A Miserable Rainstorm Was My Lucky Day?
- rickdmoore
- 1 hour ago
- 5 min read
I have never claimed to be a great runner. At best, I’m someone who has pushed my meager talents about as far as I could over the years.
But there have been times when I’ve benefitted by being in the right place at the right time. Or simply put, when I've been very lucky!
There was that time when an obscure 10-mile race got my name into Runners World. (And no, I wasn’t smart enough to keep that issue!). Also recall receiving a big trophy in a race because the winner went the wrong way. (And he did not want the trophy when I offered it to him afterwards.)
But far and away, my greatest gift of good fortune occurred during the spring of 1981. Although my bags were already mentally packed for moving to Western Oregon State College next year, I still had a final term at Umpqua Community College to complete.
That included one last season wearing those goofy green shorts and that striped singlet.
Track 1981 - Season of the "Meh"
You’d think that 45 years distance would shine a more wistful light on that season. But no. What I remember are a series of races where I'd finish a place or two out of last with times that were mediocre at best.
Like I said, my heart had pretty much already taken the freeway up to Monmouth where that dorky green would become red and gray.
It was just a matter of counting down the days.
Under the Weather
My unexpected bout with good fortune started with what I thought was lousy fortune. Morning of a very rare home track meet, a nasty cold I’d been tussling with had gained the upper hand. With what had to be several gallons of crud stuffed into every sinus in my head and running in a continuous stream out my nose, I saw no way that I was going to participate. Indeed, I was about to call Coach Alexander when…
...He called me.
You have to understand that Ron Alexander was about the most unexcitable person on the planet. A winning lottery ticket might elicit the raising of an eyebrow. Rousing, fiery speeches were not coming from this man.
Anyway, he called to let me know our competitor, Mt. Hood Community College from the Portland area, had only one guy running the 10K. So, no matter how much I stunk it up, if I just finished, we’d get some much-needed points.
What could I say? This was a guy who let me run the Portland Indoor several months earlier - even though I lost count of the laps and stopped early before taking off again - earning what would have a viral hit had there been cell phones to capture my buffoonery.
“I’ll be there, Coach!”
Still Under the Weather
Having somewhere along the way gained the wrath of the Weather Gods, this was a day where a steady, cold, dreary rain started at dawn and continued until late that evening.
So what, I hear you saying. You can just stay under a shelter until you race.
You’d think that. But UCC’s track had been carved into a hillside of basalt with nary a scrawny tree nor blackberry bush to offer shelter from rain and wind. Which we had in abundance that day.
Still, loyal soldier that I was, I lined up beside a guy around my size for what would be twenty-five laps around an all-weather track already laden with a several puddles. Maybe this would make up for that distance medley where I got our team into a last place start the previous week.
Styx’s “The Best of Times” mockingly ran on repeat in my head for the start and first few laps, making me realize it was truly time to reconsider the musical choices I’d made driving to the college.
But as the race progressed, two things were and weren’t happening. In the “were” category, my head was clearing, allowing me to actually breathe without sounding like a sawmill functioning at full capacity. As for the “weren’t”, this guy wasn't losing me. Instead, he remained within striking distance.
What to do? What to do?
End of the day, I’m a survivor. I was barely two miles into this race. Plenty of time for misfortune to rear it's misshapen features. No need for heroics that could totally embarrass me in front of the five individuals braving the elements on those small, metal bleachers. Rick would just stay right where he was and if by some miracle, some gift from gods, this guy remained this close on the final lap, then Rick would go after him.
Which is exactly what I did. Following the firing of a gun lap - a shot I swear was at my ear! - I picked up the pace, pulled ahead of this guy, held my position for the remainder of that lap and - for the first time in over two years, won a track race!
Definitely a cool moment. But again, I’m a realist. My time was nowhere near the time zone of a personal best. There were only two of us in this race. Neither of us were all that good.
Another Phone Call
Next morning, my mother had a call from some friend telling her that I was on the front page of the sports section of the Sunday News-Review! Now that’s not quite the Washington Post or LA Times, but it does happen to be the main newspaper for Douglas County.
And of course, my parents weren’t subscribers. Quick store trip and I returned home to show Dad and Mom that their firstborn was indeed on the front sports page dueling it out in the rain against this guy from Mt. Hood.
That article pumped it all up nicely. It mentioned my race with the two real talents we had on the team who actually had the strong performances. The writer pointed to my “strategic” victory - a term he used without having ever spoken to me.
Not that I had any complaints.
While I’d been running for years, it seemed that suddenly people noticed it. “Good to know you’re still running.” “I didn’t know you were on their track team.” “My daughter still won’t date you.”
Okay, I added that last one.
Oddly enough, the attention continued that next week on campus, with people I barely knew congratulating for what was just an okay race - at best. Someone wiseass jokingly asked if I’d be signing copies in the student center later in the afternoon.
Back to Earth
Naturally, the attention soon faded. The remainder of the season steadfastly maintained it’s “meh” rating with one exception. I got to know the guy in that race. We would chat at future races, even going into my first season at Western Oregon. I shared the article and picture with him, both of us laughing over it.
And if I’d called Coach Alexander five minutes earlier to skip the meet, none of it would have happened.
There’s luck. And there’s dumb luck. You can pretty easily guess which one fits this occasion.
My thanks for allowing me to revisit this fun memory. For my next post, you're all invited to join me to “run” the Eugene Half Marathon. No, I’m not ready to actually run it this year. But that’s not going to stop me. Or any of you. In two weeks, we’re doing a “Close Your Own Adventure” for this race! See you then!
