June 7
This race was just wonderful. I lost the race last year by a couple of seconds and it really bothered me. This year, on the other hand, a couple of weeks before the race itself, I ran a 4:51.0 1600m in the company tryouts and I felt ready to take on anyone who might show up. I was right.
I led out the first quarter plus nine meters in a reasonable but aggressive seventy-one and one half seconds and really never looked back. The wind was blowing strong. According to the National Weather Service reporting station nearby it was seventeen miles per hour out of the south (headwind for the homestretch) with gusts up to twenty six. It’s pretty hard to run a good time leading a race into wind like that, but I felt that it was the right decision to take charge of the race regardless. By the time I came through 809 meters in 2:27.5 it seemed I had several meters on second. I tried to push hard into the third lap. I figured if anyone was close, this was the time to shake him. Last year I waited until 400 to go to make a move and that cost me because the guy who beat me took me with a wicked kick that he started at 300m out. I figured if anyone could beat me by going with me with 800 to go then he deserved to win. But it turned out to be moot. With the wind all I could manage was a 75.8 third quarter, but going into the gun lap I had opened a decisive lead. No one was nearby.
In the fourth lap as I came into the turn for the final 200m I heard Andy Deckert, the P.A. announcer, my old high school Cross Country and Track coach, and one of the biggest positive influences in my life, announce, “This runner has an excellent chance of breaking five minutes if he can stay on pace.” At that point he didn’t yet know it was me. I hadn’t seen him for a couple of years, and I hadn’t talked to him before the race. Because this, of all my KCCC races, was the one I wanted to win the most, I intentionally didn’t talk to him before the race because I wanted to focus on my warm-ups. Also, a long, long time ago, Andy used to say something that really made me mad sometimes. It was wise and it was right and it has had wide application in all areas of my life since then, but it still made me mad.
“Coach, I’m going to run a really fast time today. I’m going to break 4:40 today,” I might say.
“Show me. Don’t tell me.”
I figured today I would just show him….
I won the race by 40m or more in a time of 4:57.95; let’s call it 4:58.0. I was kind of disappointed with the time since I figured I should be capable of at least a 4:45 on race day after a 4:51 tryout, but on the other hand nobody really pushed me, and that Kansas
After the race I cooled down a bit and made my way up to the announcer’s booth at the top of the stadium, and how blessed I was to spend a few minutes with Andy. He seemed pretty shocked to see me!
“Hello, Coach.”
“Well, Joe, how are you?!” Disbelief in his expression. “Were you in that race?”
“Yes, sir. I won it.”
“You won it! Well…. Why didn’t you tell me you were running? Why didn’t you let me know?”
“Well, Coach, I figured I would show you rather than tell you. Besides, I kinda figured you might recognize me out there.”
Now that last comment really wasn’t fair of me at all. Not at all. I should have never said it. Poor Andy pointed out that it had been many years (27, in fact!) since he had routinely recognized my stride from a distance on a hilltop. Of course he was right, but I think he really felt badly, at least a little, that he hadn’t recognized me. And then I felt bad, too, because it was really completely unreasonable that I should have ever suggested that he should do.
In spite of this bit of awkwardness, though, we spent a few good moments re-connecting between his announcements, and I relished every bit of it. Who gets to win a mile race at 44 years of age in front of his old coach and mentor? What a huge blessing. It was wonderful. Even though the morning was not so good, what a perfect evening it was.
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