Ok, this post is kind of overdue in a bad way. But I can explain. Wait, no I can't. There is no cool story as to why this is late, but if it makes you feel better you can pretend that I was captured by a South American drug cartel and escaped on a hang glider I made out of banana leaves and empty Fanta bottles.
July 3rd was one of the fastest days in Hayward Field's storied history, with the first sub 13 clocking on American soil and stadium records falling left and right. And I was there.
The Prefontaine Classic is one of, if not the, premier track meet held in the United States. Named after the late, great, and seemingly infinitely marketable Steve Prefontaine, the meet is held at the University of Oregon's historic Hayward Field. We had the idea to make a road trip up there a few months ago, after it was announced that Chris Solinsky, who had just broken the American Record in the 10,000 meters at Peyton Jordan, would be running the 5k and potentially had a shot at going sub-13 and setting an American record at that distance. Life doesn't always go like you plan it though, and Bernard Lagat ended up breaking the American record a few weeks prior in Oslo, with Solinsky running the third fastest time by an American in the process. Lagat then decided to run the mile at Pre, leaving Solinsky and OTC teammate Matt Tegenkamp to represent USA, neither of whom ended up going sub-13. That being said every race was stacked and I will probably never see a better meet outside of Europe, East Africa, or an Olympic Stadium.
But first we had to get to Eugene, and Eugene is a long way away.
I volunteered to be the driver, because I love driving. I once drove for thirteen hours and it felt like three. I am happy when I'm behind the wheel in a bubble of steel and glass, especially in the lonely parts of the world. Eight hours to Eugene would be no problem for me.
I did encounter a problem when we stopped for lunch. We stopped at a subway across the street from an establishment called "The Berry Patch," which I foolishly assumed sold berries. I thought "great, I'm going to get some berries and we can eat them in the car or in Eugene and we will be happy because everybody loves berries!" I walk in only to discover that THERE ARE NO BERRIES SOLD AT THE BERRY PATCH. It was one of those combination restaurant and homespun country gift shops that sell adorable but useless knick-knacks that old people find adorable, as well as nuts and olives. Sorely disappointed, I ended up buying an eight dollar bottle of olives, for some reason.
IT'S A TRAP!
Disheartened, I got back on the road and kept driving. Took it like a champ.
As soon as we crossed the state line, it seemed, it got cloudy. Before we had entered the middle of nowhere, everything on the radio was country music or mariachi, and before that was mass-produced corporate hip-hop, but in Oregon, when I tried the radio for a few minutes, I got Steely Dan and Bowie right away. The air felt clear. Why have I never known Oregon was so awesome? I thought.
But our "welcome to Oregon" moment came about an hour outside of Eugene, when we got pulled over for speeding. I can't say it's entirely my fault though. I would like to blame it on Billy Joel. We were listening to "We Didn't Start the Fire," which of course I know all the lyrics to, so of course I had to blast it and sing along, and of course I got excited and before you knew it I was going 85 in a 65 zone. Whoops.
The officer strolled up to our vehicle. He asked us where we were headed, and I told him that we were going to Eugene, to watch a track meet at Hayward field. He immediately knew that we were talking about the Pre classic, and then recommended some runs for us to do in the Eugene area. He then asked if there was "any legal reason why I was going so fast." For some reason, the thought running through my brain was not "oh no, I'm going to get a ticket now," but "this is so cool, a police officer just recommended a run for us to do.
Everyone is a runner up here!" I knew it was a trick question, and told him so, cracking a big smile as I did, for some reason.
"You seem pretty smart, are you a college kid?"
I told him I was, and that I run for my school. He ended up not only letting us off with a warning, but giving us a heads up that there were a lot of speed traps between us and Eugene. "Are you a runner?" I asked.
"I was, a long time ago," he said.
My day being made, we drove on, at the speed limit of course. In the next hour we saw at least ten rainbows, including one where it looked like we were literally at the end. As much as I would have liked for leprechauns to appear and dance around the car, showing us a pot of gold in the trunk, rainbows are, unfortunately, just visual effects, but still, it was pretty damn cool.
Another Reason why Oregon is Awesome
There's something about Eugene. Maybe just because I've heard all the stories, watched all three Prefontaine movies, read Kenny Moore's book, that Eugene has this sort of magical aura about it. When we rolled in, the air was clear from the rain that had just fallen, people were rafting on the Willamette, and as we drove through the streets, there were runners everywhere. There were even mileage markers on some of the main roads.
That night we drove around Eugene, trying to see the sights, but then we realized that Eugene doesn't really have any sights. Once you've driven by Hayward Field and Mac Court, there isn't really much else that nerdy runners like that you can visit at nighttime. We ended up hanging out on Hayward Field's practice track, and ended up getting yelled at by security guards.
Another fact about Eugene: at night, it is populated by demons. The first one we noticed around 10:30, a haggard man in a beard riding around aimlessly. At night for the rest of the trip, we would see strange people on bikes. They were terrifying! The other issue I have with Eugene and Oregon in general is that you can't pump your own gas. I have a problem with this.
Oh Shit, We're Here...
For track fans, Hayward Field is like Disneyland and Mecca combined. I've seen videos, heard stories, but I didn't realize that it is an actual bona-fide magical place. Being in the cheap seats, we didn't quite get to experience the roar coming from the grandstand, but we did get to witness the incredible results it produces. The meet started off with what may have been the fastest "B" heat of the mile ever, with Ryan Gregson and AJ Acosta both running 3:53.
Solinsky ended up coming up a bit short of expectations in the 5,000, but I was still there for the first sub-13 on US soil, no big deal or anything. Flannagan and the OTC tearing it up in the women's 5,000 and Dibaba setting a US soil record, again, no big deal. There was Wheating running a 3:51 mile, just behind Kiprop's 3:49. Tyson Gay battling Walter Dix in the 200 was one of the best races I have ever seen (insert joke here.) My personal highlight was getting a picture with David Oliver on his victory lap, right after he set the American record in the 110 hurdles. Me taking the picture with him made it onto national TV. Ok, kind of a big deal.
I was thinking that I would be inspired. Instead, it was a little demoralizing. They're so fast. They're stealth bombers and I'm
The Spirit of St. Louis's retarded cousin. The thing about track is that you know exactly how much better than you someone is. Watching Solinsky and the Africans bang out 62 second quarters felt just a little like getting the finger from God (now I know how Ryan Hall felt after Boston, zzzzzzzzzing!) But it's ok, Mr. Lydiard says if I keep pounding out them 2 hour runs I'll be better someday if my joints don't fold first, right? Right?!?
After the meet, we ran the Amazon trail, which was recommended to us by Jordan Hasay, again, not really a big deal or anything. We made the obligatory sojourn to Pre's rock, ran Pre's trail, and went to Track Town Pizza where we all but touched ourselves in front of a picture of Nick Symmonds. Track Town Pizza is kind of like those restaurants in the boonies that you go to not because of the food but for all of the tacky yet charmingly homespun memorabilia (or farm equipment and outdated license plates) that they put up on the walls. I brought an old pair of flats, leaving one on Pre's rock, and keeping the other one, so I can talk to him now, using the one shoe I have kind of like that scene where the guy uses a gun as a phone in
Dreamcatcher.
But the best part about Eugene is that the next day, the entire front page of the Eugene Register Guard was devoted to coverage of the meet. Name one other city in America that would do that.
Maybe I am missing out by living in one of the sunny parts of the world.
