50 for 50: 1986

YEAR: 1986

AGE: Turned 16 in on Nov. 6

LOCATION: Chicago, Rascher Avenue

BEARS' RECORD: 14-2

SONGS I LIKED: "What You Need" by INXS; "Sanctify Yourself" by Simple Minds

MOVIES I SAW: "Top Gun," "Ferris Bueller's Day Off"

TV SHOWS I WATCHED: "Head of the Class," "The Cosby Show"

VIDEO GAMES I PLAYED: Miner 2049er, Wizard of Wor (Atari computer)

MUSIC VIDEOS I ENJOYED: "Walk This Way" by Run DMC and Aerosmith; "Tuff Enuff" by the Fabulous Thunderbirds

I ran cross country and track in high school, and I won't mince words: I wasn't that good. There were times I worked hard and tried to push myself through the limits my skinny body threw at my brain. There were other times I let the pain and the negative feelings win. And about once a season, it seemed, I would catch a cold that would turn into bronchitis and derail any progress I had made.

In the spring of 1986, everything aligned for one season, beginning with one race. For the only time in my running career, I won a race.

The accomplishment wasn't that impressive. The meet was just three teams, the race was only frosh-soph and none of my faster teammates were running it, and my time was, at most, meh. Yet, I won, and I never felt so ... accomplished.

Track season up until that point was rough. I developed tendinitis in my knee, which had hobbled me for a couple weeks. I ran the 880 in a dual meet a couple weeks earlier and was slow, then was sick and missed another meet. However, once my knee finally healed, something clicked -- I was running some good interval workouts, and I felt focused.

The three-team meet was on our cinder track, which we dubbed "Wimbledon" because a little bit of grass grew on it in the backstretch every year. My coach told me to get out fast ... and I did. After the first lap I was leading, though I figured it wouldn't last.

The first rule of distance running in track is that you don't look behind you. So when I got to the 660 mark and was still winning, I started wondering where everyone was. But I didn't look back. I made the turn, just 100 yards to go, and I turned on the jets. Much to my surprise, nobody caught me, and I crossed the finish line as the winner.

I was in a little bit of shock. My coach remarked with a smile, "Who is that masked man?" The second-place finisher -- a freshman from another team whom I would become acquaintances with at Marquette -- congratulated me and said, "Another 10 yards and I would have caught you." 

My friend John was playing baseball on the field next to the football stadium, and his dad saw me win the race. The next time I saw him, he congratulated me, and I replied "I thought I was going to choke." He reassured me: "You took the the lead and held it great." This may sound funny, but he might have provided the best reminder that even though the race was small, the achievement for me was large.

Only a few weeks remained in the track season after the victory. I dropped time at my next meet, and I was cruising through workouts. The varsity went to a Friday night meet in the suburbs, leaving the frosh-soph to run a short workout on our own -- a timed 2.5-mile run followed by a fast mile. The 2.5 was around the neighborhood next to the high school, and without a coach around, we figured we'd take it sort of easy. Except, we unintentionally didn't, and I ran a faster 2.5 than I had come close to in cross country season (and 3-mile races if I did the math). My skinny body -- 5-foot-11 and maybe 120 pounds -- had adapted to being a fast-ish runner.

I didn't drop any time at the conference meet and was annoyed. We did a running camp that summer -- four days of running along with something fun (and it was a coed camp, so, having been a student at an all-boys high school, that didn't suck), and I entered the cross country season with a good base and was rarin' to go.

The first few weeks, I was solid but not spectacular. Maybe I plateaued? Then, I got bronchitis. I basically hacked my way through the last month of the season. Track season was even rougher -- too many distractions, I got sick twice, and my brain wasn't pushing my body as hard. I enjoyed running senior year, but I found myself stuck, running slightly slower times than I had in 1986.

Although I'm proud I didn't quit my senior year -- I finished what I started when giving up might have been easy -- I wish I could have figured out what made me so successful for a few months in 1986 and applied it. Not improving was tough. Looking back and realizing I maybe could have done something differently, or just tried harder -- is even tougher.

I still have that one race I won as a sophomore. If that taught me anything, it's that the best strategy is not to look back.