Distance Running

I was eight years old watching a track meet on Wide World of Sports. All of the runners in the mile broke the four-minute barrier, apparently the first time that had ever happened. I turned around to my Dad, and said, "What's the big deal?"

Dad, with that grin of his, asked if I thought it was so easy, did I think I could run a mile in four minutes? Of course I thought I could.

It just so happened that the first block of apple trees we had planted the year before was 220 yards long. All I had to do was run from the lane to the end of the orchard and back four times in four minutes.

I seem to remember Dad and one or two of my sisters walking to the orchard with me as I prepared to make my assault on the four-minute mile. It was ready, set, go, and off I went.

I made the turn-around at the end of the orchard and as I reached the lane -- the one-quarter mile mark -- Dad yelled out, "Two minutes."

Needless to say, I knew I would have to pick up the pace if I were going to do this in the allotted time. I started running a bit faster, and as I came to the lane the second time, Dad yelled, "Three-fifty." I had made some progress in the second leg of the run, and now all I had to do was run down and back two more times in ten seconds.

I finished the mile in exactly eight minutes, and thus started my 10 year running career. Jim Ryun, who held many middle-distance world records in the 1960's and early 1970's, became my sports idol. In the race I saw on Wide World of Sports, he finished eighth, but became the first high-schooler to break the four minute barrier. He's now a Republican congressman from Kansas.

My brother and I marked off all sorts of distances on the rural roads near our house, and I quickly got into the habit of running. There were some weeks when I logged more than 50 miles, and periodically I even ran to school in the morning, a run of almost five miles. I kept careful track of various times and distances. My immediate goal was to run a mile in less than six minutes.

A few years later, on August 18, 1967, my friend Kevin rode his bike to my house to ask if I wanted to go fishing with him the next day. Dad was in the shop welding a trailer hitch for a guy who had brought it over for repairs. I asked Dad if I could go fishing with Kevin the next day, and I fully expected him to say no. Summers were a busy time in the orchard, and there was always something to do; so much, in fact, that he asked me to give up Little League baseball that year because it was keeping me out of the orchard too much. I was surprised when Dad said, "If you can go out right now and run a mile in under six minutes, you can go fishing." He knew that my time was down to around 6:10, and that I had a mental block about breaking 6:00.

Much of the family gathered in the driveway, along with the guy whose trailer hitch was being welded. We knew where the half mile point was, as we had measured it from the telephone pole near the barn, so all I had to do was run there and back in six minutes.

I got the signal to go, and Kevin rode along on his bicycle. Someone had given him a watch to take along so I could keep time while running. At the quarter-mile mark (a pole in my grandmother's yard), I was at 1:27. So far, so good. At the half-mile point, I was at 2:54. I made the turn and lagged a bit in the third quarter mile, but I put on a nice finishing kick and crossed the line in 5:54.

Kevin and I rode our bikes the six miles or so to one of the Bellevue reservoirs the next day, and we probably caught a few bluegills. I don't actually remember if we caught any fish, but it was what it took to get there that stayed in my memory.