1978 Track Season: The One That Didn't Suck

I never liked Track. As my "not so much" sport, it provided many humbling afternoons over seven long seasons. With one notable exception. The Track Season of 1978.

Coming off of a Cross Country season where we won District and went to the State Meet, it was a different world for my teammates and I that spring. You could just detect the tiniest bit of a swagger with us. We knew we were good. We knew we would be a strength of Sutherlin High School's track team.

I wanted to be better.

To accomplish that, I’d stayed after school several days each week to put in some miles prior to the season. Working my way up steep hills, enduring logging roads thick with mud, running through cold, driving rains - whatever it took to build a strong base for Track.

The Winning Streak

Those efforts quickly paid off. When I ran the 3000 at our first meet, I actually won that race. Something I'd never accomplished before. I don’t recall where this occurred or any of the teams involved. What distinctly stands out to me from that race was someone on my team yelling out to me as I approached the finish line to raise my arm in victory. Not sure if that was a good idea or not, I cautiously lifted my right arm just as I felt that string slide across my chest. Hearing a smattering of cheers and exchanging some high fives awarded me an exhilaration unlike anything I'd ever known before and one I definitely wanted to experience again.

And I did.

For the next three meets, I was undefeated. None of them were major races against stellar competition. That said, one of those meets definitely had a lasting impact on my life. We faced the junior varsity team of a much larger neighboring school district. Typically, their JV gave us all we wanted and more. But amid an early April sleet storm, I secured what became one of my final wins of the season. Afterwards, I met one of their JV runners named Jim Ray who became and remains one of my truly closest friends. (As an amusing aside, when we faced this team next year, their "JV" runners in the 3000 consisted of their top two varsity runners. All of us took that as a bit of a compliment.)

The Slump

Of course, such good fortune could not last. Reality came crashing in the following week at the Elmira Relays. Elmira is a town near Eugene that’s also the home town of the drummer for Night Ranger who sang “Sister Christian.” Anyway, these relays were a predominant track meet with participation from across the state. While running the final leg of the Four-Mile Relay, I discovered where I stood with the elite runners as I barely held off a blazing challenger who'd started a considerable distance behind me. This event also brought me back to earth with the realization that my teammates had caught up to me in terms of conditioning.

From there, I fell into a “mini slump.” No more first place finishes. Instead, I’d earn a few points in the 3000. Given our depth, I never had to double with the 1500. Which I preferred, knowing that the 1500 would be a bit quick for me. Still, after having been a key contributor to our District Champ Cross Country team, this became a frustrating pill to swallow.

The turning point came with words of advice from one of the assistant coaches. Being our head football coach in the fall, he had limited expertise in distance running. But that he reached out to me with a tone that indicated he believed in me meant everything. His example remained with me throughout life to touch base with people and let them know you do care. Thanks, Coach Stillwell!

The "Evil" Steve Miller

From there, my performances saw a nice uptick, particularly with our final two races, District and dealing with an "evil" Steve Miller.

Let’s talk about the latter one first. A guy named Steve Miller did indeed run for our arch-rival, the Douglas Trojans. Only instead of spectacular guitarwork, this "Steve Miller" made his name with a season of allegedly elbowing other runners, cutting them off and so on. Akin to the worst sewing circle, these other 3000 runners bemoaned their various misadventures when we'd talk between races. With this our final meet before District, the three of us running the 3000 vowed that his reputed perfidy would come to end that day.

Still not sure I bought the gossip, to my surprise, three laps into the race, he really did attempt to cut me off. Fortunately, I edged past him, maintaining a short lead over him. Another lap and Miller attempted the same stunt with another teammate only to receive the same outcome. But the guy had talent. We could not get rid of him. He passed us later in the race. But we were determined. One by one, avoiding elbows, each of us found our way around him. And with one lap to go, the three of us took lanes one, two and three, cruising to a thoroughly enjoyable tie. A quick look behind me showed him collapsed on the grass inside the track, having dropped out. The forces of good prevailed over those of evil on the cloudy May afternoon.

District and Beyond

Eight days later, we were in Eugene on an unseasonably hot Saturday for the Sky-Em District Track Meet, held at the stunning new facilities of Marist High School. This private Catholic school also had the league’s top distance runner who we knew would win the 1500 and 3000. From there, anything could happen. Avoiding the temptation to work on my tan, I remained in the shade as I awaited my turn in the 3000. Cloudless blue skies meant a merciless sun glaring down at us for the mid-afternoon race. Even after all these years, I still can't recall a race where my feet felt as hot as they did inside my thin-soled Oregon Waffles on that black rubber asphalt. Nonetheless, I worked my way past enough runners to secure a third-place finish. The speedy Marist runner came first - after also winning the 1500.

Aside from a blister or two on my feet, I felt pleased with the outcome. Six months earlier, I'd been the number four runner on our Cross-Country team. Now having placed third in the 3000 at District. I could consider myself one of the top runners in our league. Further proof that all that hard work had paid off. At the same time, finishing one place too low for the State Track Meet, I knew that if I wanted to compete with the better runners I'd encountered during the season, I'd need to up my game. I came to realize that no matter who well you did, there would always be room for improvement.

How that turned out in the next Cross Country season is a story for another time. As for the next season of Track? Let's just say it epitomizes why I call it my "not so much" sport.

What about you? Any fond track memories or tales to share? Please do so in the comments or below.