Keep Running Kiddo

Midway through my first semester at college, things were beginning to unravel. Adjustment to college life had been a bumpy road for me. I already had a fall-out with newly made friends that I was confused on how to rectify. I was spending more time at the bars on campus than I was studying.  My favorite hangout constantly smelled of stale beer mixed with sweat and with an occasional whiff of vomit thrown in, but it's where I felt most comfortable. Any night of the week I could go there and avoid my problems, forget who I was, lose myself. 

One Saturday after football tailgating and cheering on the Illini, I walked back to my dorm room feeling buzzed, depressed and homesick. After being an overachiever only a year before in high school, I was failing Calculus, and I had no clue what I wanted to major in. I was gaining weight fast living in the dorms, eating government cheese and ordering pizzas late night from the cheapest place in town. I felt bloated, yet completely empty.  I remember thinking, how did I get here? 

Feeling foggy-headed and knowing I wouldn't be able to study, I racked my brain to come up with something that would help me feel better. I dug under the pile of dirty clothes, tossing aside blaze orange sweatshirts,  Girbaude jeans and stretchy bodysuits (which when I think about it now, looked like adult size onesies) until I reached the cold floor of my narrow closet. My running shoes were buried, stiff and lifeless in the back corner. I slid them on quickly, before I could change my mind.  It was still light out when I began a route around the perimeter of campus, jogging so slow, I might as well been walking. The negative self-talk continued for a while.  But then I got into a rhythm, and my mind slowly regained some clarity. I was a few blocks east of Memorial Stadium when a car screeched to a halt fifty yards a head of me. I saw a head peek out the back window of a four-door sedan. 

"Hey--Hey--Hey!" A voice booming like Jack Brickhouse shouted. "You're still running these days, kiddo!"  Not wearing my glasses, I couldn't make out his features, but I knew the voice.  It was Mr. Holmgren, one of my favorite teachers and coaches from junior high. An alum and a proud supporter of the University of Illinois, the encounter was surreal, but not completely out of context.   Mr. Holmgren was the gym teacher who encouraged me to go out for cross-country, and it was Mr. Holmgren who had given me the Honorary Captain trophy in 8th grade. I wasn't the fastest on our team, and I can't remember what he said the award was specifically for, but I knew he saw something worthwhile in me back then. Although I lost touch with him after graduation, he may have a subconscious factor in my decision four years later to attend U of I.

 

As I jogged closer, Mr. Holmgren got out of the car filled with at least three other people and smiled at me.  "Wow! You're running on game day?" (I wasn't about to tell him that it was practically a miracle--I had barely run a block since I arrived in Champaign, except when I was running to class.) I gave him a hug. I was so happy to see him. It was one of the moments when the exact right person shows up in your life.  

I talked to him briefly, not wanting to hold up his companions or to disclose the truth of my college life. I may have even lied to him and told him things were going great. "Well,  don't let me hold up your run. Keep running kiddo!" He climbed back in the car and they drove off. 

I don't remember exactly what was on my mind as I finished my loop, but I'm sure I quickened my pace a bit.  Considering what I could have been doing, I know I felt some pride in the fact that I had just been "caught" running. 

I heard that Mr. Holmgren passed away a few years ago. If he were alive today I would find him and  thank him for encouraging me to keep running. He instilled a passion that lives in me to this day. A passion that has made a huge difference in my life. He also is one of many role models who inspired me to share my love of running with others. 

Sometimes, for no good reason, I get out of sync and stop running for extended periods of time. It is during these times that I rely on the booming words of Mr. Holmgren for inspiration to go in search of my running shoes,  "Keep running kiddo!"