My Worst Season. Ever. (UCC Track 1980)

I know what you’re thinking.  This will be another post where I share illustrious exploits from past races where I ultimately prevailed over odds towering against me.  A post where I offer sage wisdom forged in the fires of difficult decisions that drove me during those moments.

Not this time. This post is about a season where I got my ass handed to me.  Race after race.  Meet after meet. And how I did nothing to change it.

Welcome to the spring of 1980.  My first season of Track at Umpqua Community College.

I'm Doing What?

Being something of a sorta bright spot for an overall disappointing cross-country season, I secured another scholarship for the upcoming Track season. Added to that snippet of personal pressure, with our top two runners exiting UCC for the military, I found myself the top long-distance runner on a team lacking numbers and talent in that area. Possibly seeing something in me that didn't really exist, Coach Ron Alexander assigned me the same role has he'd done with his previous top distance runners. Namely, having me run the 10,000- and 5000-meter races. For each and every track meet. 

It didn't seem like a great idea to me at the time. I'd had a lousy track season just a year earlier when I doubled during my senior year in Track. And that was only doing the 1500- and 3000-meter races. This would be racing over nine miles a meet.

But good soldier that I was meant not questioning my coach. Instead, I trudged onto that battlefield regardless of any doubts.  Or in lieu of an actual battlefield, it was the rubber asphalt track at Southern Oregon State College in beautiful Ashland on a gorgeous early March morning.

It seemed that I heard this song at least five times per road trip during that season.

First Bite of Humble Pie

Adorned in our bright green singlet, green-striped shorts and beloved Oregon Waffles, I answered the call for the 10K, the meet’s first race.  Only to find that just three of us were running in it. Worse, the other two guys looked like they'd gotten lost on their way to the Olympic time trials. Both had Prefontaine moustaches in addition to slim, sculpted legs with wings on their feet. 

As if that wasn't enough for intimidation, I also knew that I didn't dare go all out or I'd have no energy left for the 5K in a couple hours. That translated into these twin Adonis's crushing me in the 10K - lapping me before reaching the third mile.

Once I'd finally made it across the finish line, I told myself that I'd find redemption in the 5K. A nice sentiment, but not quite the case. After a couple laps into that race, my legs suddenly felt as if someone had glued ten extra pounds of weight onto the soles of my shoes. I didn't need my mile splits called out to know that I'd slowed enough that the other half dozen participants would finish well ahead of me.

It seemed surreal.  In five years of racing - even on my worst days - I'd never come remotely close to a last place finish. On this day, I'd done it twice.

The question gnawing at me on the van trip home was would this happen again?

Although we saw a smaller steam eruption when returning from a meet in Eastern Oregon, the infamous May 18th blow up occurred just after the end of our season.

It Happens Again

And again. I fell into a pattern where I ran both races at essentially the same pace - not fast enough to be competitive in the 10K and way too slow for the 5K. Nor was there any improvement in that pace over the season. I simply trudged through both races at each meet, that green uniform sticking out like a sore thumb amid the red and blue uniforms of the other runners easily outpacing me.

As best as I can remember, my training consisted of long runs in the morning with quarters on the track for speedwork.

In hindsight, I should have talked with Coach Alexander after the first couple meets, asking him to let me focus on just one race and varying my training. One of my college instructors who was also an excellent distance runner did question me about Coach Alexander's strategy during one of our runs. But once again, being a "good soldier," I said nothing, continuing a dismal season where I finished last in all but one race - where I ended up second to last.

Lessons Learned

This is not to denigrate a man I respected as a coach and person. I know that Coach Alexander wanted me to succeed. The amount of attention he devoted to me in practice underscored that. But what I believe he failed to realize was that, unlike the elite distance runners he'd had in previous seasons, I simply wasn't that good. There were limits to my abilities that no amount of training could overcome.

That also included doubling. Later seasons of college track confirmed that I can deliver one strong race, but not two.

Bottom line, I should have been more of an advocate for myself. Something I became better at in subsequent seasons.

Final Thoughts

Although I could not wait for that season to end, the 1980 Track season did nothing to deter my interest in running. Indeed, I looked that much more forward to cross country where I knew I would not have to worry about placing last again.

As for Track, although the next season at UCC went better, I admit that going forward, it was a sport I participated in only because of some marginal talent, but not out of passion or excitement. Then again, who in their right mind truly wants to run 26 laps or even 12.5 in a circle?

It’s been a long time since I dipped into the awkward memories from this well.  Any thoughts or reflections you’d like to share?  If so, you can do so in the comments below or on Facebook.  And thanks for reading this post.

UCC's campus remains as beautiful today as it was decades ago.