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.