Running with the Buffaloes

by Chris Lear

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  Friday, September 11, 1998

  The Buffalo Ranch

  6:30 a.m.

  Strength Kills

  The seniors who are not racing tomorrow at the CSU meet are on the course ready to get started. Goucher, Reese, Robbie, Napier, Severy, and Johnson are here for some neuromuscular work: 6x600 meter repeats up and over the Ranch’s primary climb. It is the first hill workout Goucher has seen Wetmore assign him during his tenure. “Yeah, you know why we’re doing that?” Wetmore says. “Because Kansas has some big swooping hills and I want to get ready for that.”

  Wetmore is in a surly mood as the runners finish their preparations.

  JD does not put much stock into it. “He gets moody in September.”

  Apparently Wetmore is also susceptible to seasonal affective disorder.

  JD says, “You’ve got to learn not to take it personally. He’s just moody.

  It’s just the way he gets. He’s still listening to you.” JD thinks for another moment before adding, “He had to go to the coaches’ meeting, and he hates to be pulled away from here.”

  There is another reason for Wetmore’s grim disposition: Batliner.

  After a comfortable run on Wednesday, Batliner has regressed. His calf tightened again on him yesterday, and today it feels worse than Sunday.

  He saw a masseuse yesterday afternoon who offered a possible diagnosis for his ailment: compartment syndrome. Compartment syndrome is a condition where the muscle in the shin grows too large for the muscle sheath. The sheath then pinches the muscle, causing enormous pain because the muscle has no room to expand and contract. Corrective surgery would require four slits in the muscle sheath to release the muscle.

  Wetmore has seen people running again—not 100 miles a week—but running nonetheless, in three weeks. But that is a best-case scenario.

  Wetmore offers the guys some final instructions: “This is a 600-meter neuromuscular workout. Go up the hill slightly faster than race pace, AT pace up top, then release down the hill. Jog as easy as you want back to the start. I want to simulate Kansas. The watch is useless; there’s no sense using a watch. I’ll be somewhere on the hill using ridicule and sarcasm.”

  The guys are relieved to see the workout. They feared another session of milers this morning. Wetmore laughs at the thought of more hard aerobic work right now. “You’ve certainly had enough of that,” he tells them.

  It comes as no surprise that Severy leads the charge up the hill next 78

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  to Goucher with Reese, Robbie, and Napier right behind them. Johnson falls back early. This is the only strength workout that the men are assigned. The women have mandatory lifting sessions to supplement their strength workouts, but the men do not. “The men are doing 85 to 95

  miles a week,” Wetmore explains. “Trying to do circuits would be borrowing from Peter to pay Paul. That’d be taking away energy from their running. Plus, they have a better strength to weight ratio than the women. I leave it up to them if they want to pursue it.”

  JD and Wetmore stand towards the top of the hill. On the fourth repeat, Goucher pulls away from the others. JD estimates that Goucher is going about 5:40 a mile including the 1000-meter jog back to the start.

  Both Wetmore and JD offer encouragement to the guys as they come past. Robbie grimaces as he climbs. He has a robotic-like motion that amazes with its consistency. Whether he is climbing, going downhill, or on the track, it never changes. Sensing he has little chance of making the Varsity this season, he has just elected to redshirt. Now there is one less man on the depth chart.

  While Robbie would not be contending for All-American honors, his decision to redshirt leaves CU with one less man that they may need.

  Reese is hurting, and he is quickly off the back. “I think all the work is catching up with him,” Wetmore says. With the exception of Goucher, everyone looks beat. Severy and Napier drive past Wetmore. “Relax the head and shoulders,” Wetmore advises, “calm mind.” As the runners wearily trudge past them, JD asks Wetmore, “Think that Sunday run [at the Reservoir] is catching up with them?” Wetmore does not hesitate.

  “Definitely.”

  Calm mind. With Reese, Bat, Blondeau, and Roybal hurting, Wetmore is questioning the workload. He glowers in silence, and it appears he is beating himself up for their ills. Calm mind.

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  Saturday, September 12, 1998

  CSU Invite, Collingsdale Golf Course

  Ft. Collins, Colorado

  Ponce Has His Day

  For most of the squad, the season’s first meet has arrived. The day begins inauspiciously. The team (traveling on an old school bus to Fort Collins) departs from Potts Field on schedule at 7:00 a.m. without Ronald Roybal. He is running late, but they do not wait even a minute for him. While Wetmore makes no mention of his absence, Friedberg cannot believe Roybal has missed the bus. Roybal is notoriously absent-minded, and the thought occurs to Friedberg that he should have given Roybal a wake-up call. Then he thinks better of it. “He’s 21. Don’t make me responsible for waking him up.” Batliner bails out Roybal by giving him a ride to the race.

  Ponce sits alone on the bus, nodding his head to the beat from his headphones. His team-issue Nike sweats are so large they threaten to swallow him whole, and he wears his pants with his right pant leg rolled up to his knee.

  Ponce went to a University-sponsored Mexican-American dinner

  last night, and then he went over to Batliner’s house to have some of the two trays of lasagna Batliner cooked for his teammates. All the food made him drowsy, but sleep eluded him. He has not raced since last October, almost a full year ago, and he lay awake thinking of today’s race.

  Wetmore is holding his top two guns out of today’s contest. Goucher and Batliner will make their debuts at the Rocky Mountain Shootout on October 3rd. As planned, Reese is also a spectator today. Wetmore will only run Reese when Reese informs him that he is ready to go.

  The CSU meet offers Wetmore’s remaining harriers a chance to

  shine before Goucher begins his season and grabs the limelight. It also presents Wetmore a much needed chance to see how some of the Junior Varsity guys have progressed. He has two goals for today’s race: to average 25:45 and to win the team competition. While Fort Collins is at the same elevation as Boulder, the race will be faster than the Shootout in Boulder because the meet is being held on a pancake-flat golf course.

  Past history tells Wetmore that his guys will run approximately a minute faster here than at the home course. Since Chris Valenti ran 26:55 at the time trial, he is expected to run 25:55 today. But Wetmore does not expect Valenti to be his first man. That distinction goes to Friedberg. Friedberg has looked great thus far, and Wetmore is looking for him to run about 25:25 for the 8k course.

  As is his practice before every race, Wetmore writes down his pre-80

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  dictions of how fast his men will run. He does not share these predic-tions with his guys, but he is rarely off by more than ten seconds. He does, however, post a document on the board with goal times for each of the harriers. If they go out faster than the pace the document calls for, Wetmore will let them hear it. None of the runners disagree with Wetmore’s expectations for them today.

  Wetmore likes this course. Two years ago, the district race was here. Overnight, on the eve of the race, 24 inches of snow fell. From his hotel window, Wetmore would get up every hour all through the night.

  JD, who shared a room with him, recalls, “Every hour, he’d get up and I’d hear him say, ‘Shit! Still snowing!’” Says Wetmore, “I just had to tell myself, ‘This will help us. This will help us
.’” It did. CU swept the top five spots, and Batliner emerged late in the race to defeat the field. Wetmore grins unabashedly while recounting the memory: “Batliner comes out of nowhere and wins it. A complete unknown! It was beautiful.”

  When CU arrives at the course, many of the teams are already

  milling around. Wetmore waits for everyone to disembark the bus before gathering the men together for some brief instructions:

  I want you all to run a controlled first mile. Wes, that means 5:10 to 5:12.

  If you run 5:15’s, that’s 26:15. That’s pretty good here. When in doubt go out slower. If you go out in 5:20, you go four seconds faster the last four miles; it’s no tragedy. JD and Lorie will wheel out the first 400 meters and 800 meters, so if you go out too fast, we’ll fix it early. I’ll be at the mile mark. After that, you’re on your own.

  Wetmore makes no mention of the other teams or the other run-

  ners. None. He wants his harriers focused solely on executing their plan and running the times they should hit. Still, there are three formidable competing athletes headlining the field. Jeff Simonich, a senior from the University of Utah, earned All-American honors last spring in the 5000

  meters. Brian Berryhill, a former high school quarterback representing the host school, Colorado State, finished second in the mile last year at indoor NCAA’s. Finally, there is Jason Hubbard, the defending Division II 5000-meter champion from NCAA Division II powerhouse Adams State.

  At 9:25 a.m., five minutes to race time, the men amble slowly to the starting line. It is nice and cool, and the sky is replete with large cumulus clouds. As the Buffaloes do their strides, the men from Adams State gather in a huddle and loudly cheer, “ASC! ASC!” This is in stark contrast to the CU runners, who laugh and joke between their strides. Chris Schafer alone seems anxious. A half-miler/miler by trade, Schafer readies himself to suffer anonymously in the pack. He occupies himself by taping RUNNING WITH THE BUFFALOES

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  his wrists, a ritual he began in high school to keep his wrists rigid when he races. Wetmore reminds his troops one last time, “Be smart, be patient.” He makes eye contact with Roybal. “You be careful, Ronald, alright?” Roybal nods his consent.

  A mile in, the runners are right on pace, except for Friedberg. He passes the mile in 5:00, five seconds fast. Meanwhile, Simonich has already jumped out to an early lead. The runners race around the course, and thirteen minutes in, Simonich has 50 meters on the pack. Adams State has two runners in second and third, and Friedberg is in fourth. Ponce has quietly gained on Friedberg and he slips behind him into fifth place.

  Four minutes later, Ponce passes Friedberg and moves into third place.

  Friedberg falls to fifth, and right behind him, Tessman, Blondeau, Valenti, and Berkshire run beautifully together in a pack from seventh to twelfth place along with a couple of other runners from Western State. JD waits anxiously as they pass the four-mile mark. “All right,” he says, “this is where it happens.”

  The last mile. This alone is CU’s province. Historically they have always gone out controlled, taking over a race in the last mile. Rarely will one see CU’s men running backwards in the last mile. Today is no exception.

  Simonich dominates through to the end, winning easily in 24:48.

  Ponce, however, is outkicked by three runners in the final stretch. He does not die, but he simply does not have the ability to switch gears so early in the season while he is running 100-plus miles a week. Despite being outkicked, his sixth place finish leads the team. Blondeau, Friedberg, and Tessman finish right in a row behind him. Valenti finishes eleventh to round out the scoring.

  CU wins handily, outdistancing Adams State, 41-57. CU’s top five averages 25:32. They have accomplished both of Wetmore’s objectives. Still, Wetmore is unfazed. “On one hand,” he says, “we’re happy with how they did. On the other hand, Jay Johnson ran 25:29 here last year, and he was our tenth man. They’d better get better.” A brief smile creases his lips as he walks by Ponce while he stretches. “Scar’s our number-one man now!”

  Ponce smiles. He is pleased with his effort: “I haven’t raced since last October, so it felt good to get it out of the way. I felt good ’til that last half mile, then I just locked up. Three guys passed me in that last 50, but I’ll get them at the [Colorado] Shootout [at the Buffalo Ranch]. It’s all good. They never have that kick at the end of our course, because of the hills. And it’s a 25-second PR, man. I’ll take that.”

  Also turning in a notable performance is CU’s sixth man, Wes Berkshire. The junior walk-on far exceeds Wetmore’s goal of 26:25, running a solid 25:50. Two years ago, he ran 27:20 at this meet. He credits his improvement to Wetmore: “I’m happy with my time, although I’d like to have 82

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  a race like that more towards the end of the year . . . Putting in the miles, that’s all it is. That’s Wetmore’s system. Running as many miles as you can for as long as you can. Put in all the miles you can possibly handle.” The guys pass around the official results on the bus ride home, and Berkshire beams when he sees he has beaten CSU’s Sven Severin. “That guy used to kill me. He used to run laps around me and give me the business for sure. I love that [beating him]. That is the coolest thing ever.” The interminable hundred-mile weeks now seem worthwhile.

  The only CU harrier to miss his goal time is Friedberg. He is also the only one who did not follow the plan and went out too fast. He went out fast because he was “worried they wouldn’t come back to me,” and he paid the price. Though he would have liked a better result, he is not concerned. After tomorrow’s run, he will have over 90 miles for the week.

  Unquestionably, though, Ponce is the story of the day. And on his warmdown, with Wetmore’s comment ringing in his ears, he silently pondered just how far he has run to become CU’s number one man . . .

  A LONG ROAD FROM JUAREZ, MEXICO

  In 1996, the track team went on their annual spring break trip to Tucson, Arizona. While there, Ponce and some of his teammates went on a day trip across the border to Nogales, Mexico. Once in Mexico, the guys were instantly besieged by seemingly ubiquitous Mexican children selling gum. Other children washed the windshields of passing cars for spare change. The children were willing to do anything, it seemed, for the small-est bit of change.

  Seeing these children had a visceral affect on Ponce. In an instant he was transported back to his childhood in Juarez, Mexico, when he, too, was washing windshields and walking the streets, famished, having not eaten for several days. He would search out tourists to whom he could sell something, anything, for money. Money to buy food for himself, and for his family. For survival, for one more day.

  Some days were more successful than others. Some days Ponce

  would eat. On others, he would go hungry. If the opportunity presented itself, he would steal, not only to feed himself, but also to feed his sisters.

  What else, he reasons now, is a seven-year-old boy burdened with the responsibility of caring for his sisters supposed to do? Then, there was no reason to reason. He had to survive.

  Every day Ponce would awaken on a little bed he shared with a sister and two cousins. He would stand on the dirt floor of their homemade wood and aluminum shack, and then he would leave. More often than not, it was not to school, but to the streets, where he would sell gum and such, fight, or steal.

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  He quickly learned to fend for himself. When he was six, his mother gave him a belt for his birthday. Brandishing his new belt, he went to play soccer with some friends. Seeing his new belt, they beat him up, took the belt, and ran away. A sobbing Ponce went home to tell his mother what happened. His mother did not offer him her condolences. Rather, she gave him a licking of her own before warning him that he ha
d better go and come back home with that belt, or he would really get a beating.

  Ponce found the boy who had his belt, beat him with a stick, and returned home with his belt.

  His uncle helped Ponce hone his fighting skills. He was a boxer, and he was five years older than Ponce senior. His uncle owned a pair of boxing gloves and would parade Ponce around the neighborhood, looking for someone to fight him. When he found a suitable opponent, he would give one glove to him, and Ponce would get the other. Towels were wrapped around the other hands to cushion the blows, and then the boys would go at it. Ponce recalls, “I wasn’t necessarily the toughest, but I wouldn’t give up. Bloody nose, crying, I would still stand and take more.”

  Growing up in such abject poverty, Ponce often dreamt of a better life. He could see across the Mexican/American border into El Paso, and he thought “that if we just went a little further, there would be trees with money, and we could just take money out of the trees.”

  The irony is that Ponce was an American citizen, so he was free to go. But his mother was not an American. She sneaked into America when she was pregnant, and gave birth to Oscar in East L.A. Soon thereafter, they were deported to Mexico.

  Then one day, when he was almost fourteen, in late July 1991, Ponce had his chance to flee Mexico for a better life in the promised land. Leaving her two daughters with his grandparents in Juarez, Ponce’s mother set off for the United States with him. They piled into the back of a “hot, smelly immigrant truck for what seemed like forever.” After a long har-rowing journey, they made it to Amarillo, Texas.

  Their stay in Texas was brief and full of hardship. They spent their first week in Amarillo with his grandmother’s sister. She then abruptly kicked them out of the house. At the time, neither Ponce nor his mother spoke any English, and they were forced to spend the next two nights sleeping in a park. His mother’s cousins learned of their predicament and found Ponce and his mother a place to live. More important, they found her a job cleaning houses and nannying.