team aspect in XC is nothing like the team aspect of track. You train all summer and sweat and fight and bleed and puke with a family of guys that you lay it all out there for every day when you race. Almost all the best friends that I have today came from this sport and I am truly thankful to have had the love and support of so many dedicated people all my life.
And so as I close out 8 years of cross country I have some thank yous to make. It's impossible to thank everyone but I will give it my best shot.
First, to my parents. My dad pushed me to do cross country before it ever existed. And not because he was a runner himself, he was a baseball player and a wrestling coach. He pushed because he knew it was something I would love and he was right. My mom and dad were there at my last race and that was a big part of what made it so special. I love you guys.
Next I have to thank all my great coaches. I ran a PR under every coach I ever had and some of those were not easy to come by. Thanks Grift, Ames, G, Bracetty and the Fins.
I also have to thank all my teammates. There are too many to all thank individually but I will throw some names out there. Ian McGrath we were great rivals but without you I wouldn't be who I was today, I owe you a big thanks for your trash talk. Mike Palmisano, the Reillys, Sam Stortz and heck even Gourlay. You guys made me a part of that team at Upper Dublin and you showed me what good runners are like. Without you guys there is no way I would have become who I did as a runner. And of course my buddies Todd and Tanzer. I started with you guys from the beginning and both of you helped me enjoy the sport and pushed me to continue it from the beginning. Fran and Mitchell thanks for all the summer training and the fantastic friendships.
As for my college teammates, I have to give a special thanks to Luke Munyan this year. I think a lot of my improvements were made from running and training with you. You gave me the confidence to think I could hang with the big dogs on the squad. Also I'd like to say thanks to Josh and Zach. Together we went through some hard ups and downs in the past two years on the XC course. I wish we could have all been out there together on Saturday for that last one, but as you guys have said so many times sometimes this sport is cruel.
Another thanks belongs to Bob Torphy. He really showed me what it takes to be a top notch college runner. I never really became one but I always strived to imitate his example as a runner and a leader. Will and Andy were two great captains to have as well and took me under their wing from the time I was a freshman.
And finally to my fellow class of 2014 members.
Tom you were always the Thor to my Wolverine, without you there to push me every day I never would have gotten to run either of the regional races I was lucky enough to run. I owe so much of my success to you. We will always be Thor and Wolverine.
Bobby I'm so proud that you had the race you did at regionals. Honestly, I think it's the greatest and most clutch performance I have ever seen from a Muhlenberg guy at Regionals. It was unbelievable. I'm inspired by your hardwork and you are truly an extremely nice person. You deserve success.
And my roommmate Charlie Kline. Thank you for always being a great friend. We went through it all together and you were always supportive and level headed and a true Players Player. I've voted for yo the last two years, and I will be voting for you again one more time. Go get that 5k record this year baby.
Thank you to all my teammates I have ever had and all my great friends in the sport including guys I didn't mention like Kenny and Tom Lorenzi and Pete Schartel and even Ryan Desch and so many more. I will always remember these teams and these friendships. It made me etrain and it made me Jarrett Felix.
Last but certainly not least to my Nicki. You have always been my biggest fan. You keep me in one piece and you always show me what is most important when I get lost in the numbers and the pressure: having fun. You brought me back two years ago when it looked like I was done and ready to quit and you brought me back this year once again. I love you.
So this is it XC. Thanks for the memories. But as Drake said, I'm not gonna quit til it's over. And it's far from over.
See you on the track.
-train
Cross Country
It's weird to think that in one week barring something historically magical, my cross country career is going to be all finished up. I don't think things like this can really hit you until you are staring them in the face.
Last year I got complacent and I let things slip away. It's funny how a really great year can turn quickly into a really crappy year after that. I had hated having to go through all the stuff I did last year at this team. Watching my teammates keep running while I was done was incredibly painful. But it made me hungry. It made me the guy I was this summer. The guy I was this year. I didn't hold anything back on my training and I didn't let anyone tell me no or tell me what I couldn't do.
Look, this year wasn't anything amazing. I'm not trying to say I'm suddenly a big name in the game of running and that my achievements are anything better than anybody else's, but there is something satisfying about hard work isn't there? Just about knowing that all your hard work got you to where you had fantasized about getting to.
I always thought I could just keep doing the same thing and keep improving, but eventually everybody hits the wall and hits the point where things won't click no matter how hard they try. I train months on end so that one day of the year it will click. And it's worth it to me. That's why I keep doing it.
But after Saturday I won't be doing it anymore. I'll be done running with the guys and running with my best friends with a name across my chest that means something. It's sad to know that I'm losing a little piece of who I am this week.
Goals may be reached, but as soon as you hit one, you start adjusting and looking ahead. There will always be something to chase and new dreams to be realized.
I know I don't have any readers out there anymore, so I'm just talking from the heart. But hey, if somebody does stumble upon this old abandoned place, enjoy the ride because it's an honor to be able to represent your school and run with your friends. You can't take it for granted because you don't know when it will all end.
Well I guess I kinda do now.
Dang.
I hope I make this last race count, and I hope all you out there make the memories last.
-train
Last year I got complacent and I let things slip away. It's funny how a really great year can turn quickly into a really crappy year after that. I had hated having to go through all the stuff I did last year at this team. Watching my teammates keep running while I was done was incredibly painful. But it made me hungry. It made me the guy I was this summer. The guy I was this year. I didn't hold anything back on my training and I didn't let anyone tell me no or tell me what I couldn't do.
Look, this year wasn't anything amazing. I'm not trying to say I'm suddenly a big name in the game of running and that my achievements are anything better than anybody else's, but there is something satisfying about hard work isn't there? Just about knowing that all your hard work got you to where you had fantasized about getting to.
I always thought I could just keep doing the same thing and keep improving, but eventually everybody hits the wall and hits the point where things won't click no matter how hard they try. I train months on end so that one day of the year it will click. And it's worth it to me. That's why I keep doing it.
But after Saturday I won't be doing it anymore. I'll be done running with the guys and running with my best friends with a name across my chest that means something. It's sad to know that I'm losing a little piece of who I am this week.
Goals may be reached, but as soon as you hit one, you start adjusting and looking ahead. There will always be something to chase and new dreams to be realized.
I know I don't have any readers out there anymore, so I'm just talking from the heart. But hey, if somebody does stumble upon this old abandoned place, enjoy the ride because it's an honor to be able to represent your school and run with your friends. You can't take it for granted because you don't know when it will all end.
Well I guess I kinda do now.
Dang.
I hope I make this last race count, and I hope all you out there make the memories last.
-train
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
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 7th, 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 4th, 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 20th 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 30th, 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 18th 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 19th 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 110th 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 35th 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 15th and 16th! 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 10th!”
“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 3rd
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 10th and Dollago
held on for 15th to give the team a potent top three. Gross managed
to finish 42nd 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 5th man finishing in
68th 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 7th, 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 1st, 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 4th 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 3rd
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 4th
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 28th, 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 4th
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 6th
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 5th, 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 24th 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 20th 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 38th
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.
The Real Train
Alright folks so here is the beginning of my untitled story that I am working on this summer. To give you a brief synopsis, the story is about a group of high school cross country and track athletes and their overlapping journeys to the 1999 PA state championships. Hopefully you will find it an entertaining read. I haven't done any editing or anything like that yet so hopefully it is not too hard to follow/too boring. Basically the story is most flashbacks at the beginning leading up to the big state meet at the end.
All characters are fictional but those of you who have been around awhile will probably be able to see how I got some of the names.
I also don't have a title yet so for now I will just call it: The Real Train ... Because I think it is a great pun but it has nothing to do with the story. Enjoy!
The Real Train
All characters are fictional but those of you who have been around awhile will probably be able to see how I got some of the names.
I also don't have a title yet so for now I will just call it: The Real Train ... Because I think it is a great pun but it has nothing to do with the story. Enjoy!
The Real Train
November 7th, 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 4th, 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 9:05.66
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 20th 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 6:10. 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.
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