Life Outside the Oval Office: The Track Less Traveled

by Nick Symmonds

  Initially I thought running could take me to college. Going into my senior year of high school I was the defending state champion in the 800, 1600, and 3200 meter races. I was the anchor on our state-winning 4x400 meter relay team, and in the fall of my senior year won the 4A state championship cross-country title, the second largest division for schools in Idaho. However, despite all these accolades, I did not receive a single Division I college scholarship offer. Division I is the highest level of intercollegiate athletics sanctioned by the National Collegiate Athletic Association (NCAA), and I wanted to be at one of those schools.

  There were very few kids in my state that I couldn’t beat at any distance, and I shook my head wondering where the scholarship offers were. Envelopes from schools all over the country poured into my family’s mailbox and calls came to our home phone. Though many coaches expressed an interest in working with me, none offered me a scholarship. I was confused and upset.

  To be fair, I did not aggressively pursue an athletic scholarship. When I speak to high school kids today, I tell them to be proactive about their careers, to write letters and make calls to college coaches expressing their desire to work hard for them and be part of something great. I did not write a single letter, nor did I make any calls.

  The few coaches I did speak with were even less interested in me when I told them I planned to study pre-medicine. They often laughed and said that was not an option if I ran for them. At least, that is what I was told from the (then) head coach of the University of Oregon. Not only did he say that it was next to impossible to balance the rigorous course load of a pre-med major with the athletic work load, I was told I was not talented enough to merit an athletic scholarship. At best, as a walk on, I could become a member of the track team without receiving any form of athletic scholarship.

  This was devastating news. Like most high school runners, early on I had learned of several legendary distance runners who had attended the University of Oregon. One was Steve Prefontaine, who broke many American records. His coach, Bill Bowerman, with the help of some of his athletes, created what became Nike, Inc. The history ran deep, and I wanted to be a part of it.

  Discouraged, I began to look at other options in the Pacific Northwest. I liked the idea of being relatively close to the University of Oregon. Even if I was unable to be a part of the Ducks, Oregon’s track and field team, I liked the idea of racing at the University of Oregon’s historic Hayward Field regularly. Some of the most memorable races ever had taken place on this track and I wanted to be able to add to that history.

  One school that piqued my interested was a small liberal arts university in Oregon’s capitol city, Salem, just an hour north of Eugene. As an NCAA Division III school, Willamette University (pronounced Wil-AMet), was unable to offer athletic scholarships. Athletic scholarships were only available at Division I, II and National Association of Intercollegiate Athletics (NAIA) schools. However, as a spoiled middle class kid, my parents offered to foot the bill for my tuition, no matter what school I chose. This incredible gift allowed me to continue my college search with the intent of choosing the program that was truly right for me.

  I spoke with the Willamette University head coach Kelly Sullivan over the phone. “At Willamette,” he said, “you will be a student-athlete, not the other way around.” He went on to say that at Willamette I could major in whatever I wanted, and that they would work practices around my academic schedule. He even went so far as to say I could continue to play hockey in the winter, if I so desired.

  The fall of my senior year I applied to three schools: Northern Arizona University, Dartmouth College, and Willamette University. Though only one of these is located in the Pacific Northwest, I wanted to apply to a diverse set of schools and the coaches at these other programs had been particularly supportive. The seven thousand feet of altitude at Northern Arizona University intimidated me, and I was wait listed at Dartmouth. Thus, my decision to go to Willamette University was made quite easily.

  I made one visit to Willamette and absolutely loved it. The tiny campus of red brick buildings and beautiful, lush green lawns was exactly how I imagined a university to be. I trusted Coach Sullivan who, in 2001 had been an assistant coach for Team USA at the Track and Field World Championships. His assistant, Matt McGuirk, was the head men’s distance coach and seemed like he really cared about his athletes. They both told me that they very much wanted me on the team.

  Matt was the best recruiter I had talked to during the entire college recruiting process and he even flew to Boise to meet with my parents and me. During my visit on campus I had gotten along great with the guys on the Willamette cross-county team and thought Oregon was a beautiful state. At the time, I felt very confident that Willamette was the right choice for me.

  Looking back on the way I handled selecting a college, I can say I took a lazy approach. I was not proactive in my search and did not make a single recruiting visit to a Division I or Division II school. At the time I felt overwhelmed by the whole process, and was much more interested in trying to win my first state cross-country title or get a girlfriend.

  My parents also liked Willamette University best and I figured at WU I would have the freedom to pursue all of my interests without someone telling me what to do, just because I was on an athletic scholarship. The fact that Willamette University offered me a partial academic scholarship made me feel that they really wanted me, and made the pricey tuition slightly more affordable.

  Aside from my parents, who were ecstatic about my choice, Willamette University was a rather unpopular one. Most people in the Idaho running community were disappointed that I chose a Division III school. It is not often that runners from Idaho are able to run for a Division I program and I certainly had the ability to walk on to most school’s track teams.

  Those at my high school were disappointed as well, as it is not often BKHS places an athlete into a Division I program. Teachers, coaches, and students alike all looked at me quizzically when I told them I had committed to Willamette University. Even members of my own extended family expressed doubt about my choice. One of my uncles went so far as to ask me, “Is it because you’re not fast enough? Will no Division I school take you?”

  Comments like these were a huge kick to my ego, but in my heart I knew that I was fast enough to run at any school. There were many times I had to look at myself in the mirror and remind myself of this fact. Even so, sometimes I wondered if I was making the right choice.

  When I imagined life at college I saw myself next to a bunch of test tubes eagerly learning, and hanging out at sporting events with my friends. I also saw myself walking across a grassy quad on a warm spring day, holding hands with a girl. Very seldom did I imagine myself running. The fact that competitive running was only my third or fourth priority reinforced my belief that a Division III school was right for me. My gut told me I was making the correct choice, so, against all of the unsolicited advice, I went with my instinct and committed to Willamette.

  3

  On a warm morning late in the summer of 2002, my dad and I finished packing up my bright red Toyota 4Runner with most of my worldly possessions. Mom and Lauren stood crying by the front door of the house I had grown up in. I wanted to cry too, but I held back the tears knowing they would only make it harder to say goodbye. I gave them both a hug and got behind the steering wheel, while Dad sat in the passenger seat.

  The drive from our house in Boise to Willamette University is almost exactly five hundred miles and is one that I have done many times now. None of the trips, however, have been as exciting as that first trip with my dad. I loved growing up in Boise, but as a new high school grad I was desperate for a change of scenery and ready to experience new things.

  We worked our way west on I-84, and passed some of our favorite hunting spots. When we crossed the Snake River and entered Oregon, I had a rush of adrenaline. This state was going to become my new home. But for how long? What kind of opportunities waited for me here?


  Eight hours later we parked the 4Runner in a lot next to the university library. There were parents and kids headed in all directions carrying books, boxes, and furniture. I walked to a line of tables that had been set up near the quad and gave them my name, where I was issued a few items and assigned to an “Opening Days” group.

  One of the items I had been given was a map of campus. Dad and I looked at the map to find Baxter Hall, the substance-free dorm I had been placed in. I had requested to live there because it was where most of the cross-country team was housed. As a young athlete who had never touched, much less seen, an illegal drug, this seemed like a great spot for me. Though I had tasted some of my dad’s drinks over the years, and been drunk on a couple of occasions, I had never been into alcohol or parties. The large red brick building of Baxter Hall seemed like a great place for me to call home, despite its ironical positioning adjacent to campus fraternities.

  I met many people that first day, including my freshman year roommate who was also on the cross-country team. His name was Erik and he had just arrived from Minnesota. He was a bit taller than me, and much skinner with a mop of curly blonde hair. He came off as a guy with a goofy sense of humor, but he was also quite friendly. I had a feeling we would get along well. Erik and I shared a tiny room that faced south, a typical dorm room with two beds, two desks, and two closets. Erik had staked out the west side of the room so I began setting up on the east.

  Dad helped me unload my car and we somehow managed to fit the truckload of stuff I had brought with me into my half of the small room. With the heavy lifting complete we got some dinner. While we ate, Dad and I talked about what he remembered of college, and then about what I was most looking forward to in my four years at university. I admitted to him that I was a bit afraid of all the change. The drive and the moving had exhausted me, and the thought of finding my way around a new city for the first time was stressful.

  “But that’s what’s so fun about living in a new place,” Dad said. “Every time you leave campus is a new adventure. A chance to eat in new restaurants, see new things, and meet new people.”

  He knew how deep my need for adventure ran and this was the perfect advice to send me on my way.

  After dinner I drove my dad to the Salem airport. I assisted him with his bag and thanked him for all his help. Then I shook his hand and gave him a hug good bye. As soon as I had done so, tears welled up in my eyes and I rushed back to the SUV, because I didn’t want him to see me cry. The second I hit the road, tears began streaming down my face and I cried the entire way back to the dorm. As excited as I was to start this new adventure, I knew how much I was going to miss my family. With my dad now gone, I was on my own for the first time.

  That first week was a lonely one for me, but fortunately there were so many new and interesting things going on, that I didn’t have much time to feel it. I explored the campus and the city of Salem, and made new friends every day. Each night Erik and I would talk about our days and, of course, discuss the cute girls we had crossed paths with on campus.

  I absolutely loved my freshman year of college. Every day I met new and interesting people and learned cool new things in my classes. I made some good friends on the cross-country team and quickly established myself as the best incoming freshman runner. I was almost always a scoring man on our team, and the guys treated me with a lot of respect. I recognized that I probably would not have been one of the top incoming freshmen at many Division I schools. This kept me grounded and hungry to become better. Although I was beating many upper classman, I did my best to do so with humility.

  The classes I was taking were relatively easy for me, and the course load was light compared to what I had studied the year before. Bishop Kelly High School had prepared me well for college.

  That first semester I got along with the coaching staff quite well. Coach Kelly Sullivan was clearly an intelligent and thoughtful man who had worked with amazing talent over the years. Coach Matt McGuirk had run the steeplechase (a race just shy of two miles that takes competitors over barriers and through a water pit) for the University of Oregon, and competed at the Olympic Trials himself. Both very clearly cared a great deal for their athletes.

  These two coaches had similar philosophies regarding training, but were very different in the way they communicated with athletes. Coach Sullivan was the kind of guy who put his arm around you and asked how you were feeling about school, life, and family. Coach McGuirk was more reserved and had a single-minded focus for running. They balanced each other well, and I found it worked well for me because I could get the attention I needed for whatever the situation called for.

  Early on, however, I was bothered by one aspect of the cross-country and track programs. At the beginning of each season we were given a pair of shorts and a singlet, which we were expected to hand back at the end of the season. As for warm ups, we were told that we needed to buy these ourselves. The day after this was announced at one of the first cross-country practices I made an appointment to speak with the coaches.

  “I know this is not a Division I program,” I began at the appointed day and time, “but the least you can do is buy us some freakin’ warm-ups.” Sounding like the spoiled kid I was, I went on. “You want us to race Division I athletes every weekend and they are getting thousands of dollars worth of free gear each season!” Then I sat back in my chair to hear what they had to say for themselves. Coach Matt looked at Coach Kelly and raised his eyebrows as if to say, “You’re the head coach, why don’t you take this one.”

  If I mention only one thing that exemplifies how great a coach Kelly Sullivan is, it is how he responded to me that day. In a calm, soothing voice he said, “Nick, yes. You will need to buy your own warm-ups. Or, better yet, keep wearing those beat-up sweatpants and that hole-ridden sweatshirt you have been wearing to practice for the past few days. Own those sweats. When you roll up to University of Oregon this spring and compete at historic Hayward Field against the Oregon Ducks decked out in all of their brand new Nike gear, think how embarrassed each one will be when the kid in the trashy sweats from little Willamette University kicks their ass.”

  As he talked, I could feel goose bumps spread down my arms and legs. I wanted to find my beat up sweatshirt and go for a ten-mile run in it. In less then twenty seconds Coach Sullivan had not only saved his budget several thousand dollars, but had also set for me an attitude that would carry me through my entire collegiate career. From that point on I looked at those sweats with more pride than almost anything else I owned.

  As for school, I was getting near perfect grades on all my exams. I had expressed my interest in studying pre-medicine to several of my professors and they suggested I look into Willamette’s biochemistry program. Apparently, this course of study had the highest percentage of students accepted into medical schools. I looked over the required course work for the program and while it would be rigorous, I felt I could handle it and declared myself a chemistry major with an emphasis in biochemistry.

  It wasn’t that I loved science or the idea of being a doctor as much as I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. Nothing jumped out at me as fascinating, but I did enjoy general chemistry and biology classes. Furthermore, I came from a long line of doctors and it seemed a wise enough choice.

  As a student-athlete I found I was constantly trying to balance three things: academics, athletics, and a social life. My friends warned me a student could only do two of the three really well. I clearly chose the first two during my freshman year at Willamette, and my social life was left to revolve almost entirely around the cross-country team.

  Fortunately, I liked most of the guys I ran with, and as in high school, the practices were co-ed. There were also a few girls on the ladies cross-country team that I flirted with often. I spent most of my free time with the Bearcat Pack, as we were called, due to the fact that we were often seen packed together in races, and also for Willamette’s unusual mascot, the bearcat.

  During my first week at
Willamette University I met an incoming freshman from Spokane, Washington. His name was Cooper, and though he had come with the intention of running on the cross-country team, it became clear early on that he was going to put his social life above all else. Cooper was a tall, muscular guy and had always done well with the opposite sex. He was emotional and moody, but more often than not came off as happy, charismatic, and full of life. I was drawn to his high-energy mannerisms and we quickly became friends, despite the fact that he dropped the cross-country team just two weeks into the season.

  I liked having a friend who wasn’t on the team. When I was burnt out on running or tired of team drama I went to Cooper’s dorm room to hang out. I also liked having a friend who pushed me outside my comfort zone. I think it is important for everyone to have such a friend, and for much of the past decade that person, for me, has been Cooper.

  I wouldn’t say Cooper and I were best friends our freshman year. He was constantly getting high on marijuana, drinking, or spending his nights with one girl or another, and I was pretty much always running or studying. Most Saturday nights I was at his dorm room playing video games or watching a movie. Occasionally, we cracked some beers. After a long hard week of work, hanging with Cooper was a good way to let off steam and press the reset button.

  One night after a few beers while sitting in Cooper’s dorm room, he asked how old I was when I lost my virginity. “I’m still a virgin,” I replied with much embarrassment. He could not hide his shock, but was not insensitive about it either. Cooper went on to tell me that he had lost his virginity at the age of thirteen and had been sleeping with women at a ravenous pace ever since.

  Cooper was the life of the party. He always paid for the beer, and as soon as I finished one he was at the fridge getting me another. Cooper preferred weed but accepted that I was focused on running well and never asked me to smoke with him, even though I occasionally hung out with him, and a few other people he had met while they were smoking.