2012 Olympic Trials - Day 2

Wasn't sure I'd have enough material for today. A couple of finals, some semis, and not a lot of intrigue.

Or so I thought.

But I did see a nice loud pair of sneakers among the volunteer crew;

With another forecast of high 50 degree temps and much rain, I guess I shouldn't have been surprised at the sheer number of spectators wearing flip-flops out here.

Then there was the guy with dreadlocks literally down to his ankles.

A guy actually breaks a javelin while throwing it. How in God's name do you break a javelin?

I see someone who looks like Mac Wilkins, 1976 Gold Medalist in the Discus. Mac competed with a huge beard, huge shoulders, huge arms, just a lumberjack-looking behemouth. Except this guy I see today weighs about as much as I do. Now he looks like a distance runner?

In Day 2 of the decathlon, Brian Clay hits a hurdle, then pushes the next one down with his hands. Uh oh, that's an automatic DQ. Except the referee lets him stay in. Ok, I suppose, except that Brian also walked across the finish line and gave up massive points. Not good, it puts him 110 points behind third place, although he's very good in the upcoming discus and javelin throws.

But not good, because he still hasn't hit the qualifying standard # of points for the Olympics. So he's pretty much done. I think I may have jinxed him yesterday. Sorry, big guy. Regardless, a gold and silver medal in two Olympics is a fairly good haul. And to his credit, he finished the entire competition instead of ducking out early.

Celebrity sighting: Dick Fosbury, 1968 Gold Medalist, and inventor of the Fosbury Flop. His innovation was an accident borne of frustration; he just couldn't get over the bar in the 'normal' way, so he created a new normal. He and a buddy drove to the Mexico Games in a VW van and basically partied the whole way (before and after). Typical high jumper!

Justin Gatlin wins his 100m semi. The 2004 Gold Medalist looks serious, and about 20-30 pounds lighter. He wants more hardware.

Lolo Jones, she of the 2008 Olympic hurdle stumble, somehow sneaks onto the team after back surgery and does another Happy Lolo dance. She's just thrilled to be here. Again.

Am I crazy, or does Lolo have the best game face in track and field? You do not want to get in her way.

Lolo in flight; watch out!

Kellie Wells also gets on the hurdles team. Talk about obstacles; her mother's boyfriend, a serial abuser, got himself and Kelllie's mother killed in a car wreck. Kellie nearly shut down for good, but kept herself together and is now on her way o'er the pond. Git after it.

And this guy in green had a pretty good couple of days.

Like a world record. That was one loud stadium on the last lap.

Note to the Deschutes Multisport Club; we should sign him up!

Olympic Trials - Day 1

2012 Olympic Trials - Day 1

Ah, yes. Back in my element. And it's only been four years...

As a Meet Operations volunteer, I have unfettered access to the track and core areas. Unfettered, I tell you.

I need to use that word more often. As in, "the rain had unfettered access to the ground."

It poured all day. Stuff happens.  

Arrival in Eugene and a stop at the grocery store. I'm waiting at the counter for a deli sandwich, when I see a couple of young kids being tended by their grandmother. One of the girls is probably 2 or so. blond and with a tint of Asian blood and quite familiar looking. I suspect I know her last name.

The kids are restless and agitated. Grandmom calms them, then does it again, and again. Kids, I tell you. Grandmom then looks at me, sighs, and says their dad is competing today.

Bingo.

Dad is the same guy who first told me that Michael Jackson died back in 2009.

You need another hint?

He (dad) is the defending Olympic Champion in the Decathlon.

Bryan Clay.

Elaboration: in 2009, I was assigned to the Athlete Services tent at US Nationals here in Eugene, giving the competitors a chance to relax and refuel between their races. In walks Mr. Clay, staring at his smartphone, and announcing to me (ok, to everyone) that the King of Pop is no more.

When I arrive at my host's home, I discover that the good doctor spent hours harvesting cherries from a huge tree in his yard.

That's a lotta cherries. And good, too...

Later, I’m standing near the 1500m starting line, feeling very official, when I see someone crossing the track. Of course, I stop him.

“Sir, do you have the proper credentials?”

“Uh, it's here somewhere,” he says, as he fumbles for his badge. When he hears me chuckling, he looks up with a puzzled expression, then he laughs and punches me on the shoulder.

Last year's picture; today wasn't nearly as sunny

This is Mr. Fred Newhouse, 1976 Olympic Gold and Silver Medalist. We met several years ago here at Hayward Field, even though I became a fan of his while watching him burn up the track in Montreal. And as soon as the Cuban embargo is lifted, I’m going to Havana and reclaim his second gold medal. You know, the one that was ‘won’ by a suspected steroid user named Juantoreana, with Fred barely a whisker behind.

BTW, I noticed that today’s 400m heats were slower than the times Mr. Newhouse was running 36 years ago. The man had wheels.

Meanwhile… 

Are there two people in the world who are happier than Amy Hastings and Dathan Ritzenhein?

Hardly.

Both of them were a brutal 4^th place in the Olympic Marathon Trials back in January, with Ritz a scant 8 seconds back. And Amy went for the lead at about mile 18 but couldn’t hold it.

So here they were, probably their last shot at London.

What does Amy do? Digs deep, deep deep. Not only did she make the top three, she won with a gritty last 300m. You could see it in her face; it hurt bad, but she wasn’t concerned about that.

Ritz had to place in the top three, AND get the Olympic qualifying time of 27:45. His pal and teammate Galen Rupp took the brunt of the pacemaking duties to make it easier for Ritz. Problem is, at halfway they were well behind the required pace. But Ritz and Rupp (sounds like a shoe store?) hit the gas and made a race out of it. Rupp cruised to an Olympic Trials record with splits of 13:56/13:29, and Ritz had room to spare.

It was heartbreaking to watch Ritz and Amy miss out on the marathon. Lots of effort, and no results. This time around, they made it count.

Game, set, match. Nice job, you two. Now go have some Shepard’s Pie, or whatever the Brits do for carbo loading. You’re going.

Finally, there's bad-ass, and then there is this:

Track Town, indeed.

Prefontaine Classic 2012

Some thoughts about the meet:

Here's my reaction to the first televised event, the men's 400m.

Current World Champion Kirani James jumped the gun and was red-carded. TV had just gone international, and the first thing the world sees is a red card and a race under protest.

Does anyone out there hate the false start rule as much as I do? One mistake and months/years of work gone. If Usain Bolt DQ's in London, there will be a riot among the fans.

Two options:

• Change the rule back to a DQ on the second jump
• Assess a time penalty of 0.10-0.15 seconds for the 100, and more for the 200

The brass talk at length about improving the stature of T&F among spectators. Sending the marquee stars to an early shower is not the way to do it.

Now, back to our regularly scheduled program....

Clearly, my 9-year-old needs to work on framing her shots.

As I was saying....

Alan Webb is done, finished. I really hope I'm wrong about this, but I don't think I am. Most of the field went past him in the last turn of Friday’s mile. He hasn’t run well in years, possibly due to lack of continuity in training, coaches, etc… Sad to see, especially remembering him light up Hayward Field as a HS senior with a ridiculous 3:53 mile. And he set the American record in 2007 with a 3:46, a time he hasn't been anywhere close to in recent years.

Alysia Montano looked great in the 800, but splits of 55/62? Somewhere in Tennessee, Dave Wottle is shaking his head…

(Translation: Dave Wottle won the 1972 Olympic 800 with dead-even splits of 53/53, even though he was a mile and a half behind the field after a half lap. Dave is the guy who always ran with a golf cap, the same one that he ceremoniously forgot to remove while the National Anthem played in his honor. He was forever after known by the best nickname ever: The Cat in the Hat).

Justin Gatlin looks good, he’s dropped some weight. Very chiseled. Good time considering the conditions. Walter Dix still looks heavy to me.

Liu Xiang destroyed the high hurdles field (again), and tied the WR with a wisp of wind barely above the limit. No more achilles problems! David Oliver needs answers, and quick. Meanwhile, Dayron Robles needs to fire his manager: a last minute no-show due to lack of traveling papers? You're kidding me, right?

Or was he ducking?

Mo Farah rolled again in the 5000m, with Galen sneaking under 13 in 3rd. Bekele was 4th or 5th, wasn’t in contention in the final 800: I thought he was supposed to be back on form.

In the Bowerman Mile, Lagat and Wheating trotted home at the back of the field. Not too worried about AW; in 2010, he was sick for the early season, then did his NCAA double and tore up the European tracks. I think he’ll be able to contend by late July. Today he ran the slowest-looking 3:56 I’ve ever seen! And a total of 28 runners in 2 races under 4:00.

Almost forgot the highlight of the meet; an appearance by Mr. Steve Ovett, 'his blue eyes like chips of ice.' After saying a few words, he trotted off the track with the same stride I remember from his glory years. My hope for the summer is that Lord Coe enlists Mr. Ovett to run the torch into the stadium before handing off to Sir Roger for the lighting.

(translation: in my formative years, Steve Ovett was one of the monsters of track, just a scary good competitor. He went 3 years without losing a 1500m or mile race. And he's the answer to a trivia question; namely, who was the first athlete to win an Olympic Gold Medal while wearing Nike shoes? Steve Ovett, 1980 Olympic 800m....Lord Coe = Sebastian Coe, Ovett's chief rival on the track, and Coe is the Boss Organizer of the London Olympic Games...Sir Roger = Dr. Roger Bannister, first man to break 4 minutes for the mile back in 1954; he did that while running about 45 minutes per day on his lunch break from medical school!!!).

Good meet! Even with the rain.

Non-track related events from the weekend:
Big Kudos to West Coast Bank! They held a month-long drawing for a free entry for the Hood to Coast Relay (actual cost $1320, plus you need to be selected via lottery). With none of their branches in my hometown, I had to wait until my next trip to Eugene, which happened to fall on the last day of the drawing. After driving 125 miles, I arrived at the bank 1 minute after they closed the lobby, but the manager graciously let me in. When I told him what I needed, he had a blank look on his face. Then he laughed and said, "No one has asked for an entry here in at least 3 years!"

He couldn't find the forms, so he called another branch and had them scan a copy. That's some good customer service! It'll be even better if I win the contest; regardless, I sent a note to the bank's CEO with effusive praise for his branch manager.

Workouts in Eugene:
Friday morning: swam with the Emerald Aquatics masters team at the Amazon Pool. Not used to a balmy 60 degrees for the morning swim; in Bend, it's usually 35-40F at the outdoor pool, with lots of steam rising. Anyhow, masters swimmers are so friendly, especially when they are ripping your lungs asunder. 3 swim workouts this week, have to keep that up.

Saturday morning: drove to South Eugene High, parked the car, and headed south on the Amazon Trail. Nice, comfy, soft bark surface. And rain. But warm rain. Met up with fellow umpire Jeanne near the turnaround, and we reminisced about that ridiculous race called the Eugene Marathon where we both cramped and rigor mortis'd our way to the finish line. Next time, more long/slow runs before tackling another 26.2.

And I got my Olympic Trials mandatory orientation out of the way. Next stop: 22 June and the Big Show in Track Town USA!

Eugene Marathon

Goal was to qualify for Boston. Even had "Boston" printed on my race number instead of my name; I figured it would help when spectators read it and hollered, "GO BOSTON!"

That would require a sub-3:25, or about 7:50 pace. Ouch: I'm old and feeble. But I've been working since October toward this. And my daughter was crazy about the idea of going to Boston.

Training was going great, lots of tempo runs and track work to get the legs used to rapid turnover. That is, until March 8th when I pulled a calf muscle. Overwork; more mileage than I've ever done, fast stuff, and not enough days off. So nothing for 3 wks except ice, yet the calf wasn't improving by early April.

The race was 29 April. Time was a wastin'.

Finally went to physical therapy in early April and told my story of woe. Basically, I needed to know if I should even run the race. Mandon, the PT extraordinaire, said, "No problem, we'll get you there. Just don't count on a personal best."

Ultrasound, electrical stimulation, targeted exercises. But little running. Since the injury, I did maybe 25 miles in 7 weeks leading up to the marathon. Not good. And I caught a cold this week.

The night before the race, could not nod off. Stomach fine, no nerves, just no sleep. At least I got a good rest the night before.

Plan was (what the heck), go out slow, then catch up to intended pace of 7:50, hang on for dear life, and try to at least get a half marathon best before throttling back. When I drop off the pace, STOP. Walk, stretch, then resume at 9 minute pace or so.

At six miles, I see the worst thing I've ever seen in a race. Dad and his son (9 or 10 yrs old), running together in Vibrams, the son's feet slapping the asphalt hard while they run at 8 min pace, and the son is wheezing, groaning, near tears, and literally staggering. I hear Dad yell, "DON'T MAKE ME SLOW DOWN."

Vile. Just vile. There's a kid who's quitting the sport tomorrow, although any activity with dear old Dad is bound to be horrible.

Across the 13.1 mile line in 1:42 and change. An 11 minute improvement, and on track for Boston. Smoking!

Problem is, I have another 13 to go, but I've recalibrated the goal, remember? Even though I take an extended walk break and pound some calories, my hamstrings have quit on me. Or, rather, they've become very vocal. And as we cross I-5, my left shoulder begins to ache like I've been punched several times. What??? A sore shoulder?? I'm not doing pushups out here.

The race organizers have a cruel sense of humor. The 16 mile point passes about a mile from the finish. There is a serious debate going on between my ears: I don't want to re-aggravate my calf, I already ran 5 miles farther than I've ever run that pace, and I want to be in one piece for the upcoming summer. I have no problem with a DNF (did not finish).

Actually, I do.

But I'm wearing my secret weapon; those less than stylish compression sleeves. The physical therapist harped on me until I bought some, and by God they work. No problems in the calf.

I sally forth and decide to finish. Hamstrings need regular attention (a well-placed knuckle), and I'm able to keep going, sort of. But there goes the 3:35 pace group, and the 3:45. It sure would be nice to break 4 hrs.

Friend Jeanne comes past at about 22 miles, looking steady while I'm falling apart. I tell her to go for it while I keep looking over my shoulder for the 4 hr pace balloons. 2 miles later, I see her coming back, so I yell her name. She needs at least 10 seconds to turn around; uh oh, she's hurting. We run side by side and try to maintain.

My Lake Stevens Ironman host, Kim, is now alongside. She wanted to run but also had health problems so she's a reluctant spectator; I told her we should write a book about how not to prepare for a race. She's urging us on, and I keep asking her where the pacers are. Hint: they are coming, those relentless enemies of the faltering.

I feel like a pirate with a sword, fighting off the insurgents. But I know something they don't know: I am not left-handed (which movie?).


Finally onto Agate, and we have enough cushion. Jeanne moves out, and I'm like De Niro in The Untouchables (I GOT NUTHIN'!). But we hit the track and I see the clock reading 3:59:20 or something. One last push and across the line. Since it took about a minute for us to reach the starting line at the beginning of the race, we're actually better off.

Jeanne's husband Dave broke 3 hrs for the first time, he's just a machine. Needless to say, the only time I saw him was before the start. Fellow triathletes Tim, Shellie, and Kim all did great, with Kim finishing her first full marathon. Her husband Frank was all over the course shouting encouragement.

While I didn't hit all my goals, I was very happy to finish in one piece with a huge half marathon PR, especially with my last 7 weeks on the disabled list. Big Kudos to Mandon at Rebound Physical Therapy for stitching me back together again.

Oh yeah, I also cut 36 minutes off my full marathon time. And while I didn't make it all the way to Boston, I was halfway, so my daughter can now enjoy a trip to Lincoln, Nebraska. Go Huskers!

After driving  myself 130 miles to get home, my wife rewards me by making fresh mango smoothies.

With vodka. :)

Who Dat?

With apologies to The Riot for a tardy post, I bring you....

The Crawdad Boil.

The Riot, a born and bred Cajun, gets an annual craving for the hometown goods. And this isn't exactly a guy who does things halfway; he once ran 7 hilly trail miles after pulling a calf muscle. Why? Because he wasn't done yet.

Anyhow, once a year he places an order with a supplier in Loosana, who ships about a hundred pounds of the bad boys on an overnight Southwest Airlines flight.

Then the Riot's brother picks up the shipment and drives 3 hours to the High Desert, just in time to see the kettle prepped and ready to boil.

 

We raise our glasses for these brave soldiers who are about to sacrifice for the greater good.

They're big suckers, too.

But when it's your time to go, it's your time to go. Fire in the hole...!

 

 

Life is good.

1972 Olympic 800m

They are flying along the backstretch, 150m into the race.

American Dave Wottle is behind. Way behind. There is a shot of him running alone, with no one else in the picture.

Announcer: "We don't know if Dave is seriously injured or sliding back to stay out of trouble." Cracks me up; of course, I know what happens next.

The field comes through in under 51; Dave is back at 53 or so. He starts pushing at the 300m mark, slowly gaining. Off the last turn, he's still 7-8 yards back, but the Russian is slowly coming back. Dave's strides are long and quick, while Arzhanov's are choppy and short. Wottle cuts down two Kenyans and keeps going, nailing the Russian with 5 yards to go.

Wottle came from way behind, but he ran back to back 53s laps. Dead even splits. No wonder he had a big kick when he needed it. But can you call it a kick if everyone else is dying?

Sure, why not?

Then he commits a minor indescretion by forgetting to remove his golf cap on the victory stand. Not intentional, he just forgot. Which, of course, gives birth to maybe the best nickname ever:

The Cat in the Hat.

1964 Olympic 5,000m

Here I am, in the Somerset County Library at age 10, reading about a race that happened a year before I was born. By now, I was a fairly decent runner, having won my third grade cross country race at my school's annual Field Day. I had run enough to know that sometimes, running hurts a little.

And I knew enough to know that Olympic races hurt a lot.

So why is this guy smiling?

One lap to go. Frenchman Michel Jazy, WR holder in the mile, takes the bell and blasts off. By the end of the first turn, he has a gap and keeps flying down the backstretch. Behind him, American Bob Schul gets out of traffic and takes off in pursuit. For 100m, there is little change in their positions.

Then they hit the turn, and Jazy hits the wall. Coming into the finishing straight, he's tying up. But Schul isn't. Our guy pulls even with 80 remaining, then doesn't hesitate. He's gone. And he's laughing as he crosses the finish line.

German Harald Norpoth comes up on Jazy and also walks him down. "By then, the disheartened Frenchman was so disorganized that Bill Dellinger of the US snatched the bronze from him with the last stride." Disorganized? Not a term you normally hear when someone describes a race. Thank you, Arthur Daley (NY Times writer).

By the way, Schul ran a 38.7 for the last 300m. That's on a rain-drenched cinder track almost 50 years ago. That kind of finish puts him on the podium's top step in many races today.

With Schul's 5000m and Billy Mills's 10,000m, this remains the only year in which the US has one both distance golds. Or any gold.

There must have been something in the water that year.