A shift in perspective

The Blur goes to Texas, runs a personal best instead of a personal record.

“As we drew near Westcliffe late that afternoon I looked out the bus windows at the familiar mountains passing by, like so many years of my life. I thought that this season of cross-country had been a journey for me as it had been for Harrison. Then suddenly it struck me that if Harrison continues in cross country I will be doing this for six more years. I considered the physical and mental endurance it would require to get through those six years — by then that would be one-tenth of my entire life. What would those next six years bring?”

—‘Endurance,’ 2014

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Sometimes a change in perspective is necessary. This can be achieved by travel. It can also happen through awareness, and taking stock of transformations. Some of these may not be so apparent when they have taken literally years to unfold.

Recently when cross-country season ended, I found myself coping with some depression brought about by the realization that Harrison’s high school cross-country career was now over. Cross country has been part of the fabric of life around here since he began running in middle school — seven years in all. In fact, more than 10 percent of my entire life has been wrapped up in coaching my son in cross-country. This also brought about a transformation of my own as I grew from coaching just Harrison to being the head coach of the cross-country team at Custer County High.

When the season ended most of our athletes went straight over to basketball. The Blur kept on running after each school day. I began looking at post-season cross-country meets on Milesplit, and thinking about some grand finale for his senior year. There was the NXR Southwest down in Tempe, Arizona, a huge meet with several hundred top runners, a 12-hour drive, Phoenix traffic and high lodging prices. I thought about it, but on the same Saturday before Thanksgiving there was the Small School XC Nationals in Lubbock, Texas. This smaller event was half the drive and Lubbock looked like it would be easier to get around and to book a room. It seemed more reasonable and more our style. The entry deadlines loomed and at the last minute I entered Harrison in the smaller event.

Still, I was not sure. I booked a hotel that allowed a refund with a 24-hour cancellation. I pondered the trip, weighing the potential risks vs. benefits. Finally about four days from the event I decided for sure to go. I was relieved to learn that familiar teams from Salida, Rocky Ford and Lamar were entered as well.

I knew I’d entered Harrison in a race with a lot of boys much faster than him. I was really hoping to set him up to run a new 5K PR in the 19-minute range. His current PR was 20:34 set about a month ago at the regional meet. I figured the lower altitude and fast crowd would pull him along to a new personal record. I know he is physically capable of breaking 20 minutes, it’s more a matter of mental focus for him

I also struggled with the concern that I’d gotten way too much of my own ego wrapped up in his running performances. I thought back to when he first started running cross-country and the uncertainty of what might happen when the gun was fired. Now I was more concerned with his time than which direction he might run. It seemed I’d lost my balanced perspective of the situation. For example, in a parallel universe, or even another Zip Code, he wouldn’t be running cross country at all. What he’s doing is, if not the impossible, at least improbable.

We drove out Friday morning before the race, heading for Lubbock through the New Mexico towns of Raton, and Clayton, where amid buildings that looked like a neutron bomb had gone off we found a great coffee shop. We stopped again just inside Texas near Texline for a shake-out jog on a dirt road, and talked to some deer hunters who seemed like pretty nice guys. I had the sensation that I was running slightly uphill, then when we turned around it seemed uphill that direction too. I finally stopped and looked both ways, deciding that country was so flat that everything seemed uphill.

We ate the sandwiches I’d packed for lunch then continued south past a grassfire freely burning in the median near Dalhart, through Hartley, skirting Amarillo, and then on to Lubbock. It occurred to me that in all of the father-son things we’d done we’d not gone on a long road-trip. He seemed happy taking in the Texas landscape. The fluffy white debris of industrial cotton farming lined the highway like snow that never melts. We agreed we both like where we live better than Texas.

We arrived at Lubbock Christian University with just enough daylight to walk part of the race course, and get our bearings for the next morning. At least I had a good idea of the meet layout, where to park, and how to prep Harrison for this race. Right away I could see the course was a little more difficult than expected, with grass, lumpy trails of mixed sand and Burmuda clumps, and three “speed bump” hills that were steep but only about 15-20 feet high. The last half-mile included a stretch with a curvy, very gradual uphill.

We found and checked into our hotel, which honestly could have been a set for “No Country for Old Men.” Then we ran into our friends from Rocky Ford at the crowded Olive Garden and I had a nice chat with Coach Ron Shepherd as we waited for seating. 

After an adventure trying to find gas, we returned to our somewhat sketchy hotel and got to bed, both falling fast asleep. I awoke about three hours later to the distinct sound of a Harley racing past our window, and then a few minutes later a loud car zooming by. Soon there were loud voices out in the hallway, which prompted a large dog to bark. I held my breath waiting for the explosion I was certain would happen. But it didn’t. Harrison slept right through it all.

We were up in the morning and out the door before the sun was up, and stopped at a Starbucks on the way back to Lubbock Christian. We had plenty of time to get ready the prep getting Harrison to the starting line was the smoothest I could remember in seven years of racing.

The individual runners didn’t have the best starting positions to the outside of the teams, but he took it in stride. There seemed to be several packs. The top runners were high 15-minute to low 16-minute range. There were 23 kids who ran under 17 minutes, then a huge pack of runners that were the 18- to 19-minute crowd. For almost the entire race, Harrison seemed unable to bridge to this faster crowd, running mostly on his own and fighting to stay ahead of a small group of runners bringing up the rear. And so it went. I watched as his sub-20 melted away in the last half mile stretch. He finished 9 seconds off his PR at 20:43.

What happened next was astonishing as he walked over to his counterparts on the Rocky Ford team and high-fived them all, and then at my urging he also congratulated members of the Salida team. He’s raced with these kids from both teams for years. It felt as if I were looking at a totally different kid than the one who started running cross-country in 6th grade. He actually seemed different than the kid I’d left Colorado with the day before. The sub-20 goal now suddenly seemed meaningless. He’d run a personal best instead of a personal record. There’s still plenty of time to break 20 in his lifetime. (In fact, I ran a 16:41 when I was 40.)

We untied the timing chips from his shoes, and bought a T-shirt to commemorate the event. On the way back to the car I ran into Coach Shepherd and he congratulated Harrison on finishing his high-school cross country career. I caught myself fighting back tears. “I can’t believe it’s over,” was all I could get out.

We took a different route back home, striking northwest from Lubbock to Muleshoe, cutting north from Clovis through the wide-open country of eastern New Mexico to Tucumcari, Roy, and eventually Raton, arriving home to 2 inches of fresh snow. I stood out in the flurry of large, slowly falling flakes while unpacking, taking in the new perspective. It had been a whirlwind journey to Lubbock — not to mention the last seven years — but something deep inside had shifted.