Splits

I started running track and cross country while in high school. Mom and Dad made it to many of my competitions, often with no advance notice. I’d be in the middle of a four-mile cross country race and Dad would be standing out in the boonies of the course yelling for me and my teammates. During track season he might pop up out of nowhere in the middle of the backstretch during the mile.

My dad didn’t know much about track or cross country. During the first year or so Dad would give me split times at unmarked places on the course or track. If he was giving me a 400 meter split, it would be useful and helpful information. Instead, he would be standing in the middle of nowhere on the course reading the elapsed time to me and my teammates. I appreciated his effort and good intentions, all the guys did too. He wanted to help and support in any way he could. In time he learned the obscure details of the sport.

What Dad lacked in knowledge of the sports, he made up for with enthusiasm. There was no place within a stadium or cross country course that his voice could not reach. Dad was so loud and avid in his support that it took only a few moments for the entire crowd to know which kid, and which team, he was supporting. I was embarrassed and apologized to my teammates. It didn’t bother the guys because he wasn’t their dad. They had their own dads to embarrass them. They loved the support and the fact that my parents were everywhere.

My parents showed up for high school meets in Dubuque, Iowa City, Davenport, Waterloo, Ames, Marshalltown, Des Moines, and Clinton. During the college days they appeared without warning at Wartburg, Luther, Monmouth, Knox, Cornell, Grinnell, Simpson, Central, William Penn, Beloit, Ripon, Carleton, St. Olaf, William Penn, Upper Iowa, and Drake. Well, most them anyway. They got to know all the guys, and the guys knew them as well.

One year the college cross country season ended and our coach quickly moved on to his true love, basketball season. I asked Mom and Dad if they couldn’t do something for the guys to mark the end of the year. Mom and Dad put on a monster steak dinner at our house for all of the guys and the coach. I was dating Jean at the time and she helped my mom out in the kitchen. The guys loved it; my folks had become their folks, too.

It should therefore come as no surprise that Jean and I made it to most of Ann’s track and cross country meets in high school. All kids become their parents in spite of their attempts otherwise, and thus it was with me; I became my father. God help me! I’d say that we made it to every one of them, but I didn’t keep track. We traveled all over the Atlanta area, which is roughly the size of eastern Iowa. I am afraid that I abandoned Jean all too regularly to place myself where I could give Ann and her teammates a useful split time or elapsed time, in memory of my father’s efforts.

I would stand just past the 400 meter mark on the track where Ann could hear me give the split. The officials would give an elapsed time at the 400 mark, which isn’t useful after the first lap. The physical and mental effort in a track race is so extreme that calculating a split time while running takes too much time and effort for the runner. Track races look simple, but there is a LOT going on out there, much of it in the form of an internal conversation. (Yes I can; no I can’t) I knew from my own experience how wonderful it is if someone just tells you what your last 400 was so you can adjust your effort appropriately. Giving splits let me be involved.

At cross country meets I would get my workout by running the course before the race. This allowed me to find the mile marks and plan how I could capture the start time, make my way to the mile mark and deliver a split time, and then also make my way to the second mile mark for yet another split time. It gave me an excuse to be out on the course and support Ann and the team during the empty stretches of the course.

Fathers are, by their very nature, embarrassing to their children. The real truth is that children, by THEIR very nature, are embarrassed by their fathers. I did my best to minimize the psychological trauma Ann experienced due to my antics, but sometimes it could not be avoided. I just had to yell and cheer when I wasn’t giving splits.

I have to apologize to Ann at this point. We never traveled the 900 miles to West Point for one of her cross country meets, or the 500 miles to Richmond for the marathon. We preferred to travel to West Point on weekends when nothing was planned and could actually spend time with Ann. The travel costs were significant and we wanted our finite dollars spent towards spending time with Ann. That was our logic at the time. I feel badly that we didn’t go in spite of the lack of contact time and wish now that we had. Again, sorry kiddo.