In March 1984, The Cars released Heartbeat City just in time for senior year band tour (Hello, Boise!) and running track (Hello again, Boise!). This song, more than any other, brings back memories of all those track meets, but especially the state track meet.
During the last three months of school, I can only recall two personal goals that I actively pursued every day. First, I wanted to beat Darin Woolstenhume, my arch-nemesis from Bear Lake High School, in the mile or two-mile race at any track meet that season. Second, I wanted to go to the state track meet in either the mile or the two-mile race. That's why I started training in February for those races by jogging the streets around Arimo or running up the Arkansas road until it got so muddy I had to turn back.
I faced the fleet-footed Woolstenhume in several races before the district track meet, but I came in a close second every time. (Curse you and your fleet feet, Woolstenhume!) At the district track meet, only the guys that that placed first, second, or third would qualify to go to state. It was a must-win situation for me if I wanted to achieve my two goals. And to get me psyched up for the race, the week before the meet, my beloved long-distance track coach gave me an extremely good pep talk. He said to me, "You're gonna pound that sass right out of him! Last time you should have won. But this time you're gonna be scary kid! You're gonna be a greasy fast Italian monster! You're gonna eat lightning! You're gonna crap thunder! We're gonna have to put ya in a cage, kid!"
Naw. I'm just kidding. We didn't have a long-distance track coach. Those of us that wanted to run anything longer than one trip around the track had to basically coach ourselves. That's because the track coaches were really football coaches, and all they cared about was the sprints. They used track as a way to check out which underclassmen showed the greatest promise for next year's football team. Senior year long-distance runners were of zero interest to them.
I figured my best shot at beating Woolstenhume would be the two-mile race at the beginning of the district meet, so that's the only one I really had any strategy for. I had been working on my sprint to the finish line, so much so that I could run the 400 faster than two of the guys on the 4x4 team (which really pissed them off). I was certain that if I kept up with Woolstenhume until the last lap of the race, I'd be able to crush him by starting an early sprint for the finish line, which would probably catch him off guard. I figured that would make him poop out in the last half-lap of the race. Victory would be mine!
But my strategy was flawed. He met my early sprint-for-the-finish challenge and beat me by a step or two. (Curse you, Woolstenhume! You magnificently fast bastard!) I was crushed to have come in second in that race. I had blown my best shot at defeating him at least once during my high school track career. And even though by coming in second I had made my goal of going to state in the two-mile race, I couldn't help but feel disappointed that all the work I had gone to hadn't produced the results I wanted. But there was still the mile race at the end of the meet, so I stretched and relaxed and stayed hydrated with the hope that maybe he'd fall down in the mile race, and I could somehow beat him.
When the mile race started, it was balls to the wall from the get-go. Both Woolstenhume and I went out fast, putting us both on a record-breaking pace. But in the last half lap of the race, Woolstenhume began to fade, and I pulled out in front of him. We were both exhausted from the effort of the two-mile race, and I also began to hit the wall and couldn't run any faster, but I stayed ahead of him. I was going to win!
At least I was until the last 100 yards of the race. That's when one of Woolstenhume's teammates surged ahead of me and won the race. Are you kidding me?! Who was that guy?! I'd never seen him run a long-distance race before in any of the meets in all four years of running track! I was super-pissed that he'd beat me, but I still felt good that I'd finally beat Woolstenhume in that race. Both of my goals had been achieved!
I kept up my training for the state track meet, but I knew there was zero chance that I would even place in either the mile or two mile race. Because we shared the bus ride up with the Bear Lake team, the coaches put all us long distance runners together, and I ended up sharing a room with Darin Woolstenhume. That's when I found out--to my utter and complete disappointment--that he was a super-nice guy. He couldn't have been friendlier either. So our rivalry came to an abrupt end, as did my motivation to try to beat him in the two-mile race. While we spent most of the time before the races together, I only remember two things about our conversations--eating pancakes as a carb-loading strategy and how much we liked the songs on Heartbeat City. I believe he was partial to "Hello Again," while I liked "You Might Think" the most. Why? Because any video depicting acts of underwater voyeurism on soaped-up supermodels in clawfoot tubs is a-okay with me!
(Cool trivia: Ric Okasec ended up marrying the supermodel in this video. I think he was playing catch-up to Billy Joel.)
Within the first two laps of the two-mile race, I quickly realized I was totally unprepared for the level of competition at the state track races. I came in dead last in both races, and Woolstenhume came in way ahead of me in both. That was due in part to an upset stomach that I had throughout the meet. I basically didn't stop running at the end of either race until I got to a restroom, where my colon continued the race for another ten minutes.
Other than my gastrointestinal pain, the main thing I remember about the state meet was what the crowd did as I ran that last lap in the two-mile race. Although I had run the first mile of the race in under 5 minutes--the first time I'd ever run a mile that fast--my body wouldn't let me run faster than a 6-minute last mile. I got lapped by the winners, and the crowd could see that I was sucking wind pretty bad, but that I was giving it my all. Still, at the beginning of that last lap I had faded so far behind the others that it seemed I was sure to come in last. But there was this one kid about 50 feet ahead of me, and I decided that even though it was a long shot, I'd try to beat him. So I poured on as much speed as I could during the last half-lap. The kid wasn't paying attention to what was going on behind him, as I had been so far behind he was certain I'd come in last. But when the crowd saw me sneaking up behind him, they started to cheer me on. The kid looked up into the stands, surprised at what he was hearing. And then he looked behind to see me coming up on him fast. He then high-tailed it to the finish line, to the delight of the crowd. The two of us had an all-out sprint to the end, with the crowd cheering us on, and since they had started cheering when I made my final sprint, I felt like they were mainly cheering for me. But they're psychological support did not work any magic, and I came in last.
Even though I left the state track meet a double loser, I still felt satisfied that I had run the best two-mile race I could (under 11 minutes). Like so many other things that had happened to me in that last semester of my senior year, I had embarrassed myself and failed miserably at something I really wanted to win at. I knew it. And I knew that everybody else knew it. But I still hadn't given up completely. I had just taken the pain and embarrassment, gritted my teeth, and sprinted for the finish line anyway. And that's pretty much what I did to get through the remaining weeks of high school after the meet. Although it was a difficult experience at the time, I learned an important life lesson from it all--a lesson best summed up in the lyrics of this song.
And it was hard, so hard to take.
There's no escape without a scrape.
But you kept it goin' till the sun fell down.
You kept it goin'.
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