“Mr. Consistency's” Final Season

Mr. Consistency?

I'll get to that later. Right now, I'm thinking back to almost exactly forty years ago today when the sport that had changed my life came to end. My final season of Cross Country.

When I joined my teammates at Western Oregon State College in mid-September, I was in the best running shape of my life. Thanks to solid coaching from the previous year, my times had shown significant improvement. A good thing too, since I knew I could end up anywhere from third to seventh man on this impressive squad. Nor was it lost on me that whatever the outcome of this Cross Country season, it would be my final one.

Going along with that, I also knew that based on my conditioning and the talent around me, whatever I accomplished this season would likely be the best I'd ever do. With student teaching going from January to mid-March, there was no way my training would come close to what I'd need to reach peak condition. That essentially wrote off my senior season of track months before it began. And if I achieved my goal of having a teaching job this time the next year, training would have to take a back seat to my professional responsibilities. Bottom line, whatever personal records I made in the next couple months would likely be it for me.

The 1982 season would also be under a new coach. Brimming with enthusiasm and at least fifteen years younger than anyone I'd had before, Coach Norm Eburn wasted no time in telling us his goal of having our top five run the Conference meet at five-minute per mile pace. Since it was a short season, our coach also immediately introduced us to what he termed "ball-buster" practices. While that section of my anatomy survived, it was probably the only part below the waist that wasn't sore after Coach Eburn's workouts. Whether on roads, grass or tracks, those multiple interval were clearly not for the faint of heart. If I recall correctly, we were thrilled when we had our first meet a couple weeks later at Bush Park in Salem. Not only because it presented us the opportunity to see how we fared against other small colleges, but it also had to be easier the coach's wicked Saturday morning workouts.

Speaking of that first meet, I was thrilled to finish as our fourth man. I also knew that with the talent on our team, I would need to work my tail end off to maintain that position.

But not everything was sunshine and affordable alcohol.

On the academic front, my education practicum could have been going better. Simply put, managing a classroom full of squirrely fourth-graders required a skillset that I'd yet to develop. To be blunt, I was struggling. This setting produced challenges that I'd never experienced before. Ones that had me worried if I'd make it through this program. Did I actually have what it took to become a teacher? That had been my goal since childhood. I had absolutely no idea what I'd do if that didn't happen.

Up until that time, my greatest worries usually consisted of wondering if I could afford the next Hall and Oates record or if I had a chance with some cute girl in one of my classes. This was different. The magnitude of these uncertainties were indications of the world that awaited me after graduation. One with bills, rent and other obligations that would be my sole responsibility. A world that was now slowly cracking through the safe and secure one I had dwelled in my entire life. One where my parents and other adults dealt with the hard decisions. Like it or not, that baton was being handed off to me.

Fortunately, cross country provided a welcome distraction. Holding fast as our number four runner with faster times than I’d run before, I savored every workout and race of this final season. One of my proudest moments occurred when the college newspaper had a picture of me taken from our home meet. My teammates cut out copies of that picture, pasting them onto the tagboard image on the left, dubbing me “Mr. Consistency.” The name implied that I was the one runner who had a steady or “consistent” performance with each race. That gesture meant a great deal to me then as it still does today (which explains why I have that poster after all these years).

With a season of less than two months, it didn't take long before we were at the Conference Meet. This event occurred on the familiar trails of Bush Park. My parents made the drive to Salem to watch their son's final Cross Country race - which didn't happen often as they lived over two hours away.

One of the good (or perhaps bad) aspects of being "Mr. Constituency" was that I tended to be...consistent. I bring that up because my body treated all races essentially the same. The butterflies in my stomach on that morning were no different than they'd been for the previous race. As well as the one before that. My head may have known this would be my last day on a cross country team. But my body didn't receive that particular memo.

Not that that was necessarily a bad thing. This being the ancient days before Garmins, the only split I heard was the first mile which fell in line with where I thought I should be. (On a stylistic side note, I have zero idea whatsoever as to the reason I wore that orange t-shirt underneath my red WOSC top. I'm guessing it was intended to bring good luck. But only by blinding anyone who gazed too long at that dreadful color combination!)

The remainder of the race played out like most of my races. I’ moved up on several runners. A couple passed me. I went back and forth with a few others, maintaining a steady pace along the trails, My Oregon Waffle Racers crunched the dried oak leaves for much of the course - and feeling the occasional acorn through those thin green soles. Once I turned onto a field leading to the track and finish line, my pace picked up enough to hold off any challengers for the final half mile.

The 5:26 pace I ran kept me at the number four position on the team. Our top two runners did meet the 5 minute per mile goal with number three damned close. I couldn’t complain. This turned out to be my second fastest five-mile time ever. Not a bad way to finish the eighth season in my favorite sport.

It wasn't until after my parents left, following our team dinner, that I started feeling the true impact of the day. The sport that had changed my life by taking me on a remarkable journey had come to an end. Nor did I have that much time to dwell on that ending. Monday would have me back to my practicum where no one cared in the least about what Saturday's race signified to me.

Things did not improve for me in the short term. But I eventually overcame those challenges, becoming a successful educator for nearly a decade before moving on to the career I've now had for close to three decades. It should also be pointed out that the lessons and skills acquired to achieve my goals have benefitted me throughout my life. Looking back, despite everything that happened that fall (including the fallout of a painful break up that summer), my memories of those times are primarily fond ones. That's all thanks to the amazing teammates and friends that were there with me. I'm honored to still have so many of them in my life.

What about you? What special memories do you hold of your final season of cross country or any sport? Please feel free to share them below or on Facebook.