by Larry Eder
Galen Rupp winning the 10,000m at the 2016 Olympic Trials, photo by PhotoRun.net
I am at 38,000 feet, flying to Rio. This is a personal piece about my love for the Olympics and how it started. I am looking forward to covering the athletics portion of the Rio Olympics with our team in Rio, as well as daily enewsletter, audio and video. I look forward to sharing our views on the sport.
My first viewing of the Olympics was in 1968. I was living in Saint Louis, Missouri, and was ten years old. It was a Saturday, and Dad was making hot dogs in the kitchen. Hot dogs with mustard, sour pickles and saurkraut, like there is any other way? We had a little black and white TV on the kitchen table. We were not big sports fans. We would rather spend our time fishing. I played baseball, but really did not like it. I could fish everyday. Still can.
I remember watching this guy long jump. I knew it was the long jump because we had done the broad jump during P.E. at Saint Blaise during the previous school year. They were talking about how this guy, which I found out later was Bob Beamon, and he had broken the world record and I watched him overcome with emotion after they replayed the big jump. I still remember that telecast forty-eight years later. Something about the jumping and then, the response. It was so cool.
By the time of Munich, I was running my first cross country season at DeSmet. I had watched much of the 1972 Olympics, and stayed up after the Munich Massacre. I did not understand why anyone would kill athletes. I knew about the problems between Palestinians and Isrealis, but still did not understand why the Olympics were the place to kill people. I felt sadness in the pit of my stomach, similar to what I felt in 1968 when Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert Kennedy were murdered. I did not understand then, and I do not understand now.
A month or so later, I read the story in Sport magazine about Frank Shorter. I remember the stories about Shorter getting into some trouble with some bikers, and how his father drove along him on some of his runs, just to make sure. One of the guys on my team wore a hat like 1972 Olympic gold medalist at 800 meters, Dave Wottle. I remember seeing replays of that race.
In 1974, my family moved to San Jose, California. Running became how I survived the move. I did not like California at first, but running helped me surive a new school and lack of friends. David Hughes and Bob Lucas, two guys on the track and cross country teams, became my friends and are friends to this day. I asked Coach Devlin at the beginning of the summer how to improve on my last place in the league 2 mile. Father Devlin, who we called Rocket-Ray behind his back, gave me a zen response: ” Run more.”
So, I did.
Over three weeks, I built up from two miles a day to a sixteen to eighteen miles a day. I ran from my house to Lake Vasona, hung out for a bit, and then, ran back. I read voraciously about running, from Runners World and found a copy of Track & Field News. I found running books in the school library and read about Paavo Nurmi. My body lasted ten weeks at 16 miles a day, so I cut down to 8-10 miles a day. That and my Dad was going to ground me if I lost one more pound. I liked the feeling of being fit. I also liked the feeling of not finishing last all of the time.
By the time the 1976 Olympics came around, I was a total track geek. Mom and Dad had gotten me subscriptions of Runners’ World and Track & Field News. I read them cover to cover. On our daily runs, we talked about running. I read running magazines during class, giving up my past interest in rock and roll magazines like Cream, to TFN. I was hooked. I ran every day and right before the Olympics ran my first 10,000 meters on the track with Danny Grimes and Bob Lucas. Bob and I also ran the A.A.U. Postal Hour run, where you ran your heart out for 59 minutes, then a gun was shot and you ran all out for the last minute. I was lapped several times by Mike Bordell, Jim Nuccio and the late Brian Maxwell, who would found PowerBar years later.
I went to my first Olympics in 1984, courtesy of my boss, Bob Anderson at Runners World. I remember seeing the final of the men’s 800 meters, and the men’s 10,000 meters that night. Watching Alberto Cova and Marti Vainio battling over the last 200 meters was fascinating. But, I was impressed with Mike Mcleod, the British runner who finished fourth (and later, when Vainio was busted for doping, third) and Mike Musiyoki.
Two weeks before the Olympics, I was lucky enough to run a couple of runs with Rob de Castella, the Australian superstar, who was training in the Bay Area. My training partner, Tim Gruber, a fine runner, ran a workout where Rob and Tim ran 8 times a 400 meters in 62-63, with a 200 float in 40 seconds. I was running 72 pace with Dr. Dick Telford, and it was amazing to see Rob and Tim just fly. Two weeks later, I was heartbroken to see my favorite Olympian, Rob, take sixth in the marathon and not win. Rob De Castella was, and is, one of the finest people I ever met. He lived the life of an Olympic athlete, answering to a higher authority and purpose. I always liked that about Rob. Still do.
In 2004, I was fortunate to take my son Adam to the Olympics. It was one of the most amazing events to share with a son or daughter. Adam and I took a week to study the history of Greece afterwards, and we still speak about the Games and the time we spent together. We also were fortunate to spend time with the late, and great, James Dunaway. Adam still speaks about James story telling ability. We miss our friend dearly.
Eight Olympics after my first visit to an Olympic Games, I am as excited going to Rio as I was then. The Olympics and World Champs are a track geeks nirvana. The athletes, coaches, officials and media I meet are, for the most part, into the experience as well.
That is what makes it so exciting, but so personal when someone betrays the sport.
Part of the excitement of sport is that we are taken back to being teenagers once again. Remember that? When everything was so important and one was also emotionally dismantled when something did not go as one thought.
Track fans find something about the sport that sticks with them. It becomes like breathing. As someone who writes about the sport, I try to look at the sport with a critical eye. I will promise to do my best with that over the next two weeks. I feel a responsibility in writing about the sport. The late James Dunaway always told me to write from my heart, and with as few words as possible. I think I do the first part okay. The second part is a life experience.
Thanks for following RunBlogRun. Thanks for being a Track fan.
My first viewing of the Olympics was in 1968. I was living in Saint Louis, Missouri, and was ten years old. It was a Saturday, and Dad was making hot dogs in the kitchen. Hot dogs with mustard, sour pickles and saurkraut, like there is any other way? We had a little black and white TV on the kitchen table. We were not big sports fans. We would rather spend our time fishing. I played baseball, but really did not like it. I could fish everyday. Still can.
I remember watching this guy long jump. I knew it was the long jump because we had done the broad jump during P.E. at Saint Blaise during the previous school year. They were talking about how this guy, which I found out later was Bob Beamon, and he had broken the world record and I watched him overcome with emotion after they replayed the big jump. I still remember that telecast forty-eight years later. Something about the jumping and then, the response. It was so cool.
By the time of Munich, I was running my first cross country season at DeSmet. I had watched much of the 1972 Olympics, and stayed up after the Munich Massacre. I did not understand why anyone would kill athletes. I knew about the problems between Palestinians and Isrealis, but still did not understand why the Olympics were the place to kill people. I felt sadness in the pit of my stomach, similar to what I felt in 1968 when Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert Kennedy were murdered. I did not understand then, and I do not understand now.
A month or so later, I read the story in Sport magazine about Frank Shorter. I remember the stories about Shorter getting into some trouble with some bikers, and how his father drove along him on some of his runs, just to make sure. One of the guys on my team wore a hat like 1972 Olympic gold medalist at 800 meters, Dave Wottle. I remember seeing replays of that race.
In 1974, my family moved to San Jose, California. Running became how I survived the move. I did not like California at first, but running helped me surive a new school and lack of friends. David Hughes and Bob Lucas, two guys on the track and cross country teams, became my friends and are friends to this day. I asked Coach Devlin at the beginning of the summer how to improve on my last place in the league 2 mile. Father Devlin, who we called Rocket-Ray behind his back, gave me a zen response: ” Run more.”
So, I did.
Over three weeks, I built up from two miles a day to a sixteen to eighteen miles a day. I ran from my house to Lake Vasona, hung out for a bit, and then, ran back. I read voraciously about running, from Runners World and found a copy of Track & Field News. I found running books in the school library and read about Paavo Nurmi. My body lasted ten weeks at 16 miles a day, so I cut down to 8-10 miles a day. That and my Dad was going to ground me if I lost one more pound. I liked the feeling of being fit. I also liked the feeling of not finishing last all of the time.
By the time the 1976 Olympics came around, I was a total track geek. Mom and Dad had gotten me subscriptions of Runners’ World and Track & Field News. I read them cover to cover. On our daily runs, we talked about running. I read running magazines during class, giving up my past interest in rock and roll magazines like Cream, to TFN. I was hooked. I ran every day and right before the Olympics ran my first 10,000 meters on the track with Danny Grimes and Bob Lucas. Bob and I also ran the A.A.U. Postal Hour run, where you ran your heart out for 59 minutes, then a gun was shot and you ran all out for the last minute. I was lapped several times by Mike Bordell, Jim Nuccio and the late Brian Maxwell, who would found PowerBar years later.
I went to my first Olympics in 1984, courtesy of my boss, Bob Anderson at Runners World. I remember seeing the final of the men’s 800 meters, and the men’s 10,000 meters that night. Watching Alberto Cova and Marti Vainio battling over the last 200 meters was fascinating. But, I was impressed with Mike Mcleod, the British runner who finished fourth (and later, when Vainio was busted for doping, third) and Mike Musiyoki.
Two weeks before the Olympics, I was lucky enough to run a couple of runs with Rob de Castella, the Australian superstar, who was training in the Bay Area. My training partner, Tim Gruber, a fine runner, ran a workout where Rob and Tim ran 8 times a 400 meters in 62-63, with a 200 float in 40 seconds. I was running 72 pace with Dr. Dick Telford, and it was amazing to see Rob and Tim just fly. Two weeks later, I was heartbroken to see my favorite Olympian, Rob, take sixth in the marathon and not win. Rob De Castella was, and is, one of the finest people I ever met. He lived the life of an Olympic athlete, answering to a higher authority and purpose. I always liked that about Rob. Still do.
In 2004, I was fortunate to take my son Adam to the Olympics. It was one of the most amazing events to share with a son or daughter. Adam and I took a week to study the history of Greece afterwards, and we still speak about the Games and the time we spent together. We also were fortunate to spend time with the late, and great, James Dunaway. Adam still speaks about James story telling ability. We miss our friend dearly.
Eight Olympics after my first visit to an Olympic Games, I am as excited going to Rio as I was then. The Olympics and World Champs are a track geeks nirvana. The athletes, coaches, officials and media I meet are, for the most part, into the experience as well.
That is what makes it so exciting, but so personal when someone betrays the sport.
Part of the excitement of sport is that we are taken back to being teenagers once again. Remember that? When everything was so important and one was also emotionally dismantled when something did not go as one thought.
Track fans find something about the sport that sticks with them. It becomes like breathing. As someone who writes about the sport, I try to look at the sport with a critical eye. I will promise to do my best with that over the next two weeks. I feel a responsibility in writing about the sport. The late James Dunaway always told me to write from my heart, and with as few words as possible. I think I do the first part okay. The second part is a life experience.
Thanks for following RunBlogRun. Thanks for being a Track & Field fan.
