This is another one of those posts where I step into the forbidden territory of religion and politics. These are the two topics you never should discuss at work or with people who you would like to remain friends with. And yet here I am once again. The prayer listed below was too delectably controversial not to take a lick at it.
______________________
The Chronicle of Higher Education recently posted an online article about how an appeals court lifted an injunction against stem-cell research. A philosophy professor posted a comment about stem-cell research and included this prayer which he attributed to Rev. Billy Graham. A Google search revealed that the prayer is real, but the attribution to Billy Graham is incorrect. The Snopes website points out that the prayer is often misattributed to the Rev. Billy Graham, and Paul Harvey, but came from Rev. Joe Wright when opening the Kansas House of Representatives with this prayer in 1996, which was actually crafted from a prayer written by Bob Russell in 1995 for a Kentucky Governor’s prayer breakfast.
http://www.snopes.com/politics/soapbox/prayernation.asp
Yes, that is way too much information, but finally, here is the version of the prayer I’d like to discuss that was posted by a professor as a comment on the Chronicle of Higher Education –
Heavenly Father, we come before you today to ask your forgiveness and to seek your direction and guidance.
We know Your Word says, 'Woe to those who call evil good,' but that is exactly what we have done.
We have lost our spiritual equilibrium and reversed our values.
We have exploited the poor and called it the lottery.
We have rewarded laziness and called it welfare.
We have **killed** our unborn and called it "choice."
We have shot abortionists and called it justifiable.
We have neglected to discipline our children and called it building self esteem.
We have abused power and called it politics.
We have coveted our neighbor's possessions and called it ambition.
We have polluted the air with profanity and pornography and called it freedom of expression.
We have ridiculed the time-honored values of our forefathers and called it enlightenment.
Search us, Oh God, and know our hearts today; cleanse us from every sin and Set us free.
Amen
So here is my line by line reaction -
Heavenly Father, we come before you today to ask your forgiveness and to seek your direction and guidance.
No arguments from me so far. Who wouldn’t like some divine direction and guidance? And forgiveness, wow, a universal need. I can forgive others, but forgiving myself has been a lifelong disability. This first line I am willing to pray every day of my life.
We know Your Word says, 'Woe to those who call evil good,' but that is exactly what we have done.
This quote is from Isaiah 5:20. Apparently the guy is going to delineate for us exactly how we have gone about calling evil things good. I am looking forward to the particulars.
We have lost our spiritual equilibrium and reversed our values.
This is just a restatement of the previous point; evil is good and good is evil. The guy is saying we are confused. I think I got that point. Sorry to make fun of the guy. No doubt he feels passionately about the subject. Maybe I will agree with him, but I am still looking forward to the particulars.
We have exploited the poor and called it the lottery.
He is right-on about this point. The lottery does take advantage of the mathematically challenged. There have been plenty of articles over the years about having a better chance of getting hit by lightning than winning the lottery. A quick Google search shows a bunch of articles saying that lotteries exploit the poor and the gullible.
We have rewarded laziness and called it welfare.
I agree with the guy here. Sure, there are justifiable instances where welfare is called for. As a general rule I feel that welfare encourages sloth. It takes money from people who have earned it and gives it to those who have not earned it. If I choose to donate my money to someone else that is my choice. When others use the government as their instrument of plunder to take the fruits of my labor and give it to those who have not earned it, I say that is wrong. It’s MY money and I earned it. It’s not yours or anyone else’s.
We have **killed** our unborn and called it "choice."
This one is a matter of belief. Clearly this guy believes in Pro-Life. You either believe in the Pro-Life position or you believe in the Pro-Choice position. Perhaps there are other positions in-between, but whatever your position, it is one of belief. No doubt you can state your position and the reasons for your position, but ultimately your position is based on belief and doesn’t contain facts and arguments that would compel someone to change their position. Those who have chosen their position often think their arguments are compelling, but I’ve never heard of anyone who has been convinced to switch sides. I don’t know what’s right; I wish I did. I wish we all did. What I do know is this sort of self-righteousness is ugly.
We have shot abortionists and called it justifiable.
Yes, there are some nutcases out there who have shot abortionists, and it is not justifiable. That seems to be this gentleman’s point and I agree with him. Taking the law into your own hands and exercising what you believe is justice is wrong. I believe in Law and Due Process. But I have to say, no, “WE” haven’t shot anybody. This repeated “WE” statement is getting on my nerves.
We have neglected to discipline our children and called it building self esteem.
I agree that a lot of parents are neglecting to discipline their children. On the sidewalks at Stone Mountain, on the highways, and at the malls I see rude and discourteous behavior. It’s not just in children, but I see it in all too many adults too. The parents want the children to like them and be their friend, when it is more important to be respected and set an example. Parents are taking the path of least resistance when raising their children. They need to choose the harder right rather than the easier wrong. Self Esteem? I don’t know if that is the excuse parents are using these days, but whatever the excuse, there is no excuse for a lack of discipline and values.
We have abused power and called it politics.
This is true of both parties every day, all-day. The guy doesn’t need to cite specific instances to convince me. I’ve been reading the newspaper and watching the news for years and I know exactly how Congress operates. Bi-partisanship is a thing of the past. The political ads for the November 2010 elections sound like the candidates believe that the end justifies the means. The personal attacks and falsehoods have been astounding. Bravo to the networks for investigating the ads and exposing the lack of truth in most of the attack ads. I am worried for our country. Term limits would turn politicians back into representatives of the people. Term limits would allow our representatives to do what is right, rather than doing what will get them reelected.
We have coveted our neighbor's possessions and called it ambition.
Huh? Where did this one come from? I don’t get this one at all or what he is referring to. Who is coveting whose possessions, and how does that relate to ambition? I like my neighbor’s car. It’s new and shiny and has leather seats that are heated. I’d like to have one just like it someday. Is it ambitious to work harder and longer so I can afford one too? Is that coveting? Is working harder a bad thing? Whatever point he meant to make is lost on me. Oh well, let’s move on.
We have polluted the air with profanity and pornography and called it freedom of expression.
Is this a call for censorship? If so, I won’t have it. I do agree that a side effect of free speech is some unpleasantness in the media. A little too much skin, suggestive situations, graphic violence and profanity is going to happen when you have free speech. The alternative is a Theocracy like Iran, or the thought police as in George Orwell’s 1984. I’ll stick with freedom of expression. The alternative is unimaginable.
We have ridiculed the time-honored values of our forefathers and called it enlightenment.
If he is saying that society doesn’t value being trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent, I would agree with him. America doesn’t seem to value the clean-cut all-American Boy Scout image anymore. People are into dirty long hair, stubble on the face, piercings, and tattoos. The bad boy look has become cool. I don’t understand valuing a lack of values. How hard is it to look like a slob? That doesn’t seem like much of an accomplishment to me.
The other day the ladies at work were lusting after Johnny Depp, and I asked why. They said the bad boy image was attractive to them. The logic continues to escape me. No doubt their gushing was sincere, as is my confusion.
Search us, Oh God, and know our hearts today; cleanse us from every sin and Set us free.
Well good. It looks like the sermon is wrapping up. God would be that being than which nothing greater can be conceived. Surely a God that great can know my heart. Cleanse me from sin? I guess that is the forgiveness gig again, and we could all surely use a healthy dose of that. Keep me from sin isn’t too likely. We have free will and we know right from wrong, and can choose right over wrong. I don’t see this guy saying keep us from sin. He’s just requesting the forgiveness of sins, and I have no objections to that. Presumably the capitalization of the word “Set” is just a typo and doesn’t have any extra meaning. Set us free? I thought I was free already. Remember free will? If I am missing the point, feel free (get it?) to let me know.
Amen
Shame on this guy for delivering a lecture disguised as a prayer. If he wants to express his opinions, next time write a letter to the editor. This guy really is the poster child for the word sanctimonious. Amen, my foot.
At least my lectures aren’t disguised as prayers.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
CORRECTION – Mile and 880
Now that I’ve written the story of the 1970 state meet as I remember it, it is time to inject some facts that don’t fit with my memories. It turns out that it did NOT happen exactly the way I remember it. Close, but not quite, but I didn’t know that until after I wrote the story. It took many weeks to write the dad-gum thing and I just don’t have the motivation to re-write it to fit the exact facts. Let’s just call the story “creative non-fiction”, and itemize the creative parts here.
While I remember Dennis Schultz from Manchester winning the mile AND the 880-yard dash in 1970, the record book shows that he only won the 880. Apparently I have mixed up parts of the mile and the 880 in my memory.
http://www.iahsaa.org/track/2010_Track_Stat.pdf
Dave Krantz from Waterloo Columbus ran 4:18.0 to win the mile. Dennis Schultz was second. My third place 4:19.9 isn’t as far back as I portrayed it. I actually did get fairly close to Krantz and Schultz. Finishing 1.9 seconds behind Krantz means I was roughly 13 yards behind at the finish. Not exactly close, but hey, not as far back as I portrayed it in the story. I guess I was so physically wasted at the time it just felt like a long way back. As yet another consolation prize for me there is some satisfaction in running a faster time (4:19.9) than any of the state champions in the smaller school divisions. (4:21.9, 4:26.7, and 4:35.2)
The record book does show that Dennis Schultz ran a 1:55.2 to win the 880-yard dash in 1970. Just glancing through the record book it appears that that time was the fastest time ever in the state of Iowa. This must be the spectacular race I remember the fans going nuts about and when I gave Dennis a shove towards the stands and the newspaper reporters. Again, there is some satisfaction that my 1:59.9 in the slow heat was faster than the state champions in two of the smaller school divisions. (2:03.1, 2:00.1, 1:59.1)
I remembered someone other than Dave Krantz from Waterloo Columbus winning the mile my junior year in 1969. This is also incorrect. The 2010 Track & Field State Meet Stat Book shows that Krantz won the mile in 4:22.9 in 1969, and I know Dennis Schultz finished in front of me, and I finished fourth. There must have been a senior battling Krantz for first place that year. I guess I didn’t finish too far back this year either with my 4:24 and some change. Again, it looks like I was closer than I remember my junior year. If I had been in any of the three smaller classifications I’d have won the dad-gum thing as a junior. (4:24.9, 4:25.0, and 4:26.5)
http://www.iahsaa.org/track/2010_Track_Stat.pdf
The shocking conclusion I’ve drawn from all of this is that I’ve been wrong for 40 years! After 40 years of thinking otherwise, I now discover that that I was much closer to Krantz and Dennis than I remember. Maybe I wasn’t with them at the finish of the mile, but I was in the neighborhood.
Who’d-a-thunk-it?
While I remember Dennis Schultz from Manchester winning the mile AND the 880-yard dash in 1970, the record book shows that he only won the 880. Apparently I have mixed up parts of the mile and the 880 in my memory.
http://www.iahsaa.org/track/2010_Track_Stat.pdf
Dave Krantz from Waterloo Columbus ran 4:18.0 to win the mile. Dennis Schultz was second. My third place 4:19.9 isn’t as far back as I portrayed it. I actually did get fairly close to Krantz and Schultz. Finishing 1.9 seconds behind Krantz means I was roughly 13 yards behind at the finish. Not exactly close, but hey, not as far back as I portrayed it in the story. I guess I was so physically wasted at the time it just felt like a long way back. As yet another consolation prize for me there is some satisfaction in running a faster time (4:19.9) than any of the state champions in the smaller school divisions. (4:21.9, 4:26.7, and 4:35.2)
The record book does show that Dennis Schultz ran a 1:55.2 to win the 880-yard dash in 1970. Just glancing through the record book it appears that that time was the fastest time ever in the state of Iowa. This must be the spectacular race I remember the fans going nuts about and when I gave Dennis a shove towards the stands and the newspaper reporters. Again, there is some satisfaction that my 1:59.9 in the slow heat was faster than the state champions in two of the smaller school divisions. (2:03.1, 2:00.1, 1:59.1)
I remembered someone other than Dave Krantz from Waterloo Columbus winning the mile my junior year in 1969. This is also incorrect. The 2010 Track & Field State Meet Stat Book shows that Krantz won the mile in 4:22.9 in 1969, and I know Dennis Schultz finished in front of me, and I finished fourth. There must have been a senior battling Krantz for first place that year. I guess I didn’t finish too far back this year either with my 4:24 and some change. Again, it looks like I was closer than I remember my junior year. If I had been in any of the three smaller classifications I’d have won the dad-gum thing as a junior. (4:24.9, 4:25.0, and 4:26.5)
http://www.iahsaa.org/track/2010_Track_Stat.pdf
The shocking conclusion I’ve drawn from all of this is that I’ve been wrong for 40 years! After 40 years of thinking otherwise, I now discover that that I was much closer to Krantz and Dennis than I remember. Maybe I wasn’t with them at the finish of the mile, but I was in the neighborhood.
Who’d-a-thunk-it?
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Car Keys - Part 1 AND Part 2 (NEW)
Car Keys, Part 1
It was the first and only time I can recall intentionally disobeying my parents. It was May of 1970 and I had just graduated from high school. Mom was so gentle and kind that I hated to disappoint her, but Dad was such an authoritarian that it seemed right to be willfully disobedient at least once before heading off to college. And that’s how it came to pass that I stayed out past curfew on the night before the high school state track meet.
When I got back to the house that night I just expected to slip in the back door like I always did and head up to bed. Mom and Dad would never know because the door was never locked and they never stayed up for me anyhow. There was no reason to do so because I never stayed out late, I never disobeyed, and was absolutely trustworthy. Well, except for this one night. When I got home the door was locked.
At first I thought that Mom and Dad had just forgotten I was out and did not intentionally lock the door. When I checked for the spare key in the garage and it was missing, I knew it was locked on purpose and they were upset. I thought about sleeping in the car, but decided that that was just delaying the inevitable. I rang the doorbell and awaited my fate.
It seemed to take forever, but eventually Mom and Dad both showed up at the back door in their bathrobes. Dad took forever unlocking the door and it seemed calculated to let me stew a little longer and speculate on my impending doom. As soon as the door opened Dad started in on me. I don’t remember specifically what he said, but no doubt it included my being irresponsible and risking a poor performance at the track meet the next afternoon. I was accustomed to my dad’s tirades, but this one was particularly stinging because he might have been right this time. Even more painful however was my mom’s look of disappointment.
The bottom line of it all was I was grounded until further notice and they took away my keys to the car. This was a first for me or for anyone in my family.
In my own defense it wasn’t just an evening of willful disobedience. I was pretty anxious about the state meet and knew I wouldn’t sleep well, if at all. I’d been training for this one track meet for an entire year. The previous year I’d finished fourth in the Mile at state in a 4:25. One of the guys in front of me was a graduating senior and the other three of us were juniors, so if I was going to move up a place, or just maintain my place in the pecking order, it was up to me to do the workouts. The problem was this; I was positive the two guys in front of me knew this too. They didn’t get in front of me by sitting on the couch. No doubt the guys behind me had placed a bull’s-eye on my back too.
I’d run throughout the previous summer in preparation, even after a full workday, or a graveyard shift, at the factory. I’d run two-a-day workouts frequently during the fall cross country season. I gave up my one true love, wrestling, in the winter when I separated my shoulder during a JV match, and it became clear I wasn’t going to make the varsity. So I focused on running through the ice and snow of winter with my separated shoulder, again, often twice a day. Every reasonable and unreasonable sacrifice had been made over the period of a year in anticipation of this one race. In fact, my girlfriend had dumped me just prior to the track season both years. Gee, I wonder what caused that.
So getting back to losing the car keys and getting grounded, I went up to bed and slept like a baby. Whodathunkit?
I had to get up early the next morning and catch a ride with an assistant coach who was driving me and a couple other guys over to Ames, Iowa, the site of the track meet. I was still a bit sleepy from my “late” night, so slept during the two hour drive over to Ames. By the time we got there I was well rested and felt ready to run.
Car Keys, Part 2
(You really should read the previous posts about the state mile first.)
My 4:19.9 Mile at state was a phenomenal improvement over my previous best of 4:24 and several tenths that I have forgotten. What I haven’t forgotten is that Coach Wilkinson claimed the official who was standing at the finish line got my time wrong. Wilkinson, sitting in the top row of the stands, said I had a 4:20.0. Either time was the school record by several seconds, but Wilkinson didn’t care what the official time was. He decided he would post the school record as 4:20.0 in the gymnasium.
I never got back to the high school to see my name and my time on the records board in the gym. Wilkinson had a dry sense of humor and liked to give me a hard time. It’s possible he was just razzing me and actually posted the 4:19.9. For the last 40 years I’ve told people that I ran a 4:20 mile just to be sure I don’t take credit for a tenth of a second I didn’t earn.
After finishing third in the mile at state I had an hour or so to recover before running the 880-yard run, aka the half-mile. Dennis Schultz and I got a chance to chat for a few minutes between the races. Dennis had won the mile with an impressive finish, which I didn’t really see from my distant vantage point. He said he was pretty tired from the effort and was thinking of scratching from the 880 in fear of embarrassing himself.
I chewed Dennis out for even thinking about it. He’d won our district race and had a time that put him in the fastest heat of the 880. While I was second to him out of our district, my time put me in the slow heat of the 880 and essentially out of contention. He had a chance to place with the fastest half-milers in the state. It was our final high school race. It was an opportunity not to be missed. I told him he owed it to the other guys to give them a chance to kick his ass after winning the Mile. It wasn’t fair to deny the other guys a chance to say they beat the state champion in the mile. We both had a duty to run the race to the best of our ability with whatever energy we had left. It was the right thing to do.
The slow heat of any event always preceded the fast heat so the faster runners would know what time they had to beat to win the event. The times of runners in the slow heat never seriously challenged those of the fast heat, but they were there to make the runners in the fast heat nervous and run exceptionally hard.
My mom and I have different versions of the slow heat of the 880. I suppose that Mom’s version is correct as she was actually sitting in the stands with Dad and has an unfortunate inclination to tell nothing but the truth. I much prefer my version of events as it doesn’t let facts get in the way of a perfectly good story.
In my version, everybody in the stands knew from the Mile race that that Friar Tuck-like bald man two-thirds of the way up in the stands was the father of the skinny little puke Miler from Cedar Rapids Washington. It wasn’t possible not to know this. The man was so obscenely loud and agitated during the Mile that everyone knew who the father was cheering for.
In my mom’s version my father was not the least bit embarrassing during the Mile, which would be a first occurrence for him, and did not draw any extra notice to himself above that of anyone else in the stands. I find this hard to believe as it would be uncharacteristic for my father.
Anyway, what remains uncontested is this. The slow heat of the 880 was of little interest to the fans. Slow heats never were of any interest to anyone but the parents of the kids. Nobody was paying much attention to us lining up in our lanes for the start. The crowd was deathly quiet. It was at this moment that Dad stood up to yell, “HEY TOM! IF YOU BREAK TWO MINUTES I’LL GIVE YOU THE CAR KEYS BACK!” Everyone in the stands heard it, and laughed.
A man down at the bottom of the stands stood up, turned around, and yelled up to my father, “HEY DAD! WHICH LANE IS HE RUNNING IN?”
“LANE 6.” my dad yelled.
I heard this easily down on the track and had to chuckle. My best time in the 880 (half mile) was a 2:04, but still, it was a day of miracles. I’d set a PR in the Mile by 4 seconds. That was a miracle. I thought, “What the hell, why not go for it? Who knows what might happen?” But best of all, I knew that my father had just forgiven me for my intentional disobedience the night before. I knew that all would be well again at home.
I had hoped to just enjoy the 880, but now, thanks to Dad, the entire crowd was focused on me, a crummy seed, in the slow heat of the 880. Many of the guys in my heat had not run the Mile and were fresh meat for the 880. Where I had been hoping just to finish the 880, I now felt obligated to make a good faith effort to run a good time so as not to embarrass myself or my father.
When the starting gun went off I took off like a bat out of hell, just like everyone else, and once again found myself in last place at the end of the first curve. Fast just wasn’t in my genetics. I don’t remember any more particulars of that first lap other than remaining in last place and thinking what a disappointment I must be to the fans after the brouhaha my father started.
At the beginning of the backstretch, with 330 yards to go, I began my kick for the finish. I didn’t have much speed, and I still don’t, but I could maintain what speed I had for a fairly long time. So I kicked it in with 330 to go and started passing guys, and I heard the crowd come alive. I thought to myself, “After what Dad said, who else would they be watching?”
The more noise they made, the more adrenaline I had, and the faster I went. Every time I passed a guy, the crowd became louder, and I got faster. I was having fun! Down the backstretch I passed a bunch of the guys, and tucked in on the final curve. As I came out of the final curve there was one guy left and a hundred yards of real estate left to cover.
We were both sprinting for all we were worth and I was gaining on him. The crowd was going crazy with the drama, of all things, of a close race in the SLOW HEAT of the 880. It was a drama, and was of interest only because of Dad’s remark prior to the race. Out of the corner of my eye I could see half the crowd watching the stadium clock and the other half were watching me.
Just like the Mile, those final yards hurt like hell, but I did pass the guy, and at the finish line I leaned for the tape like a sprinter, and heard the stadium roar for me, the winner of the slow heat of the 880. I looked up at the stadium clock and saw 1:59.9. I laughed along with the rest of the crowd. It was a crowd pleasing come-from-behind worst-to-first finish in a pretty decent time for the slow heat. It was the fastest 880 I would ever run. Again, whodathunkit?
The man down at the bottom of the stands stood again to face up into the stands and yelled, “HEY DAD! WHERE ARE THOSE KEYS?” The crowd laughed as my dad stood up and held the car keys up for all to see. Dad made his way down out of the stands with great fanfare and met me at the fence. I got the car keys back then and there. Mom might have been taking pictures.
Epilogue –
I walked down to the end of the track to watch the fast heat of the 880. Dennis and Krantz ended up battling each other yet again and Dennis won in an incredible time of 1:55.2, the fastest time ever in any class at the high school state meet. I had to laugh. Dennis wasn’t going to run the 880 until I talked him into it, and now he was state champion in the 880 and the star of the meet. Way too funny.
If it didn’t happen exactly that way, it should have.
It was the first and only time I can recall intentionally disobeying my parents. It was May of 1970 and I had just graduated from high school. Mom was so gentle and kind that I hated to disappoint her, but Dad was such an authoritarian that it seemed right to be willfully disobedient at least once before heading off to college. And that’s how it came to pass that I stayed out past curfew on the night before the high school state track meet.
When I got back to the house that night I just expected to slip in the back door like I always did and head up to bed. Mom and Dad would never know because the door was never locked and they never stayed up for me anyhow. There was no reason to do so because I never stayed out late, I never disobeyed, and was absolutely trustworthy. Well, except for this one night. When I got home the door was locked.
At first I thought that Mom and Dad had just forgotten I was out and did not intentionally lock the door. When I checked for the spare key in the garage and it was missing, I knew it was locked on purpose and they were upset. I thought about sleeping in the car, but decided that that was just delaying the inevitable. I rang the doorbell and awaited my fate.
It seemed to take forever, but eventually Mom and Dad both showed up at the back door in their bathrobes. Dad took forever unlocking the door and it seemed calculated to let me stew a little longer and speculate on my impending doom. As soon as the door opened Dad started in on me. I don’t remember specifically what he said, but no doubt it included my being irresponsible and risking a poor performance at the track meet the next afternoon. I was accustomed to my dad’s tirades, but this one was particularly stinging because he might have been right this time. Even more painful however was my mom’s look of disappointment.
The bottom line of it all was I was grounded until further notice and they took away my keys to the car. This was a first for me or for anyone in my family.
In my own defense it wasn’t just an evening of willful disobedience. I was pretty anxious about the state meet and knew I wouldn’t sleep well, if at all. I’d been training for this one track meet for an entire year. The previous year I’d finished fourth in the Mile at state in a 4:25. One of the guys in front of me was a graduating senior and the other three of us were juniors, so if I was going to move up a place, or just maintain my place in the pecking order, it was up to me to do the workouts. The problem was this; I was positive the two guys in front of me knew this too. They didn’t get in front of me by sitting on the couch. No doubt the guys behind me had placed a bull’s-eye on my back too.
I’d run throughout the previous summer in preparation, even after a full workday, or a graveyard shift, at the factory. I’d run two-a-day workouts frequently during the fall cross country season. I gave up my one true love, wrestling, in the winter when I separated my shoulder during a JV match, and it became clear I wasn’t going to make the varsity. So I focused on running through the ice and snow of winter with my separated shoulder, again, often twice a day. Every reasonable and unreasonable sacrifice had been made over the period of a year in anticipation of this one race. In fact, my girlfriend had dumped me just prior to the track season both years. Gee, I wonder what caused that.
So getting back to losing the car keys and getting grounded, I went up to bed and slept like a baby. Whodathunkit?
I had to get up early the next morning and catch a ride with an assistant coach who was driving me and a couple other guys over to Ames, Iowa, the site of the track meet. I was still a bit sleepy from my “late” night, so slept during the two hour drive over to Ames. By the time we got there I was well rested and felt ready to run.
Car Keys, Part 2
(You really should read the previous posts about the state mile first.)
My 4:19.9 Mile at state was a phenomenal improvement over my previous best of 4:24 and several tenths that I have forgotten. What I haven’t forgotten is that Coach Wilkinson claimed the official who was standing at the finish line got my time wrong. Wilkinson, sitting in the top row of the stands, said I had a 4:20.0. Either time was the school record by several seconds, but Wilkinson didn’t care what the official time was. He decided he would post the school record as 4:20.0 in the gymnasium.
I never got back to the high school to see my name and my time on the records board in the gym. Wilkinson had a dry sense of humor and liked to give me a hard time. It’s possible he was just razzing me and actually posted the 4:19.9. For the last 40 years I’ve told people that I ran a 4:20 mile just to be sure I don’t take credit for a tenth of a second I didn’t earn.
After finishing third in the mile at state I had an hour or so to recover before running the 880-yard run, aka the half-mile. Dennis Schultz and I got a chance to chat for a few minutes between the races. Dennis had won the mile with an impressive finish, which I didn’t really see from my distant vantage point. He said he was pretty tired from the effort and was thinking of scratching from the 880 in fear of embarrassing himself.
I chewed Dennis out for even thinking about it. He’d won our district race and had a time that put him in the fastest heat of the 880. While I was second to him out of our district, my time put me in the slow heat of the 880 and essentially out of contention. He had a chance to place with the fastest half-milers in the state. It was our final high school race. It was an opportunity not to be missed. I told him he owed it to the other guys to give them a chance to kick his ass after winning the Mile. It wasn’t fair to deny the other guys a chance to say they beat the state champion in the mile. We both had a duty to run the race to the best of our ability with whatever energy we had left. It was the right thing to do.
The slow heat of any event always preceded the fast heat so the faster runners would know what time they had to beat to win the event. The times of runners in the slow heat never seriously challenged those of the fast heat, but they were there to make the runners in the fast heat nervous and run exceptionally hard.
My mom and I have different versions of the slow heat of the 880. I suppose that Mom’s version is correct as she was actually sitting in the stands with Dad and has an unfortunate inclination to tell nothing but the truth. I much prefer my version of events as it doesn’t let facts get in the way of a perfectly good story.
In my version, everybody in the stands knew from the Mile race that that Friar Tuck-like bald man two-thirds of the way up in the stands was the father of the skinny little puke Miler from Cedar Rapids Washington. It wasn’t possible not to know this. The man was so obscenely loud and agitated during the Mile that everyone knew who the father was cheering for.
In my mom’s version my father was not the least bit embarrassing during the Mile, which would be a first occurrence for him, and did not draw any extra notice to himself above that of anyone else in the stands. I find this hard to believe as it would be uncharacteristic for my father.
Anyway, what remains uncontested is this. The slow heat of the 880 was of little interest to the fans. Slow heats never were of any interest to anyone but the parents of the kids. Nobody was paying much attention to us lining up in our lanes for the start. The crowd was deathly quiet. It was at this moment that Dad stood up to yell, “HEY TOM! IF YOU BREAK TWO MINUTES I’LL GIVE YOU THE CAR KEYS BACK!” Everyone in the stands heard it, and laughed.
A man down at the bottom of the stands stood up, turned around, and yelled up to my father, “HEY DAD! WHICH LANE IS HE RUNNING IN?”
“LANE 6.” my dad yelled.
I heard this easily down on the track and had to chuckle. My best time in the 880 (half mile) was a 2:04, but still, it was a day of miracles. I’d set a PR in the Mile by 4 seconds. That was a miracle. I thought, “What the hell, why not go for it? Who knows what might happen?” But best of all, I knew that my father had just forgiven me for my intentional disobedience the night before. I knew that all would be well again at home.
I had hoped to just enjoy the 880, but now, thanks to Dad, the entire crowd was focused on me, a crummy seed, in the slow heat of the 880. Many of the guys in my heat had not run the Mile and were fresh meat for the 880. Where I had been hoping just to finish the 880, I now felt obligated to make a good faith effort to run a good time so as not to embarrass myself or my father.
When the starting gun went off I took off like a bat out of hell, just like everyone else, and once again found myself in last place at the end of the first curve. Fast just wasn’t in my genetics. I don’t remember any more particulars of that first lap other than remaining in last place and thinking what a disappointment I must be to the fans after the brouhaha my father started.
At the beginning of the backstretch, with 330 yards to go, I began my kick for the finish. I didn’t have much speed, and I still don’t, but I could maintain what speed I had for a fairly long time. So I kicked it in with 330 to go and started passing guys, and I heard the crowd come alive. I thought to myself, “After what Dad said, who else would they be watching?”
The more noise they made, the more adrenaline I had, and the faster I went. Every time I passed a guy, the crowd became louder, and I got faster. I was having fun! Down the backstretch I passed a bunch of the guys, and tucked in on the final curve. As I came out of the final curve there was one guy left and a hundred yards of real estate left to cover.
We were both sprinting for all we were worth and I was gaining on him. The crowd was going crazy with the drama, of all things, of a close race in the SLOW HEAT of the 880. It was a drama, and was of interest only because of Dad’s remark prior to the race. Out of the corner of my eye I could see half the crowd watching the stadium clock and the other half were watching me.
Just like the Mile, those final yards hurt like hell, but I did pass the guy, and at the finish line I leaned for the tape like a sprinter, and heard the stadium roar for me, the winner of the slow heat of the 880. I looked up at the stadium clock and saw 1:59.9. I laughed along with the rest of the crowd. It was a crowd pleasing come-from-behind worst-to-first finish in a pretty decent time for the slow heat. It was the fastest 880 I would ever run. Again, whodathunkit?
The man down at the bottom of the stands stood again to face up into the stands and yelled, “HEY DAD! WHERE ARE THOSE KEYS?” The crowd laughed as my dad stood up and held the car keys up for all to see. Dad made his way down out of the stands with great fanfare and met me at the fence. I got the car keys back then and there. Mom might have been taking pictures.
Epilogue –
I walked down to the end of the track to watch the fast heat of the 880. Dennis and Krantz ended up battling each other yet again and Dennis won in an incredible time of 1:55.2, the fastest time ever in any class at the high school state meet. I had to laugh. Dennis wasn’t going to run the 880 until I talked him into it, and now he was state champion in the 880 and the star of the meet. Way too funny.
If it didn’t happen exactly that way, it should have.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
State Mile – The Final Lap
Though I wasn’t great at kicking balls, or hitting balls, or catching balls, or throwing balls, or bouncing balls, it was time to show I had balls. It was time to show that abnormally tall people, and abnormally large people, and abnormally fast people, and abnormally strong people are not the only athletes on the planet. Small skinny kids have talents too, if society bothered to value them. Did I have a chip on my shoulder? Hell yes, and it’s still there 40 years later!
As I started around the first curve of the last lap I began a slow but steady acceleration to close on, and catch, the guy in front of me by the time I reached the back stretch. As I was accelerating around the curve I conjured up Mom, Dad, God, my brothers, Coach Wilkinson, my teammates and my friends. I thought of every person who was near or dear to me. I contrived my own emotional moment in order to generate the adrenaline when I needed it, and I knew I would desperately need it for this last lap. I started to run with as much emotion as I could muster and enjoyed the surge of adrenaline and speed it generated. The next 220 yards were for all the people who believed in me.
As the first curve ended I slipped out to lane two to pass the guy in front of me. Passing him gave me confidence and I rolled down the backstretch in lane two surfing a wave of adrenaline. Each guy I passed gave me another shot of juice, which took me to my next victim. I didn’t push, I didn’t strain, because I knew from experience that my body would just tie up in knots. I just let my body do what it could, running at 90% effort, and hoped I wouldn’t pay too dearly for it on the final straight.
By the end of the backstretch I was in fourth place and on the heels of Des Moines Dowling, who’d heard me coming. Krantz and Dennis were already into the curve about 30 yards ahead and had begun their all-out sprint for the finish line. It was time for me to do the same, that is if I didn’t have Des Moines Dowling blocking lane one during the last curve!
The last 220 yards – what should have happened
At the end of the back stretch I was challenging Des Moines Dowling for third place. Unfortunately he heard me coming. I was breathing so hard it was impossible for him NOT to hear me coming. Dowling picked up his pace to keep me on his shoulder as we approached the beginning of the curve. He started throwing his elbows out vigorously to keep me well out in lane two. I smiled inwardly at the wasted effort. I had no intention of getting close enough where he could put an elbow in my ribs or drop a fist down to my balls. I also wasn’t going to waste my effort running in lane two while he ran in lane one. I dropped back to his right shoulder and stayed close, but not so close that I would get hit with an elbow, fist, or get tangled in his back-kick. I felt like hell, but he looked worse, and I could see the extra effort he spent holding me off was taking a toll.
While I was tying up with Dowling entering the final curve, Krantz and Dennis were motoring around the curve about 30 yards ahead of me. They were increasing their lead slowly on me, but I felt I could go with them and match their pace. Even though I could match their pace, I knew I didn’t have enough left in me to make up 30 yards in the 200 yards remaining. There was no way I could catch Krantz or Dennis at that point to finish first or second. At best, if I managed to pass Dowling on the curve I might make up some distance on Krantz and Dennis and finish a close third.
On the other hand Dowling had demonstrated his intent to make me run in lane two throughout the curve. It is what I would do if I were him. It would be a good investment of energy on his part. He should run whatever speed necessary to force me to run in lane two, thereby wasting my energy by running a longer distance, and giving Dowling an excellent chance to finish third.
It therefore made no sense to me to try to pass Dowling on the curve, running in lane two while he runs in lane one, and risk finishing fourth. I was going to finish third at best if I did get around him quickly on the curve, but I had a better chance to finish third if I tucked in behind him and passed on the final straight.
The last 220 yards – what REALLY happened
Yep. That would have been a good story, and logical too. Play it safe, tuck in behind Dowling on the curve, and pass him during the final 110 yards on the straight. The truth is I wanted to get close to Krantz and Dennis. I didn’t care that that I would be running in lane two. This was my final high school race and I wasn’t going to spend it tucked in behind some other guy on the final curve of the final lap like some pansy. The clock was ticking and I wasn’t going to waste time sitting behind what (I hoped) was a slower runner. I HAD to finish third AND I HAD to run a good time.
I also knew I’d be remembering this race for the rest of my life. I could live with losing third place due to a poor choice of strategy. What I couldn’t live with was lacking courage when courage was called for. The whole point was to show I had balls, not brains, so I went for it.
It is true that at the end of the back stretch I was challenging Des Moines Dowling for third place. It is also true that he either heard me coming or sensed me off his right shoulder. Dowling picked up his pace to keep me on his shoulder as we approached the beginning of the curve.
While the previous 220 had been fueled by adrenaline, the adrenaline was gone. The final 220 was up to me.
When Dowling jacked up his pace to hold me off, I jacked up my pace to a full sprint. I was running as fast as I could with 220 to go. Pace was no longer an issue; top speed was an issue. It took half of the curve to do it, but I did get around him. I was so happy to get a one step lead and cut into lane one in front of him I wanted to cry. I’d wasted a ton of energy getting around Dowling, but nobody was going to call me a wuss for waiting until the final straightaway. It was a ballsy move; stupid, but ballsy. No doubt Coach Wilkinson was going to give me hell for running in lane two, but time was a-wasting, Krantz and Dennis were getting further away from me. I wanted it to look like I belonged up there with Krantz and Dennis, rather than back where I was. I also wanted to convince myself that that was true.
By the time I finished the second half of the final curve I was running like a scared rabbit. I was deathly afraid that Dowling would come back on me and pass me dramatically just before the finish line. All my muscles were tying up. The Gorilla had come out of nowhere and jumped on my back. I must have looked like rigor mortis with a breathing disorder. I was losing any interest in closing the distance between me and Krantz and Dennis. I just wanted to finish before the entire field passed me back.
The harder I tried, the worse it got. I tried exaggerating my arm movements, but it didn’t help. I tried lifting my knees higher, but it didn’t help. My muscles were not responding to the messages my brain was sending, like “MOVE FASTER!!!!” In fact, some of the muscle groups were firing uncontrollably, and fighting each other. I was running in desperation, desperately trying not to get caught, trying to maintain some semblance of running form as my body rebelled. The only solution was to try to relax and accept whatever my body could give while maintaining a semblance of my running form.
Dennis passed Krantz sometime during the final straight to finish first in 4:18.0. I missed seeing it because of the sweat stinging my eyes and ruining my already poor eyesight. Not that I cared at that moment, though I would care later. I didn’t care about anyone or anything; I just wanted the race to be over and the pain to end. My agony was all-consuming. There aren’t any memories left of that final 50 yards. No strategy. No thoughts. No words. No emotions; just excruciating pain that wouldn’t stop and a body that was moving in slow motion to extend the agony, just like in the movies. It was a nightmare I’d experienced many times throughout the season, so at least it was a familiar feeling.
Even though I was out of gas, apparently everyone behind me was just as bad off as I was. Nobody passed me or challenged me down the final stretch. I never heard anyone get close. I have no idea if anyone ever got close.
After I finally crossed the finish line in third place, I staggered down the track to make way for other runners to finish. I didn’t hear anyone finish close after me. I don’t know if Dowling even finished at all. I didn’t care. It was over, and I’d finished third; half a success. Eventually an official with a stopwatch sought me out and told me I had a 4:19.9, and I knew that I was a total success. It put a smile on my face between the grimaces of pain and the gasps for air. I wondered if I should seek out a place to vomit, but surprisingly, I didn’t need to this time.
(The last lap was a 63.)
Dennis was waiting for me at the top of the straight to go on a warm-down run. We traded our times and place finishes and congratulated each other on our PRs – Personal Records. The crowd was still cheering madly, and I concluded that Dennis had a spectacular finish. He suggested we begin our warm-down run and I laughed. I told Dennis that track stars jog past the stands while waving to their adoring fans, and gave him a shove toward the stands and the gathering newspaper reporters. At the same time I turned and headed toward the backstretch for my warm-down and anonymity.
In retrospect it was worth the effort and the pain.
Forty years later I still happily relive that day.
It was the fastest Mile I would ever run.
As I started around the first curve of the last lap I began a slow but steady acceleration to close on, and catch, the guy in front of me by the time I reached the back stretch. As I was accelerating around the curve I conjured up Mom, Dad, God, my brothers, Coach Wilkinson, my teammates and my friends. I thought of every person who was near or dear to me. I contrived my own emotional moment in order to generate the adrenaline when I needed it, and I knew I would desperately need it for this last lap. I started to run with as much emotion as I could muster and enjoyed the surge of adrenaline and speed it generated. The next 220 yards were for all the people who believed in me.
As the first curve ended I slipped out to lane two to pass the guy in front of me. Passing him gave me confidence and I rolled down the backstretch in lane two surfing a wave of adrenaline. Each guy I passed gave me another shot of juice, which took me to my next victim. I didn’t push, I didn’t strain, because I knew from experience that my body would just tie up in knots. I just let my body do what it could, running at 90% effort, and hoped I wouldn’t pay too dearly for it on the final straight.
By the end of the backstretch I was in fourth place and on the heels of Des Moines Dowling, who’d heard me coming. Krantz and Dennis were already into the curve about 30 yards ahead and had begun their all-out sprint for the finish line. It was time for me to do the same, that is if I didn’t have Des Moines Dowling blocking lane one during the last curve!
The last 220 yards – what should have happened
At the end of the back stretch I was challenging Des Moines Dowling for third place. Unfortunately he heard me coming. I was breathing so hard it was impossible for him NOT to hear me coming. Dowling picked up his pace to keep me on his shoulder as we approached the beginning of the curve. He started throwing his elbows out vigorously to keep me well out in lane two. I smiled inwardly at the wasted effort. I had no intention of getting close enough where he could put an elbow in my ribs or drop a fist down to my balls. I also wasn’t going to waste my effort running in lane two while he ran in lane one. I dropped back to his right shoulder and stayed close, but not so close that I would get hit with an elbow, fist, or get tangled in his back-kick. I felt like hell, but he looked worse, and I could see the extra effort he spent holding me off was taking a toll.
While I was tying up with Dowling entering the final curve, Krantz and Dennis were motoring around the curve about 30 yards ahead of me. They were increasing their lead slowly on me, but I felt I could go with them and match their pace. Even though I could match their pace, I knew I didn’t have enough left in me to make up 30 yards in the 200 yards remaining. There was no way I could catch Krantz or Dennis at that point to finish first or second. At best, if I managed to pass Dowling on the curve I might make up some distance on Krantz and Dennis and finish a close third.
On the other hand Dowling had demonstrated his intent to make me run in lane two throughout the curve. It is what I would do if I were him. It would be a good investment of energy on his part. He should run whatever speed necessary to force me to run in lane two, thereby wasting my energy by running a longer distance, and giving Dowling an excellent chance to finish third.
It therefore made no sense to me to try to pass Dowling on the curve, running in lane two while he runs in lane one, and risk finishing fourth. I was going to finish third at best if I did get around him quickly on the curve, but I had a better chance to finish third if I tucked in behind him and passed on the final straight.
The last 220 yards – what REALLY happened
Yep. That would have been a good story, and logical too. Play it safe, tuck in behind Dowling on the curve, and pass him during the final 110 yards on the straight. The truth is I wanted to get close to Krantz and Dennis. I didn’t care that that I would be running in lane two. This was my final high school race and I wasn’t going to spend it tucked in behind some other guy on the final curve of the final lap like some pansy. The clock was ticking and I wasn’t going to waste time sitting behind what (I hoped) was a slower runner. I HAD to finish third AND I HAD to run a good time.
I also knew I’d be remembering this race for the rest of my life. I could live with losing third place due to a poor choice of strategy. What I couldn’t live with was lacking courage when courage was called for. The whole point was to show I had balls, not brains, so I went for it.
It is true that at the end of the back stretch I was challenging Des Moines Dowling for third place. It is also true that he either heard me coming or sensed me off his right shoulder. Dowling picked up his pace to keep me on his shoulder as we approached the beginning of the curve.
While the previous 220 had been fueled by adrenaline, the adrenaline was gone. The final 220 was up to me.
When Dowling jacked up his pace to hold me off, I jacked up my pace to a full sprint. I was running as fast as I could with 220 to go. Pace was no longer an issue; top speed was an issue. It took half of the curve to do it, but I did get around him. I was so happy to get a one step lead and cut into lane one in front of him I wanted to cry. I’d wasted a ton of energy getting around Dowling, but nobody was going to call me a wuss for waiting until the final straightaway. It was a ballsy move; stupid, but ballsy. No doubt Coach Wilkinson was going to give me hell for running in lane two, but time was a-wasting, Krantz and Dennis were getting further away from me. I wanted it to look like I belonged up there with Krantz and Dennis, rather than back where I was. I also wanted to convince myself that that was true.
By the time I finished the second half of the final curve I was running like a scared rabbit. I was deathly afraid that Dowling would come back on me and pass me dramatically just before the finish line. All my muscles were tying up. The Gorilla had come out of nowhere and jumped on my back. I must have looked like rigor mortis with a breathing disorder. I was losing any interest in closing the distance between me and Krantz and Dennis. I just wanted to finish before the entire field passed me back.
The harder I tried, the worse it got. I tried exaggerating my arm movements, but it didn’t help. I tried lifting my knees higher, but it didn’t help. My muscles were not responding to the messages my brain was sending, like “MOVE FASTER!!!!” In fact, some of the muscle groups were firing uncontrollably, and fighting each other. I was running in desperation, desperately trying not to get caught, trying to maintain some semblance of running form as my body rebelled. The only solution was to try to relax and accept whatever my body could give while maintaining a semblance of my running form.
Dennis passed Krantz sometime during the final straight to finish first in 4:18.0. I missed seeing it because of the sweat stinging my eyes and ruining my already poor eyesight. Not that I cared at that moment, though I would care later. I didn’t care about anyone or anything; I just wanted the race to be over and the pain to end. My agony was all-consuming. There aren’t any memories left of that final 50 yards. No strategy. No thoughts. No words. No emotions; just excruciating pain that wouldn’t stop and a body that was moving in slow motion to extend the agony, just like in the movies. It was a nightmare I’d experienced many times throughout the season, so at least it was a familiar feeling.
Even though I was out of gas, apparently everyone behind me was just as bad off as I was. Nobody passed me or challenged me down the final stretch. I never heard anyone get close. I have no idea if anyone ever got close.
After I finally crossed the finish line in third place, I staggered down the track to make way for other runners to finish. I didn’t hear anyone finish close after me. I don’t know if Dowling even finished at all. I didn’t care. It was over, and I’d finished third; half a success. Eventually an official with a stopwatch sought me out and told me I had a 4:19.9, and I knew that I was a total success. It put a smile on my face between the grimaces of pain and the gasps for air. I wondered if I should seek out a place to vomit, but surprisingly, I didn’t need to this time.
(The last lap was a 63.)
Dennis was waiting for me at the top of the straight to go on a warm-down run. We traded our times and place finishes and congratulated each other on our PRs – Personal Records. The crowd was still cheering madly, and I concluded that Dennis had a spectacular finish. He suggested we begin our warm-down run and I laughed. I told Dennis that track stars jog past the stands while waving to their adoring fans, and gave him a shove toward the stands and the gathering newspaper reporters. At the same time I turned and headed toward the backstretch for my warm-down and anonymity.
In retrospect it was worth the effort and the pain.
Forty years later I still happily relive that day.
It was the fastest Mile I would ever run.
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