State Mile – Perspective

I believe I was a normal teenage boy in at least one aspect, which is to say I was pumped up with whatever chemicals God naturally pumps teenage boys up with, making them goofy as hell. It is unfortunate that while all these natural chemicals were making me goofy as hell, I was at the same time completely inexperienced at dealing with my condition, and also completely unaware OF my condition. So while it may not have been right, I do remember what my mindset was at that time. In my mind the stakes at the state track meet were enormous. The stakes weren’t inherently enormous; I’d made them enormous.

I am not saying my logic was right, or that any logic was involved at all, but I had decided that this race was a test of who I was, and who I was going to be. Even though I’d run plenty of races before, this was my final high school race. There would be no opportunity for redemption at a later race. I had to do well in this race, or I was a failure; a failure as a teenage boy, a failure as an athlete, and possibly destined to be a failure as a man. If I failed at this race I knew that I would have to live with that failure for the rest of my life. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life dwelling on my failure to perform.

All of the top guys in the Mile either knew each other, or knew of each other. We’d met each other at big meets throughout the year, or knew of each other via the times listed in the squint print section of the newspaper. I have no doubt the other guys were scouring the sports section every Sunday like I was to see who had run a good time the previous day.

Realistically, I knew I wasn’t going to beat David Krantz from Waterloo Columbus. Krantz had the fastest times in the state and had not been beaten once all year. While I’d beaten my good friend from Manchester, Dennis Schultz, at the district meet with a 4:25, it was a rare and random event, and we both knew that Dennis was the only person who might get close to Krantz. I would be fortunate to be third as the kid from Marshalltown had beaten me once, as had the kid from Dubuque and the kid from Des Moines Dowling. If I didn’t run a new personal record time, I could easily end up sixth or worse.

Since I’d finished fourth the previous year, success was defined as finishing third; exactly third. Finishing higher than third wasn’t possible and worse than third was all too probable; third-place was an iffy proposition.

The state meet was my first and only opportunity during the spring track season to race unencumbered by fatigue. There was a full-day track meet every Saturday throughout the season. Usually there was also a dual meet during the week on Tuesday. I’d have to run the Mile and 880-yard run at each meet, with only an hour’s rest between the two races. There were full workouts on Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Friday would be the only day of light running, and I typically ran alone on Sunday while the rest of the team was sleeping in. The state meet was the only time I had an entire week of light workouts in preparation for a single event. The week was designed for an exceptional performance.

So the state meet was a blessing in that I would get to run the Mile fully rested and fully prepared, but it also had an ugly flip side. It also meant I had no excuse for failure. I’d decided I would be a failure if I ran a poor time, or had a poor finishing place. Either one would be construed as a failure. There would be no excuse handy for a failure in either time or place. I wasn’t tired from the previous week’s workouts. I wasn’t sick. I wasn’t injured. I had no excuses available to me. The pressure I felt was enormous and it made basic functioning difficult.

How so? Let’s digress into the basic facts of racing life. It’s an ugly truth, but no matter how many times I visited the bathroom prior to a race, I always needed to go one more time. Even in the most low-key races I was so nervous that I continually needed to hit the bathroom. My gastrointestinal system was doing all kinds of unpleasant gymnastics.

I wasn’t the only one afflicted. I never found a bathroom that didn’t have a line out the door. Upon arrival at track meets everyone raced to locate and use whatever bathrooms we could find. We never told opposing teams where bathrooms could be found. Distance runners did longer warm-ups, and so were able to find locations that sprinters weren’t “able” to locate.

Standing in line for the bathroom just tired my legs out and increased my anxiety level. I was always worrying that I might be missing my event while standing in line for the bathroom. Track meets are notoriously unpredictable, usually running hours behind schedule, but occasionally would whip through several events in a few minutes. So standing in line made me nervous, and the more nervous I was the more I needed to go, and, well, I think you can see the dilemma.

Anything I foolishly put into my mouth the day of a race was processed in the most casual and cursory manner by my digestive tract. Sometimes I was so nervous I couldn’t digest a thing, and simply vomited up whatever I had just prior to the race, or after the race, or both. Items that could be eaten in the morning of a race were professional secrets amongst distance runners and shared only with the closest of friends.

Given the stakes that I’d imposed on myself, I was surprised I wasn’t more nervous than I was. Sure, there was some anxiety, but not like normal. Sleeping well the night before and sleeping during the drive that morning had kept me from obsessing about the race. I wasn’t conscious, so I couldn’t obsess. It was great. Claiming to have thought this all out in advance wouldn’t be fair. It was just a fortuitous side effect, but I was glad of it.

The Mile was the first event of the afternoon. My district time put me in lane 4, David Krantz in 3, and Dennis Schultz in 2. I think we all had a second guy in our lanes as I remember the race being extremely crowded. It was a common practice in those days.

Next week, The Race.