by Chris Lear
The guys would find the latter part of his statement quite debatable.
The run starts at the five-mile marker on the side of the road at about 8000 feet. After descending a slight hill for a quarter mile, the road starts to climb. And legs start to burn. Only fools summit this hill too quickly, for the road proceeds to ascend through rolling hills for three miles before a full-mile climb to the four-mile mark.
At last, there is a break from the climbing, but it is short-lived. The climb resumes for most of the fifth and sixth miles before rolling through the seventh mile. Those running fourteen miles turn around there. Those continuing to do 17.4 miles cross the Peak to Peak Highway and run out and back on the flattest stretch of the run. Such is the severity of the climbing on the way out that runners routinely average 45 seconds to a minute per mile faster on the return. Rest assured, the elevation and the climbing tax the lungs and the legs like no other run in the CU program . . .
On this Sunday the runners are meeting at the bronze buffalo that 32
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sits outside Balch at 8 a.m. Some, like Slattery, rise at a quarter to eight and bike from their dorm room to the buffalo. Others, like Goucher, rise considerably earlier.
Some birds are chirping at 7:50 a.m., and Slattery arrives first with a couple of freshman girls. He is clad in his standard Mt. Olive T-shirt and some long, baggy shorts. Johnson arrives five minutes later, followed by Friedberg and Schafer. The rest file in quickly after that.
There are roughly thirty people assembled by the buffalo as Wetmore emerges from Balch. He wears a white cap with a black Nike swoosh, a gray Nike sweatshirt and thick gray sweatpants. He is definitely kicking it old school.
He walks slowly and deliberately towards the group, document in hand. Conversations continue, but all eyes focus on Wetmore as he approaches. The eyes do not faze him. His businesslike demeanor does not change. Tessman and Schafer laugh as they ponder what he is thinking.
As is his custom, Wetmore passes the document to one of the athletes. Everyone is to come check to see his assignment for the day. The guys are relieved to see he is taking it easy on them today after yesterday’s gaffe. Scrawled in thick firm cursive writing is the following: Many of you have taken a big step in volume or intensity recently. I have under-assigned many of you because of that. We have ten more LD’s (long days) coming, each of which will be harder.
Underneath his message he writes their assignments. Women’s assignments are on the left, men on the right. Johnson, still just starting his training, is assigned eight miles. (He runs eleven.) Slattery is assigned ten miles, there is a group doing twelve miles, and Berkshire, Napier, Ponce, Friedberg, Severy, Batliner, and Goucher are assigned two hours, easy.
Batliner sees the document and says, “That is the second time in four years I’ve seen ‘easy’ next to a Sunday run.” Knowing they still have to run Mags, Wes says, “Yeah, but that’s like saying ‘easy Flagstaff.’”
It is extremely hot on Magnolia Road. None of the runners wear a T-shirt. As they head out, Goucher and Severy establish a quick lead ahead of everyone. They talk casually to one another and Goucher asks Severy how he likes living in his
cabin. Severy has rented a cabin
atop Flagstaff Mountain for the
semester from a CU professor.
He says he is loving it, except he
found some black widows there
Severy’s cabin
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yesterday and he had to exterminate the place. Severy laughs when telling the story, as though their presence is really no big deal.
As they approach four miles, Friedberg catches Goucher and Severy.
Goucher looks back and shoots Friedberg a condescending glance mixed with surprise. “Friedberg!” he says. “What are you doing here?” “Just running,” he says. “Yeah, but you’re supposed to be running easy,” Goucher replies, “and your easy is not the same as my easy.” Friedberg’s face is flushed, and the exertion is clearly affecting him. He does not respond, or slow down.
Batliner is right behind Friedberg, and by four miles they are running together as a pack. The four run as one until there are only two miles to go, when Goucher finally pulls ahead. He runs the 17.4 mile course in 1:48 before tacking on twelve minutes to make it a nineteen- to nineteen-and-a-half-mile run. The run gives him 100 miles this week, with only one five-mile morning run in addition to his afternoon runs. “I’m gonna try to hold this (mileage) all fall,” he says, “then I should be where I need to be.”
In his log he writes, Felt pretty good, Mark told us to go easy, but you can never really go easy on Mags.
Severy and Friedberg finish the 17.4 a few minutes later before adding on ten minutes to make it an eighteen-mile day. Friedberg struggles with the extra ten minutes, but it is nevertheless a huge day for him.
It brings his weekly total to 98 miles. He is training as hard as anyone.
After sticking with Severy on Mags, he has to be thinking of joining the club that Cleckler and Cooper founded and Napier continued.
Batliner runs the 17 in 1:57. He is tired, but not overly so. The same cannot be said for Ponce and Berkshire, who are nowhere to be seen as Batliner finishes. Wetmore heads out in one of the vans to check on the remaining athletes. “My dream,” he says, “is to have ten men and ten women running the full Mags together at six- to seven-minute mile pace.
But it’ll never happen. Mags always claims its victims.” As if on cue, Wet -
more passes a struggling Oscar Ponce. “Look at Scar,” Wetmore says, “he’s hurting.” Ponce squints from the sun, his shoulders are drawn high, and his strides are minuscule. It is the gait of a blown-out runner.
Behind Ponce, Berkshire is in even worse straits. When he finishes, he can do nothing more than wordlessly walk in slow circles before sitting in the shade next to the van. He just wants to get home. If he is anxious or worried he is not fit, his teammates will pick him up. Says Goucher, “If someone has a bad day, we all pull together. A lot of people get distressed after one bad day, but we’re there to stabilize each other.
We’ll say, ‘Don’t be dumb, you’re fit. There’s no way you can’t be fit.’”
Only O’Mara has cause for concern. He suffers through his twelve-mile assignment. Next to his name on the document Wetmore writes:
“dying.”
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Monday, August 24, 1998
OYO
Rest . . . Finally
Since organized practice began on August 18th, five out of the six days have been hard. The men earned a well-deserved easy day today. According to NCAA regulations, teams are only allowed to have organized practice six days a week. All season long, Mondays will be “OYO”— on your own.
Today they are assigned an easy 40 to 70 minutes with six to eight 100-meter strides. On the high end of the spectrum, Goucher runs the maximum 70 minutes. But he notes in his log, “need more sleep at night and rest, not getting enough rest for the amount of mileage I’m doing.”
Friedberg “rests” with a 78-minute run of his own in the a.m., and an additional two miles and strides in the afternoon.
On the lower end of the spectrum are the banged-up and lower-
mileage guys. Reese was so beat up from Friday’s run that he took Sunday off. Today, he runs easily for 30 minutes around a grass field by his house. If they are going to win in November, they will need a healthy Reese at the front of the pack . . .
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Tuesday, August 25, 1998
The Buffalo Ranch
7:15 a.m.
Short Specificity
The sun is still risi
ng, casting a dim glow through the clouds onto the Flatirons to the west. The cross country course, referred to by Wetmore as “The Buffalo Ranch,” is located on the University of Colorado’s south-ern Flatirons property. At this hour, it is deserted. The team will be practicing here for the first of many times later this afternoon. In anticipation of this, it was rolled yesterday as part of Wetmore and Drake’s continuing effort to turn this rock-filled patch of land into a legitimate cross country course.
The course itself is a flat dirt trail about ten feet across in most parts.
It is mostly hard dirt, but some resilient tufts of grass poke through. Light blue and purple wildflowers appear in patches. Every creature seems to be awaking; the high pitched staccato of crickets and a symphony of birds compete with the workday commuters for aural attention.
Goucher, whose apartment complex adjoins the course, approaches the starting line after a twenty-minute warm-up, ready to get to work. He is working out alone this morning because he is going to a MatchBox 20
concert this evening with his fiancée at the Red Rocks Amphitheatre.
Classes started yesterday and today he has classes all day starting at 9
a.m., so he must practice now.
This afternoon a bridge that covers a shallow creek that leads to the course’s one steep 75-meter hill will be in place. It is not there now, so Goucher has to modify the day’s endeavor. He is going to run thirteen times 90 seconds hard with a full recovery between each interval. For Goucher, that only takes about 60 seconds.
Goucher sighs wearily and says, “Man, I’m not getting enough sleep.”
A restless sleeper to begin with, he will fight all season to get the rest he needs. He wears black Adidas shorts and a new white Adidas top. As he switches into his Nike Zoom cross spikes, the power of his quads is evident. It is a lean power. The striation in his quadriceps is visible as the muscles dance beneath the skin when he rises from his crouch. Like the Kenyans, his calves are small and undistinguished in comparison. His quads are the engines that power him across the course.
Despite his contrasting outfit, the trees and thick undergrowth in the middle of the one-mile loop he runs camouflage him. He disappears and reappears from behind the foliage in no time at all. He carries some toi-let paper in a little plastic bag in his right hand that he uses as a marker 36
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on his repeats. As he hits 90 seconds on his first interval, he emphatically throws it on the ground and starts jogging around. He bends down and picks it up before clicking his watch to start the next interval where the previous one left off. The efficient workout is over in no time at all. By 8
a.m. he has switched back into his trainers and jogged off into the distance . . .
By 4 p.m. the sun is blazing. The Buffalo Ranch has been deserted for the past eight hours. There is no shade on the course, no respite from the heat. The men are doing the same workout as Goucher, except that they are not running a fixed number of intervals. Rather, they are running 90 second segments until they cover four miles. Wetmore’s only instructions regarding the rest are to take a full recovery before beginning the next interval. They are not timing the rest, but they are keeping a cumulative time to see how long it takes them to traverse four miles.
Severy (nicknamed “the Bus”) and Batliner run out in front of the pack. They have quickly distanced themselves from their teammates by taking only twenty to forty seconds recovery between intervals. They are symbiotic training partners, feeding off each other’s strengths. Batliner pushes the intervals while Severy pushes the rest, taking off before Batliner has a chance to fully recover.
Severy has a large wrap covering a gash on his calf. He bought a motorcycle in mid-August to get up and down from his cabin atop Flagstaff Mountain. His bike ran out of gas this morning and he slipped on some sand while he was slowing down, skidding on his lower leg in the process.
The injury looks bad, but it does not affect his running. Wetmore sees him coming around the course and smiles while shaking his head. “Every year Sev manages to screw it up,” he says. But Wetmore knows he is a diligent worker. “He’s doing all right. If we can just melt the fat off of him we’ll be okay.”
Bat and Sev finish the day’s endeavor first. They have run 19:37 and 19:38 for the four miles. The three milers, Slattery, Schafer, and Elmuccio, also run 19:37, but they arrive several minutes after Bat and Sev because they needed more rest between intervals. Slattery is still thinking about his first Mags. “It sucked. My ankle is so sore from running those hills.”
But he is excited about how comfortable he felt out here today. “I took a little more rest, but I was feeling good. I think I’m adjusting well.”
Reese pulls the surprise of the day. He ran an hour in the pool at Sev’s sister Robin’s apartment complex on Sunday to recover from Saturday’s debacle, and today he does the entire workout. He runs 20:11 and finishes with Ronald Roybal. “My IT has been hurting since last week, but it wasn’t bad when I warmed up today.” He grabs his leg where he had knee surgery as he switches into his trainers and says, “My leg’s just weak.
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But sometimes you just have to say ‘what the fuck.’” He has an appointment next Thursday to see a “miracle healer” in Colorado Springs. He is hoping that will put his pain behind him. Nevertheless, Batliner is enthused to see Reese run so well today. He approaches him and tells him,
“If you stay healthy, I think we’re good for Nationals.” It is something Reese knows all too well.
Jay Johnson finishes as the others lace up their trainers and prepare to cooldown. Today “J-Bird,” as Wetmore calls him, takes his time on the intervals and the rest; he pushes only as much as his body will allow. He covers the four miles in 22:30, over two minutes slower than any of his teammates. A week from today they will be doing this same workout, but with two-minute pushes instead of 90-second segments. That will be the first of many opportunities to start bridging the gap.
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Wednesday, August 26, 1998
Spanish Class
9:10 a.m.
You Need the Melon
Ronald Roybal excuses himself to his Spanish literature professor as he arrives with two huéspedes, or guests, in tow, ten minutes late. The class appears to engage Roybal, a Spanish major, and only Roybal. No other student answers the professor’s queries. Actually, most appear only semi-conscious. Despite his tardiness, in the professor’s eyes Roybal is batting a thousand.
After class, Roybal and his buddy Pedro set off across campus on a beautiful 70-degree morning. “I think it’s time,” says Roybal. He pulls a knife and a beautiful ripe cantaloupe out of his knapsack. He proceeds to offer melon to any and all strangers passing by who, in his estimation,
“need the melon.” “Oh, you see her,” he says pointing to an attractive, pe-tite blond, “she needs the melon. That guy, he needs the melon.” Rejected once, Roybal will always ask, “Are you sure?”
Some will reconsider and take the melon. Others will try to ration-alize it, but to no avail. There is no explanation for Roybal’s actions other than his desire to see people smile. No doubt, it is odd. “But one time,”
he says, voice rising with excitement, “me and Pedro were on Pearl Street and this one guy came around like three times, and his eyes widened, and he was so excited ’cause we kept giving him the melon. It was awesome!”
Today maybe every third person takes the melon, a less successful rate than his trip down Pearl Street. Roybal appears unconcerned and is grinning from ear to ear. “We had honeydew then,” he says. Of course.
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Wetmore’
s Office
Balch Gym
2:30 p.m.
Res Severa Verum Gaudia
A coach’s duties never end. Wetmore has spent the morning schmoozing with a benefactor who is donating $200,000 to the university to resurface the indoor track. The university is matching his donation.
Goucher stopped by later in the morning and the two discussed
drug use in the sport. It concerns them both. Wetmore asks rhetorically,
“How long is it going to be before someone goes over there (to Europe) and comes back with the juice? There’s no blood testing in the NCAA. It won’t be long before collegians are taking EPO.” He and Goucher discuss passively protesting drug use in the sport by having Goucher sport a
“Test me” T-shirt when he goes pro. Wetmore stops abruptly. “Enough speechifying,” he says.
Wetmore’s computer sits on a stand perpendicular to his desk. A screen saver scrolls across the screen in bold white letters: “Res Severa Verum Gaudia.” The quote comes from Gustav Mahler, for a decade a con-ductor at the Vienna State Opera House. He had it scrawled on a piece of paper on his podium. It means, “To be serious is the greatest joy.” It is ap-propriately Wetmore.
“What joy is there,” he says, “in being cavalier about your life or your endeavors? You should take your life, your joy, your endeavors, seriously.”
He leans forward in his chair. “Look,” he continues, “I have the disadvantage of not believing in an afterlife floating on a cloud, playing a harp; so I’m not looking at this as something I just have to get through.” JD appears in the doorway. Full into it now, Wetmore continues, “When my alarm goes off, and I’ve already been up a half hour, I’m fired up!” JD
smiles as Wetmore jokes, “I got the reporter in here, I gotta show off.”
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The Right Stuff
Steve Slattery’s roommate is Matt Ruhl. Ruhl is a 9:29 3200-meter runner from Triton High School in South Jersey, and he is running the time trial in hopes of making the squad. He has been running 70 miles a week and feels fit, but he has his doubts. “You never know what’s going to happen on any given day.” His nerves are tempered a bit by what Wetmore has told him, “Mark said me and this other kid got the best chance of making the roster this year. That helps me to see I’ll do well at the time trial.”
