Lookin' Up

I went to see the Pixar movie Up last weekend with my wife and daughter. I was pleasantly surprised with the movie, and though I wouldn't call myself a raving fan, the message of the film has been sticking on me since then.

There were a lot of themes in the story, from steadfastness, longevity, determination and love. But one came through a bit more clearly to me than others.

Did you notice that both old guys in the movie were in a relentless pursuit of a goal? For Mr. Fredrickson, it was to live out the adventure he and his wife had wanted for decades, to have a house at Victoria Falls in South America. After she dies and he is about to be forcibly moved to a retirement home, he hatches a plan to tether his house to thousands of helium balloons that will lift him and his house up and out of his dilemma and on to his goal. You have to admire his grit and determination and ingenuity.

The other old guy in the film, Carl Muntz, is a discredited explorer who was cast off by American society decades earlier as a fraud in his claims he had found some historic bird, previously unknown. In rejection, he leaves for South America claiming "never to return until I find that bird!" Of course, now in their old age, the two men meet there in South America, making for a clash of titans.


Like true titans, both men are zealously intent on their goal. For Muntz, he MUST regain his reputation. For Fredrickson, to live at Victoria Falls is ALL there is.

Neither goal was necessarily bad, and as a coach who daily preaches to his athletes the value of setting goals, I can't disregard their pursuit. But the writers of the movie, while not downplaying dreams or goals, exposed a dangerous side effect to such a singular pursuit.


Both men had developed a contempt for others and for relationships. Muntz was alone, having surrounded himself only with a pack of programmed dogs, trained to do whatever he commanded. Fredrickson wanted to go alone, but has to drag along a young boy scout -- who accidentally stowed away in the house during the flight, a dog and a gigantic bird. It's clear that they mean nothing more to him than a hindrance in his quest to drag his house to the falls. He's crotchety, Muntz is downright mean, and every other character in the film are viewed by both men as little more than nuisances.

Goals can do that, you know. They can become so consuming, so idolatrous, that everything else in life fades away. While I encourage you all to be goal setters, to be determined in your pursuit of goals, don't let that pursuit cause you to disregard the people in your life. Don't become so bent on achievement that you become a pain to the folks around you. Life is too short and no goal is too great to allow us to step on others.


Go see the movie if you haven't. While it's not one of Pixar's greatest (That honor goes to Monsters Inc), it is certainly a story that can get you to think, and while you're on your way Up, it just may keep you from putting others down.

It's Your Team, What Will You Make it?

Entering into my 20th year of coaching (that's 40 seasons!), I'm still amazed at the process of team building. At the core, it's what coaching is all about ... anyone can do the "X's and 0's", but can you pull a group of disparate individuals and make them a team? Can you get folks who are naturally on their own page and put them on the same one? Can you get soloists to sing in unison?

These are the yearly questions I face and they are a yearly challenge.

But the more I coach the more I realize the job of making a team from individuals doesn't rest on me alone. Sure, I'll work hard toward the goal. I'll do what I can to pull and prod and push the scattered cattle into a herd. But here's the catch. The cattle have minds of their own. And sometimes despite my best efforts, we run the risk that by the season's end, it just may not be.

So this is for you. You, the runner, the teammate. What will YOU do to make this a better team this season? What will you bring to the group that helps smooth the rough spots, paint over the cracks, patch the wounds and repair the hurt feelings? Will you be someone that makes others on the team WANT to come to practice, or will your attitudes, words and actions make others think twice about showing up?

High School girls have a tendency to be "drama queens." They're good at talking behind others' backs, running in cliques and exagerrating the faults of others. Such drama is poison to a team. I have NEVER -- EVER! -- seen a team infected by drama or led by drama queens, succeed. It's a guarantee to fail. Drama makes everyone miserable, including those who dish it.

Guys are prone to be cut-throat. They like "one-upping" their teammates and are married to the pecking order. "That freshman isn't going to beat me!" some say. Where girls talk behind others' backs, guys will just stab them in the back. They can and do take lessons on clique building from the girls.

So here we go ... King XC's 11th season is dawning. If you're reading this, you are probably going to be one of the members of the team.

And it's going to be YOUR team. What will you make it? What contributions will you bring that will lift us up or tear us down? Will you work diligently, daily, to make our team more of a unit, or will you be one of those heads of cattle that is head strong, willing to see things only your way, and in the process you'll go your own way thank-you-very-much. (And while you're at it, you'll convince a couple of others to go with you).

Vince Lombardi, one of the greatest coaches of any sport once said, "Individual commitment to a group effort -- that is what makes a team work, a company work, a civilization work." True words.

But the opposite is true too, when "Individual commitment to individual effort, that's what destroys a team ..." and it's THAT that is the yearly risk and challenge of throwing a bunch of individuals together and calling them a team.

You can call them a team, or any other title you want, but what makes them a team is the consistent individual willingess to sacrifice one self for the good of the others.

Are you willing to do that this season? Are you willing to swallow your pride, your ego, your comfort zone; to blend your passions and desires with others' which might not be like yours, for the betterment of our team?

If you are, then I promise you this 11th season of KXC will be like none other. If you aren't I promise you a miserable season ... for yourself and for everyone around you.

It's your team, what will you make it?

The Voice of a Father

Today's my dad's birthday. I won't say what number it is since reminders tend to annoy him. Let's just say he's had a long life, and a good one.

I owe my running to my dad. Back in the 70's when the "running boom" was hitting the US like some pre-Oprah inspired craze, my dad jumped on that bandwagon and beat the drum into my two sisters and I. We were living in Nepal at the time, and I can still remember my dad organizing little road races for the students in the Wycliffe Bible Translator's school where he served as principal. I always got beat by my older sister, but somehow the memory that serves me most readily of those races was getting a little ribbon at the conclusion and seeing the monkeys roam around the Buddhist temple we ran out to and back from. Strange, I know, but that's my story.

Ribbons and monkeys aside, I really didn't like running. I was in elementary school at the time, and getting beat by your big sister, (and occasionally my younger sister too!) was humiliating even at 6 or 7. We came home to the States in 1974, the year before Steve Prefontaine's death and the heyday of Frank Shorter and Bill Rogers. My dad kept beating that running drum on into my junior high years and for the most part it just gave me a headache. He'd take us down to the track at California High School in Whittier and run laps with us. I'd cry. I hated it. As part of the school's PE program, we were occasionally timed for a mile and I remember running 5:58. It was an accomplishment, but not big enough to make me like running. I was stubborn.

I'll never forget a conversation we had near the end of 8th grade at the kitchen table. Dad told me that once I started high school I would have to be involved in some extracurricular activity. I guess I had few options, and maybe now that I look back at it, he knew that. I was all of 5-5 and 120 pounds and afraid of getting hit, so football was out. My adventures in piano and accordion lessons (yes, accordion, that was my mom's fault) never worked out, and lets just say when God handed out the whole "eye-hand-coordination" thingy, I was in the bathroom. So that left cross country.

But I don't like running!

Get over it.

So there I was in my short-shorts (hey, it was cool in 1980!) on the first day of summer practice. Nervous, yet eager to prove myself. We went for a seven-miler that day, a "lets see who's been running this summer" kind of run. The competitor in me drove me, despite the discomfort, and I finished near the front of the group.

I was hooked.

I went home and proudly gave my dad a play-by-play of the whole run. I don't recall what his response was, but he must have smiled.

For the next four years I ran. Like most kids, I had highs and lows, good races and bad. But one thing remains today, as clear in my mind as if 1983 were just yesterday: His voice.

That voice, above all others, carried. It was at every single meet I ran, never missed one of them. It was cheering, encouraging. It was loud. Not once was I told I had a bad race, even when I did. I heard his words of support even before I heard my coach's. They could cut through the pain and push their way through the exhaustion.

The air on which the words carried became a tail wind. In those lonely, painful third miles, they'd get me to the finish line.

Had it not been for the push my dad gave me so long ago, a significant part of my life wouldn't have been formed. Running became a part of my identity, even more so than it was part of my dad's. But through the last two decades we have shared pieces of the sport, including running the LA Marathon together in 1987. In 1996, when I ran the 100th Boston Marathon, he came along to lend that voice at the finish once again. He has on occasion traveled to Fresno to cheer on my cross country teams at the State meet and to Walnut for the CIF Finals. Though his voice at those meets wouldn't rise to a shout, when the last of my kids had crossed the line and the score had been tallied, he was always quick to offer praise or a simple "good job, Bradley".

Now drenched in a coach's sweat, that tail wind of my younger days has become a refreshing breeze.

And it pushes me on, still, in the miles we cover together today. Life is like a long distance race, how great it is to have a cheerleader, someone to shout from the side lines, "You can do it!" My dad has been that for me for 43 years. And for that, I'm eternally grateful.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Living a Life that Matters.

I know it's been almost a month since my last post here, but I'm hesitant to post "just anything" or to be pithy for the sake of posting. So I apologize if you think this blog has died, it hasn't I'm just waiting for some inspiration.

That inspiration came when I stumbled upon this charge to live a life that matters. Read it, be motivated! It is written by Michael Josephson.

"Ready or not, some day it will all come to an end.
There will be no more sunrises, no minutes, hours or days.
All the things you collected, whether treasured or forgotten, will pass to someone else.

Your wealth, fame and temporal power will shrivel to irrelevance.
It will not matter what you owned or what you were owed.
Your grudges, resentments, frustrations
and jealousies will finally disappear.
So too, your hopes, ambitions, plans and to-do lists will expire.

The wins and losses that once seemed so important will fade away.
It won’t matter where you came from
or what side of the tracks you lived on at the end.
It won’t matter whether you were beautiful or brilliant.
Even your gender and skin color will be irrelevant.

So what will matter? How will the value of your days be measured?

What will matter is not what you bought,
but what you built; not what you got, but what you gave.
What will matter is not your success
but your significance.
What will matter is not what you learned,
but what you taught.
What will matter is every act of integrity,
compassion, courage, or sacrifice
that enriched, empowered or encouraged others
to emulate your example.

What will matter is not your competence,
but your character.
What will matter is not how many people you knew,
but how many will feel a lasting loss when you’re gone.

What will matter is not your memories,
but the memories that live in those who loved you.
What will matter is how long you will be remembered,
by whom and for what.

Living a life that matters doesn’t happen by accident.
It’s not a matter of circumstance but of choice.
Choose to live a life that matters."

My Mom

15 years ago this June, my mom died of cancer. Today is Mothers Day, and so I'm naturally thinking of that ugly time and hideous desease that took my beautiful mom's life. She was 54.

I can say that the years since her passing have allowed me to reflect more on her legacy than on the sting of her death. She was a great mom.

As my sisters and I went through school, I remember asking her once what she majored in in college. She was quick to reply that she studied "Home Economics". When I asked why, she said with great certitude, "So that I could become a better mother." Though she adored my dad, she loved us three kids incredibly. I never doubted that.

I think I got much of my tenacity and drive from my dad. He was a hard worker, like the Energizer Bunny of a few years ago, my dad just seemed to keep "going and going and going." I'm sometimes caught up with that spirit in my work and life.

But my mom was a softy. She could cry on a dime, was very tenderhearted and filled with compassion. I'm hopeful that there is some of that in me. I know this for sure, one of my mom's favorite pasttimes was drinking coffee and enjoying a scone. Sadly, she died before Starbucks was a ubiquitous establishment. She would have loved Starbucks. I think of her often when I can sneak away for a Saturday morning cup of coffee there. I order a scone in her honor.

More than coffee and fattening foods though, my mom (and dad for that matter) instilled in me the importance of leaving an impact. To live life not in pursuit of selfish endeavors but rather in things that last. It was at her direction that I was taught to be kind to my sisters, even when I didn't want to be. It was her constant smile, even when life was hard, that has reminded me to be joyful. It was her sacrifice of part time work -- "so I can be home when you get home from school" -- that taught me that material gain matters little. She modeled faith, hope and love like well-worn hand-me-downs; on loan from her parents, she passed them on to me. It was at her side that I was taught the faith that grows in me still. I hope to pass it on to the granddaughter she never got to meet.

My mom lived a very simple life, one of deep and abiding faith, love for her husband and her kids, and an appreciation for the things that really mattered. She was terribly grounded, in a very good way. I'm thankful that I had the opportunity to be raised in the home she made, for at heart, she was the quintessential homemaker.

Having worked part time at a bank and devoted herself to teaching Sunday school and the raising of her three kids, one might have understood had her death been humbly noted by a few people. What a jolt it was to see close to 1500 people attend her memorial service. I stammered and choked my way through a few remarks about my mom, all the while wondering, "how could a woman of such simple means have had such an impact on so many people?"

I guess I'm still trying to come to a clear answer on that, but I'm closer than ever to understanding the truth behind this statement, "that those who wish to find their lives must lose them."

My mom had, in a sense, "lost her life" long before she had lost it. She had "lost herself" in others, in giving sacrificially, in serving her family and God. She was a very special person.

Athletes, I hope you'll pause in the busyness of being a teenager to consider what your mom does for you. No mom is perfect, mine certainly had her flaws. But most moms work really hard to nurture, guide, instruct and push their kids to increase their opportunities in life.

I know mine did. And for that I'm very grateful.

Toughness ... I'm just going to go for it.

Before I came to King, I was the head coach at Ayala High School in Chino Hills and had the pleasure of coaching a bunch of really good kids and great runners. One of those was Greg Harris who I saw thru his junior year before I jumped ship to come to Riverside.

I liked Greg right away. He was a quiet, unassuming guy, but willing to do whatever it took to succeed, and in fact he did! He wasn't oozing talent like a few do; he had a PR at MT.SAC in the mid-16:00's as I recall and ran 16:26 at Woodward Park in Fresno. But he made the most with what he had, and you could count on Greg to take it hard all the way to the line and not leave anything behind.

He was fun to watch ... even more fun to coach.

Greg's now 26 and living in Utah, married and a father. He's doing well. He ran in college and has recently taken up marathoning, and on Monday of this week, he ran the 113th Boston Marathon. I looked up his result, 2:46:29 (6:21 per mile for 26.2 miles! ... and Boston is NOT flat) and was impressed so emailed him with my congratulations.

He replied with a note and a copy of a blog he had written about his race experience. It is a powerful piece ... a great description of a tough guy fighting through a tough day and, typically, giving it everything he had.

I encourage you to read it. I've highlighted some parts that jumped off the screen at me and hopefully will inspire and motivate you as well. Look for, especially, how determined he was to not let a "poor pace" linger. I wish you all could have met Greg, but maybe through these words of his, you'll get a glimpse of why he made Ayala Cross Country a much better team. And yes, I got his approval to post this.


If I seem a little disappointed with the results, the race was still a great experience. First let me say how awesome Boston is. They support their sports teams and this race in an unbelievable way.

Part 1:
miles 0-10. I went out at a 6:05. I don't have all of my splits because my Garmin lost reception. There was a big pack of 25 or so that formed. We hit miles 2 and 3 in about 5:50 each. I knew that this was a little fast for my fitness. So I looked back to see if there was another pack to drop back to. Nope, just small groups. I realized that with the wind picking up that 5:50 miles in this pack was going to be as easy and 6:00 miles on my own. So i hung in there. It was not too hard, but i knew that it would take its toll. Then i thought, this is Boston, I may never do this again. I am just going to go for it. So the pack kept rolling along. We hit mile 10 in 59 minutes and change.

Part 2:
Miles 10-18 At mile 10, the club runners that were leading the pack decided to bump it up to 5:40 pace. I knew that I would be dead by 15 if i went with them. So I held pace. However, the rest of the pack quickly dispersed. I tried to form little groups, but it did not work well. I was still feeling good though.

We went through Wellesley. That was cool. No kisses, just high 5's for me. One girl tried to jump out and grab me. I saw some girls that I would guess did not get any kisses despite their best efforts. I hit the half in just under 1:18. I knew that a reasonable positive split would give me 2:39-2:41. So I just kept rolling along. The hills started at 17. The first one was not too bad. However, the cold wind was really whipping around by now. I had ditched my long sleeve shirt, gloves, and beanie by mile 5.

Part 3:
Miles 18-26.4 Now the hills started to take their toll. By Heartbreak Hill, the wind was bad. I was running by myself. I could not latch on to the continuous small groups that was pass every minute or so. I dropped to about 7:00 pace. I knew that running 7:00 at mile 20 is not a good sign. That would mean 8:00 pace by the end. So I decided that would not happen today. It is probably the toughest that I have been tested mentally and physically. The hills ended, and at least I had some downhill to keep me moving. I also had my name written on my jersey, so the crowd kept me going. I started to get light-headed and dry-heaved from time to time. As i got closer to the finish line, I was counting down the minutes of pain left. We finally made the turn onto Bolyston Street. A couple of more groups passed me. The crowds were great. However, by that point, and for the last few miles, I had been getting light-headed and had blurry vision. I had been getting a lot of GU, water, and Gatorade, so I'm not sure why this happened. So i started to swerve and stagger as I came down the home stretch.

With less than 100m left, the announcer said, "Here comes Greg Harris in a tight race down the stretch!" I looked to my left. There was a guy that I shall name Mr. Lurpy. I did not have a lot of will power left, but I knew one thing. Mr Lurpy would not beat me today. After I looked over, Mr. Lurpy started kicking with his long lanky legs. I responded and barely got him at the line. Then I fell to my knees and stayed there for a minute. My final 10K was 43-44 min. Better than it could have gotten i guess.

Part 4:
Post-race "fun." After i got up, my world was spinning. I staggered around as many volunteers asked if i was OK. I said sure i have been "here" before. Cramped legs, cold clammy skin, and nausea. Sure, no problem. I was getting really cold by this time. The coldness started at about mile 15 and just got worse and worse. As i walked now, i heard spectators talking about how cold the wind was. I knew that my dad would not be done for 45 min. so I looked for a place to get warm. I saw the big med tent. I staggered in there and asked if i could sit down. They were concerned because i was pale and wobbly. So I sat down and closed my eyes. They kept trying to force broth down me. They took my temp and i was 92 degrees. They wanted to call my wife, lay me down, and maybe give my an IV. I declined and said I would be fine. They did not believe me and said that no one with a 92 degree temp. was fine. So I just sat there wrapped in 2 blankets for 45 min. At that time, I announced that I was leaving. They said no, your temp. is still only 94. I said, yes I am leaving. I have to meet my dad. I will never find him if i dont leave now. So the doctor agreed to sign it as she shook her head. I found my dad about 5 min. later, so I was glad that I had insisted on leaving. After another hour of riding on the subway and sitting in the hot tub (oh yeah! No ice bath for me!) I was good to go.

Now that I have had a day to reflect on the race, I am not as disappointed. I have learned that bad weather is just lame and it is what it is. My last 3 marathons have had lame weather. The thing that bugged me is that 2:39 would have gotten me 160th place. Add 7 minutes for my 2:46 and I got 322nd place. That sucks. But I am confident that I did the best I could have. I have no regrets. This is one of my only half or full marathons where I can honestly say that I could not have gone harder at any point in the race. That is satisfying to know. Now it is time to rest up and make one last BIG push at St. George.

U-Turns Allowed

"No U-Turn Allowed."

We see these signs at intersections, usually posted when we need to make a U-turn the most. Ever thought about U-turns? Probably not, only when you need one. We purr along in our journey until something jolts us to the reality that we're headed in the wrong direction. "Oh shoooot" we might mutter, then immediately look for the next break in the median to swing a hard left and get back in the way we should go.

Charlie Alvarez knows of a couple of U-turns in his four years at King that have made all the difference. Fortunately for the talented and amiable senior, the 180 came early in his career. Since then, though his journey could not be described as cruising on "Easy Street," the path has been smoother and most-definitely headed in the right direction.

He has seen steady growth and maturity from that moment, so much so that those in observance might be heard muttering, "oh my!" The change was abrubt -- like a quick "u-ey" -- his acceleration has been steady.

Racing the distances, he has shown himself capable at every multi-lap event. His 9:44.35 3200 meter time is the third best in school history. He has a relay split for 1600 that sits at 4:34, it too would rank 3rd all-time. His 15:59 5000 meters is the school's best-ever.

Beyond the impressive marks he has recorded however, is an even more impressive distinction: Character. Where in his early years he seemingly sought to only be a character, his life now is marked by wanting to have character. He has matured a ton in these seasons. Resolved, he has endured the valleys and his life looks now as if it's on the ascent, slowly but surely scaling the heights of Mt. Integrity whose vistas are matched by none other.

So thank God for U-Turns. They are not always needed, but when they are, they are invaluable.

Just ask Charlie, who is certainly now headed in the right direction.

Faith in the System

"I have a few sayings I have shared with her over the years, such as “the key to success is not working harder but working smarter.” She's really picking up on that one. I have asked her to have faith in the work we do to prepare for races, to have the patience to carry out the plan we come up with, and not to panic if things aren't going our way – we're smart enough to figure out something that will work."

The above quote comes from the coach of Jordan Hasay. You know, Jordan ... the really fast one with long blond hair. (On a trivial note, King ran in Jordan's HS debut, the Morro Bay Invitational, 2005. She won the girls' race by 800 meters and would have been 14th in the boys varsity race!).

It's great advice from a guy who has successfully guided the nation's top runner for the last four years. Did you read it? Did you get it? Read it again. The key to success is not working harder, but working smarter. Don't misunderstand him, he's not saying "hard work is the key to failure." It's a statement built on the assumption that hard work is already taking place. When it is, success won't come just because you work even harder. Instead, an intelligent approach to training the right way will bring the rewards.

After 20 years of coaching however, I'm convinced the second part of his quote is the more significant one. "I have asked her to have faith in the work we do to prepare for races, to have the patience to carry out the plan we come up with, and not to panic if things aren't going our way – we're smart enough to figure out something that will work."

My, so true.

A while back I had a conversation with one of our runners about my training philosophy. There had been a little disagreement over the path we were taking, and I said, "You know, our philosophy is a good one. It's produced good results in the past and will again in the future. No, it's not perfect, but no training plan is perfect. BUT, even if it was the "perfect system" it still wouldn't work if the athletes didn't have faith that it would.

We left it at that, but I hear those words echoed now in Jordan Hassay's coach.

Did you catch the key word in that quote? It is: "We". The success of Jordan -- or any athlete -- doesn't come alone, it comes from a relationship between -- at minimum -- the coach and the athlete in communication. Talking about goals, about strategy, about training, about life. Great athletes don't get there alone. It's always a team effort. No coach can read minds, and if the athletes don't communicate with their coach on matters of importance toward the desired results, a coach assumes there are no desired results. Silence is doubt. At best, it's apathy.

Some of us here at King have marveled at what Jordan Hassay has accomplished in her four years. What's her secret?

Is it talent? Partly.
Is it hard work? Certainly.
Is it great coaching? Perhaps.
Is it that she believes in what she's doing? According to her coach, yes.

As I think back over the last two decades and the athletes who have achieved success to the level of their high school potential, without exception, those athletes were ones who listened to and embraced our philosophy, applied their talent, worked hard and went for it. To this day I remember sitting in the bleachers at Walnut High School as a young man named Eric Loudon, grinning from ear to ear after running a PR in the 1600 at League Finals, yelled up to me, "It works, coach! it works!"

Well, our training worked because it was based on sound practice and physiological principles, but more so because Eric had the faith to believe it would.

It's working for Jordan too, and it can work for you.

Some Thoughts on our Week

My shot of the day ... a Pack-o-beastly-studs.

As much as I dread the workload that comes with helping put on the King Classic every year, I've really grown to love the meet. There's something odd that happens when you remove the "prescribed order of things." What I mean is, sometimes runners fall into the trap of thinking, "Well, so-and-so is in this race and I neeeever beat that person, so there's no way I could right now, blah, blah, blah".

When those so-and-so's are juniors and seniors, and therefore not entered in the meet, it can leave some to excel to even higher levels. I think we saw that again yesterday.

So some observations and thoughts ...

Lane Werley had a tremendous week. 4:29 on Wednesday, good training thru to Saturday, then another 4:29 despite "feeling dead" on Saturday. What do we keep telling you guys about the importance of being STRONG? Lane showed how strong he is this week. When them legs of his are fresh, he's gonna fly.

Daniel Balcazar was doing the same ... 2:03 Wednesday, a pr, then 2:01 Saturday, the #3 all time mark in school history. He's having a GREAT season in the half!

Hanna Peterson is just plain-old studly! I love the way she just goes for it on race day! She runs a meet record of 5:18 (broke Kelsi's meet record from last year at 5:22) racing at the front the whole way. Then comes back and scores in the 800 and holds up a leg in the 4x400! This after doing the interval workout this week on Friday! She's a beast! (and I say that in a very girly beast sort of way). :)

Devin Becerra now has the #2 all time freshman mark in the 16 and the 32! I'm hoping he gets both records this season. They've stood there long enough.

Have you seen our boys 1600? How many guys this season have cracked 5:00? We had SIX on Saturday alone, with Aaron Youngren (remember where Aaron was just last track season? Oh my!) PR'ing at 4:52, Nick Rini dropping a PR and Adam Schupp going 4:55 to make him the #6 All Time Freshman at King! Marc Jimenez slipped under 5:00. I need to count it to be sure, but I think we have 12 guys BELOW 5:00 in the 1600 this season! Most are coming back. Sweet! Can you start salivating right now over what kind of cross country team we're shaping up to have next Fall?

Ethan McAbeast went 5:14 (remember him last Fall? Oh my again!), Rafi PR'd at 5:07. Incredible stuff. Joey Tompkins who just a few weeks ago was on the dark side of 6:00 is now in the 5:40's!

Taylar Amiot was all smiles after her race with a PR in the 1600.

Aubrey Bowman matched her season's best in the 3200 at 12:19.

Really good stuff is happening. Why? Hard work. Willing attitudes. Coachable spirits.

It was a great conclusion to a great week.

25 Things about CP

My goal in starting this blog some 18 months ago was to highlight our kids and our community and running. It really hasn't and isn't about me. This post will be different, but hopefully it will be helpful for some of you.

Since we spend so much time together, maybe this will help you figure out some of what makes me tick. The inspiration comes from Facebook, where it seems everyone is all gaga about posting 25 random things about themselves.

So I've been tagged, it's my turn. Here goes 25 in no particular order.

1. I've run 8 marathons over 25 years of running. Fastest was 2:48:11 in San Jose.
2. I've actually cried during a race ... Sacramento Marathon, when it hit me that I was actually going to break 3:00 for the first time.
3. I HATED running when my dad first forced me to do it as a child.
4. I LOVE my dad for forcing me to run as a child. I can't imagine my life without it.
5. When the girl I invited to go to prom said no, I spent the money I would have spent on tickets on the latest and greatest pair of Nike running shoes. (1983, $85!). When I went to the store to make my "grief purchase" they didn't have my size so I bought a pair a half-size too small. Every time I wore those shoes my toes reminded me that I had been rejected!
6. I spent 3 years of my childhood living in Khatmandu, Nepal. My parents were missionaries with Wycliffe Bible Translators. Even as a little kid, the experience changed my life.
7. I could eat pizza all day.
8. I stocked shelves at Ralphs Grocery in Whittier for my first "real job" after high school. I'm glad that didn't work out for me...
9. My favorite movies were the Indiana Jones Trilogy ... until they came out with the fourth last year. What was up with that???
10. Best movie of all time? Toss up: Saving Private Ryan or Gandhi. Yea, I like the history epics.
11. Event that changed the course of my life: 8th grade "historic trip" to Washington DC and surrounding places of history. Toured the Gettysburg battlefield in a bus ... though I tried to act like the backgammon games going on in the back of the bus were more interesting, I was actually taken by what I saw outside the windows. Little did I know that experience would grow into a love affair with US history and a career teaching it.
12. Two sisters, one older, one younger. That makes me the middle child. Does that count as #13?
13. I'm not good at math. Not good at all.
14. My older sister and my dad are quite talented artists. I was always jealous of that ability growing up since I couldn't quite seem to get beyond the doodle. I found photography in the 1990's and now I can do art. I think Photoshop is a gift from God.
15. I'm still not ashamed to say I watch Survivor. Yea, I know, it's not total reality, but as far as game shows go, it still rocks. I would love to be on it, but know that I'd probably be voted off the island early.
16. I was born with severly bow-legged legs (is that redundant?) that required boots and braces (yea, kindof like Forrest Gump but without the heavy metal) until I was two.
17. I met my wife in high school. Got to know her in government class ... mainly because the teacher would let us talk a lot as I recall. Glad he did.
18. Riverside was not a destination to which I wanted to live. We came here from Whittier (the land of Nixon!) to afford a house, thought we'd always "go back" but we've been here since 1991. Go figure.
19. Best hamburger I've ever eaten (and I've eaten a lot of them) was in a small cafe that doubled as a local art gallery on Orcas Island in Puget Sound of Washington State.
20. If I could do one thing more often in life it would be TRAVEL. I wish I had the time and the money to just wander and go places I've never been.
21. I try and read 10 books a year. I'm currently on Pillar of Fire. It's long and a bit too dense, but I'll finish it.
22. Despite number 20, I really am at my core, a "home body." I love being home. My wife has made it a very warm and comfortable place to be.
23. When I fly on planes I love the window seat. I spend a lot of time looking out the window, looking for landmarks and wondering, "what are all those people up to down there?
24. My best friend -- besides my wife -- is a guy I've been friends with since we were in 7th grade, all the way back to 1978! 31 years!
25. I proposed to my wife at mile 13 of the 1987 LA Marathon.

Rebecca, Reborn

A really cool and new thing happened this week. Well, not exactly "new, new", but it was more than enough to remind us of what we've been missing, a glow that lit up our competitions of months-past with the light of inspiration and admiration. That light had been all but extinguished by the darkness of disappointment and dire days. But there in the night sky Saturday, circling the Cal State Fullerton track 12 times 'round, we saw illumination again.

Rebecca Asplund is back.

I'm convinced that part of the purpose of memory is to give greater meaning to the present day. Rebecca's recent memories of her running have not been pleasant ones. Due to a variety of circumstances, her Fall cross country campaign was one in which she and everyone who loved her wished could have just been waived. It was plain old tough going, there's no other way of describing it. Her heart longed for those easy runs, those glorious races. Such dances with talent had gone away. Far away. From August to November of 2008, her daily dose of reality was hard runs and frustrating races. Knowing how much she loves running and truly wants to pursue its rewards, it was heartbreaking to see her go through what she endured last Fall.

But those painful memories, transposed onto what we see happening now, are making the "now" light up the night sky. Scampering lightly Saturday night in a collegiate 5K in Fullerton, the Rebecca Asplund of yesteryear was reborn. She flitted across the track. Dropping opponents and seconds, the sweat that poured from her was not beading into a pool of disappointment as it had all last season, it splashed off the track just as her spikes sparkled in the stadium lights. Gone were the heavy legs and heavier heart.

Rebecca is reborn.

She's been a tireless worker from the moment she arrived at King. Having given up her childhood pursuit of high-level softball, she dove into this new sport of distance running with a dimpled smile and a can-do attitude. She excelled early and often. She played the part of "perfect teammate" and "competitive warrior" simultaneously and did both with class.

But that hard work wouldn't cut it last Fall. The dead leaves of autumn seemed to illustrate what last season would become: a slow but inevitable fall to earth. A cold winter of wondering blew in.

But with spring comes hope. Despite the lingering doubts that littered her mind, Rebecca did what Rebecca does best ... she got back at it, determined to succeed. Through the early weeks of this year we saw the sprouts of new life, but she and we knew only one thing would prove the rebirth. Race day.

That day came this week. First in a frolicing two races against Chaparral when the smile on her face replaced the furrowed brow of before. Then again on Saturday, with 12 laps and collegiate competitors to go, she burst forth with an incredible race, proving with a wail of glee that perseverence and determination are not dead and the past does not spell the now and that the old can become new again.

Life springs eternal.

What a week. Welcome back, Rebecca!

What's The Purpose of This?

Every now and then -- not often -- a kid will ask me "what's this for?" in regards to a training run or workout. It's a good question, I love 'em, because they beat the statement some make which goes, "you runners, all you guys do is just go out an' jog, right???" Uh, wrong.

What we do has purpose. What we do is part of a bigger plan to produce prodigious performances. (I didn't have to say it that way, but it looked cool on the screen so I went with it.)

Like today. We did a funky, kind of odd workout, one that would seem, well, like, "what's the purpose of this?" Hill sprints. 3 of them. Uh, why?

Read this to get the answer!

Spoiled ... How Sweet it Is

I have to admit,I'm a bit spoiled. No, not in the traditional sort of way, where I get whatever I want, whenever I want it. I don't throw fits when my way isn't the way, but yea, I'm spoiled.

It dawned on me about dawn this morning. There I was, on the lonely Highway 111 headed toward Palm Springs at 0-dark-100. The eastern horizon went from a low glow to an orange slice, cut only by the dark desert that stretched out before me. My headlights cut an amber v-section out on the pavement. Ahead of me, beyond the high beams, awaited the Palm Springs Half Marathon and assembled there were some 15 teenagers, awaiting the start of the race. To get there on time, most had rolled out of bed before 5:00 am. On a Sunday.

Distance running is not the easiest of sports. I watch some other activities at school where most of those involved seem to do a lot of standing around watching the talented ones actually practice. Our's is a sport that doesn't naturally attract teenagers. Here in SoCal, we're known for chillin' at the mall or hangin' in front of our Xboxes. But get up before the crack of dawn and drive an hour to Palm Springs to run a race? Are you kiddin' me?

But there they were. No kidding. Ready to go, smiles on their morning faces, eager to push themselves. They had formed a number of relay teams, each dividing the 13.1 mile race into thirds. They all raced well. They took home medals and memories.

I took home a sense of spoiledness. How many coaches are as blessed am I? Maybe a bunch, I don't know, but I do know this: I'm enjoying every crack of daylight. Those routine rays shine brightly on what are increasingly good days, filled with uncommon kids, doing uncommon things.

If that ain't spoiled, I don't know what is.

Pacing is Everything!

Pacing is everything! We've preached this for 10 seasons now, but every now and then we get an example of exactly how it's done.

Below are the splits from Galen Rupp's recent INDOOR 5K national record. The laps are short, usually about 200 meters. But look closely at the numbers in parentheses(33.11, etc.) Thos are his lap splits on the way to a national record.

Notice they don't start fast, slow down, then speed up. They are all within 1.5 seconds of his first lap, until he starts kicking with 600 meters to go.

Impressive!

What's it mean to you? We'll be starting track training -- meaning on the track -- in a couple of weeks. Will you train to race like Rupp? You think he managed that consistency on race day by being all over the place in practice? Make a goal, make a goal.
2 RUPP
Galen Oregon Lane: 11 13:18.12
33.11 (33.11) ,1:06.17 (33.07) ,1:38.51 (32.34) ,2:11.46 (32.96)
,2:43.93 (32.47) ,3:16.30 (32.37) ,3:47.92 (31.62) ,4:19.77 (31.85)
,4:52.54 (32.78) ,5:23.80 (31.26) ,5:54.64 (30.85) ,6:26.95 (32.32)
,6:59.57 (32.62) ,7:31.63 (32.07) ,8:02.99 (31.36) ,8:35.32 (32.33)
,9:08.48 (33.16) ,9:40.78 (32.30) ,10:13.48 (32.71) ,10:46.12 (32.64)
,11:18.34 (32.22) ,11:49.92 (31.59) ,12:21.13 (31.21) ,12:50.85 (29.73)
,13:18.12 (27.27)

An Olympic Evening

Ruth Wysocki, the 1984 1500 meter and 800 meter Olympian paid us a visit the other night and serenaded us with stories of her running career. What a privilege it was! Ruth started running, kind of "by accident" and quickly discovered she liked winning the ribbons and medals that came with top placing at age-group meets. From there she ran on the boys team at her high school (girls didn't run much in those days and had few opportunities to race) and ultimately ended up running for Vince O'Boyle at UC Irvine. O'Boyle has been the coach of King alums Megan Fairley and Brian Brierly as well.

Her stories culminated with her upset victory in the 1500 meter Olympic Trials in '84. She beat the presumed favorite, Mary Decker, who held 17 national records and hadn't been beaten in 5 years! She was the reigning World Champion at the distance. None of that fazed Wysocki however, and with 300 to go, she punched it and raced Decker side-by-side for the last lap, edging into the lead with only 10 meters to go. It was an upset of upsets and catapulted her into the Olympic Games in Los Angeles where she would finish in the top 8 of both the 800 and 1500 meter races.

Funny, engaging and informative, the night was one to remember!

2007 BLOOD:WATER MISSION Project Update

Many of you can remember the season of 2007 in which we participated in a couple of community service projects, one of which was raising over $2,000 for BloodWater:Mission, an organization that works to dig drinking water wells in Africa. Their organization also works to provide AIDS relief across the continent.

Some exciting national news has come out of the organization, and by extension, our fundraising efforts as well.

Recently a documentary has been released called, SONS OF LWALA. "It tells the story of Vanderbilt University Medical School students Milton and Fred Ochieng’, two brothers from Kenya whose village sent them to America to become doctors. After losing both parents to AIDS, they are left with the heartbreaking task of returning home to finish the health clinic their father started before getting sick. Unable to raise enough money on their own, the brothers are joined by students, politicians and rock musicians who put on fundraising drives throughout the United States through Blood:Water Mission's support. SONS OF LWALA follows Milton and Fred on their incredible journey as they find a way, despite all odds, to open their village’s first hospital." - (bloodwatermission.org)

Here's the trailer to the film, and below it a link to the ABC News story


The brothers will be featured on ABC's World News with Charlie Gibson tonight, January 30 at 6:45PM (PST) as the program's "Persons of the Week."

Click here to read the ABC News story.

All State Honors

For the first time in King High's 10 year history, the cross country teams notched three All-State Selections in a single season. The most previously was in 2006 when Kelsi Tippets and Carissa Bowman earned the distinction.

Congratulations to Lane Werley, Devin Becerra and Kelsi Tippets for working their way to the top of their individual grade levels in the entire state of California!

Read what dyestatcal.com had to say about each:

Kelsi Tippets (ML King, Riverside-SS) - Kelsi had a couple of super efforts when it counted, with a fifth in the tough Section Division I Finals and top 25 finish at the State Meet.

Lane Werley (King HS, Riverside-SS) -- A convert from basketball the sensational youngster revealed great promise for the future with multiple quality races, including a fine 15:56 at the Clovis Invitational.

Devin Becerra (ML King, Riverside-SS) -- While teammate Lane Werley caught our eye early in 2008, Devin moved into the frame by late season too. His 16:44 run at the early-season Mt. Carmel Invitational showed promise, with a 16:32 run on the state meet course fulfilling those views.

We Have Only Our Bodies

Three days after Martin Luther King heard the call to carry on, the local KKK threw a bomb on the porch of King's home, exploding and ripping a hole in the front wall. Fortunately no one was injured in the blast, but the gauntlet had been thrown down.

Calling or not, the message was clear: You and your kind are not wanted.

A crowd of angry protesters assembled on the lawn that night, armed and dangerous, seeking retribution. Above the shouts and expletives, King's voice rose and called for calm. He asked the throng to put away their guns, love their enemies, turn the other cheek. "We cannot solve this problem through retaliatory voilence" he said as a cocktail of dynamite and vengence stirred the night air. "We must meet violence with non violence. Remember the words of Jesus: 'He who lives by the sword will perish by the sword.'" Then, like throwing moral salt into the open wounds, he finished with "We must make them know that we love them. Jesus still cries out in words that echo across the centuries: 'Love your enemies; bless them that curse you ...' This is what we must live by. We must meet hate with love."

His message was clear: Me and my kind will not be moved.

As a student of Gandhi, a nonviolent approach to segregation had been percolating in King's mind for some time, but the radical call to withhold the counter strike met one of its first real tests that ugly night. As the splinters and dust settled and by the time the crowd deflated and dispersed, a movement unlike any other was born. The foot soldiers would carry only their bodies into battle. Evil would be met with love. Fists with faces. Teeth with legs. Though history has shown that revolutions are fought with guns, and fire is fought with more fire, this one would be different ... and very difficult. It would be an "Anti-Revolution" and King was betting that despite the difficulties it would ultimately prevail.

When tested and tired, King returned to his home. While accepting the Nobel Peace Prize in 1964, he recalled that reference point, Jesus' Sermon on the Mount. "When the years have rolled past" King said, "and when the blazing light of truth is focused on this marvelous age in which we live, men and women will know and children will be taught that we have a finer land, a better people, a more noble civilization, because these humble children of God were willing to 'suffer for righteousness sake.'"

All of that sounds well and good until you get to the "suffering" part. Most of us don't like to suffer, most of all me. Why else do we have pills and air conditioning? Truth is, that part was a hard sell for King too. Though many signed on to suffer with him for righteousness, many gagged on it or balked. In a tense meeting with the double-crossing mayor of Chicago who reneged on a promise to let them march, King explained the weariness that comes in doing the hard thing:

"Let me say that if you are tired of demonstrations, I am tired of demonstrating. I am tired of the threat of death. I want to live, I don't want to be a martyr. ...I am tired of getting hit, tired of being beaten, tired of going to jail. " But then, pulling out his ultimate weapon, he said,"Now gentlemen, you know we don't have much. We don't have much money. We don't really have much education, and we don't have political power. We have only our bodies and you are asking us to give up the one thing that we have when you say, 'don't march.'"

Ouch. Moved, the mayor changed course and the bodies marched. Score one for the unarmed foot soldiers.

It is difficult (perhaps impossible) for those of us in 21st Century Southern California to really imagine the plight of African Americans who lived in the South in the middle of the last century. The violence perpetrated by racists is sick enough to leave unmentioned here. The KKK was given by local governments "free passes" to do as they pleased to demonstrators prior to the police moving in. The FBI, like so many holders of power then, was bent. Even President Kennedy, with his own secrets to hide, was made to realize it'd be in his best interests to stall a civil rights bill King had personally pleaded with him to enact. The Sixties were stained with the sins of pride and racism. To be in the trenches of that fight was to sign up for suffering. Some survived, some didn't.

But the movement King led did survive, and perhaps it's life was best summed up in a speech King gave on the steps of the State Capitol building in Montgomery, after one of the largest and most brutal marches recorded. 25,000 folks were tired, not just of the march, but of marching. Yet it was again the hope of victory, the assurance of victory that Martin Luther King offered them that lifted their spirits. He finished his thoughts this way:

"I know you are asking today, "How long will it take?" Somebody’s asking, "How long will prejudice blind the visions of men, darken their understanding, and drive bright-eyed wisdom from her sacred throne?" ...Somebody’s asking, ... How long will justice be crucified, and truth bear it?"

I come to say to you this afternoon, however difficult the moment, however frustrating the hour, it will not be long, because "truth crushed to earth will rise again."
How long? Not long, because "no lie can live forever."
How long? Not long, because "you shall reap what you sow."
How long? Not long: Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne, Yet that scaffold sways the future, and behind the dim unknown, Standeth God within the shadow, Keeping watch above his own.
How long? Not long, because the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice. How long? Not long, because 'Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord; He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He has loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword; His truth is marching on. He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat; He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment seat. O, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! Be jubilant my feet! Our God is marching on.

Glory, hallelujah!
Glory, hallelujah!
Glory, hallelujah!
Glory, hallelujah!
His truth is marching on."

Had the crowd not already been on it's feet, it would have stood. Tired and sore marchers were reminded that the God of the moral universe marched with them. A banner of truth unfurled and flapped in the Southern breeze.

Carry on!

A Kitchen Table Calling

In her great, recent work titled Team of Rivals, Doris Kearns Goodwin paints a glowing portrait of her subject, Abraham Lincoln. Lately the book has attracted a large national audience as President Elect Obama has been observed creating with inspiration his own "team of rivals" for his cabinet.

Lincoln is described in Team as a man of relentless ambition. In a letter written to the folks of Sangamon County during his first-ever campaign Lincoln wrote, "Every man is said to have his peculiar ambition. ...I can say for one that I have no other ambition so great as that of being truly esteemed of my fellow men, by rendering myself worthy of their esteem. How far I shall succeed in gratifying this ambition, is yet to be developed." Sadly the youthful Lincoln wondered if he had missed his moment, he "worried that 'the field of glory' had been harvested by the founding fathers, that nothing had been left for his generation but modest ambitions." Despite that dour outlook, his ambition to make something of himself carried him. Once, while in a severe depression that left Lincoln bedridden and others wondering if he should perish, he was able to muster on, for "I had done nothing to make any human being remember that I have lived."

Of course the history of the 1850's and '60's had different ideas for the politician. That old fear of Old Abe's was proven unfounded as that ambition would catapult him to the nation's highest office. In the midst of America's darkest hour, marked by Blue and Grey and Black, he would claim for his own the light of America's greatest achievement.

In August of 1963, Martin Luther King stood in the literal and figurative shadow of Lincoln's esteem to deliver his epic I have a Dream speech. With the soaring granite memorial to the Great Emancipator behind him, Dr. King's soaring eloquence spoke of a legacy and a dream, of a past and a future, of undeniable ideals left unfulfilled. Though the echoes of Lincoln reverberated in King's magisterial speech, the journey King took to reach that pinnacle could not have been more unlike Lincoln's. Where Lincoln was driven to great heights, King was called.

Martin Luther King Jr's desire had always been to simply preach just as his father and grandfather had done in Georgia. It was in his genes. While in his early twenties, the younger Martin moved to the North to attend seminary, met the beautiful Coretta, and was soon married. Only a dissertation short of graduation, an opportunity came to hold his own pulpit in Alabama and given the "stodgy wealth" of the Dexter Avenue Baptist congregation, he figured there would be a number of nice fringe benefits to go along with the gig. He took the job and quickly settled into writing sermons and church budgets.

Of course the history of the 1950's and '60's had different ideas for the preacher. That comfortable, promising career of young Martin vanished in the midst of another dark hour marked by tear gas, gunfire and German Shepherds. But it was through that fiery trial that Martin Luther King Jr. would be catapulted to heights of his own, and in so doing he ushered in the light of America's new morning. The daybreak of equality was cracking through the darkness of history.

All sunrises begin in the dark of night and it was no different for King. While leading the Montgomery bus boycott in 1956 -- a responsibility he accepted reluctantly -- the weight of death threats and the fear of what could happen to his infant daughter and wife shoved King to the cliff of capitulation. It was still early in the movement, but he frankly had enough and the comforts of preaching to a well-clad and receptive audience each Sunday at Dexter Ave. was alluring. Unable to sleep, he arose, poured some coffee, and sat at his kitchen table running through a mental Rolodex of options. King described what happened that night:

"And I sat at that table thinking about that little girl and thinking about the fact that she could be taken away from me any minute. And I started thinking about a dedicated, devoted and loyal wife, who was over there asleep. … And I got to the point that I couldn't take it anymore. I was weak. … And I discovered then that religion had to become real to me, and I had to know God for myself. And I bowed down over that cup of coffee. I never will forget it. … I prayed a prayer, and I prayed out loud that night. I said, "Lord, I'm down here trying to do what's right. I think I'm right. I think the cause that we represent is right. But Lord, I must confess that I'm weak now. I'm faltering. I'm losing my courage." … And it seemed at that moment that I could hear an inner voice saying to me, "Martin Luther, stand up for righteousness. Stand up for justice. Stand up for truth. And lo I will be with you, even until the end of the world." … I heard the voice of Jesus saying still to fight on. He promised never to leave me, never to leave me alone. No never alone. No never alone. He promised never to leave me, never to leave me alone."

King's rise to greatness would not be a Lincolnian quest to live a life worthy of history's esteem. Rather, as darkness swirled about him, it would be a still small voice that jarred him into accepting his new reality. In the coming years, as despair would creep in, it would be that call of God that compelled him to deny himself and take up the cross of someone larger than himself. It would be an anchor through the storms of the civil rights movement that not only held him firm, but changed the nation as well.

Today, if you visit the Rosa Parks Institute in Montgomery, there is a sizable display in the museum to the "kitchen table" moment in Martin Luther King's life. Gazing upon it, one is confronted with how simple and serene it looks. It is not a grand stage or platform from which momentous events are launched. Absent are the trappings of power, prestige or office. It is a humble place. It is quiet.

But from the solitude of that little room came big things. Over a cooling cup of coffee, at a little kitchen table, a theological template for political action had been born. The voice of redemption was heard. America owes a debt of gratitude to the Call young Martin heard that night and to the courage he showed to follow it's voice.

Mileage Kings and Queens

We've been preaching for a decade now how success in distance running is almost always connected to the amount of miles one trains. Of course, there are exceptions to the rule, but generally speaking, the axiom "more is better" is more often than not, true.

So to that end we started asking our runners to record their miles all year. The calendar clicks on, their running should as well. The reward, other than tremendous improvement in the sport, would be a patch for their letter-jackets should they reach pleateaus arbitrarly set at round numbers above 700.

This season's "long milers" are:
Brandon Rogers: 1000
Devin Becerra: 900
Charlie Alvarez: 900
Jared Nocella: 900
Rebecca Asplund: 800
Derek Nelson: 800
Carrie Soholt: 700

And in a strange coincidental way, this is this blog's 100th post! (Ok, it isn't that strange)