HARD WORK MATTERS (April 3, 2002)

The local high school track season is in high gear now, and I've been noticing something that's not at all surprising. The distance runners who are having success are the same ones who squirreled away a healthy nut-pile of miles last winter. The ones who spent the dark months slogging through slush and tap-dancing across ice in defiance of everything that binds most humans to the hearth are now enjoying the rewards of their efforts.

Imagine that: hard work matters. It's not just good nutrition, rest and a fierce attitude that count. It's that doggone hard work stuff.

This makes the 36th straight track season I've been reminded of this. It was that first one, though, that really got my attention. It was 1967, my final season of high school track. I had enjoyed a fairly spectacular sophomore year and a solid season as a junior, but in my senior year...well, I was a senior, after all, and I had a lot on my mind. And very little of it was running-related.

I also had a new coach, and his notion of what it took to succeed tended more toward temperament than toil. He wanted training to be fun, which would help us have positive thoughts about competing. He wanted us to have the right attitude when we stepped to the line, and the way to have the right attitude was, well, to have the right attitude.

I knew I was sloughing off, not training as hard as I should have, but I wasn't mature enough or self-directed enough to whip my own derriere. And I was convinced I could use attitude to "will myself to victory."

My nemesis that year was Mike, a junior at a rival high school in town. Mike had always been pesky, but I had never had much real trouble putting him in the rear view mirror. Until my senior year. Then, he would stick with me for a while, take the lead midway through the race, heat up the pace and...kerblooie!

The first time he beat me I was shocked. It had to be a fluke. I was the better runner, wasn't I? Before our next race I was ready, at least if having the coach crank up the attitude rhetoric counts as preparation. Did I really want to win this time? Yes, Coach! And then, again, I lost.

I don't remember how many times this happened that season, but it was a lot. And the scenario was always the same. Do you really want to win this time? Yes, Coach! Really? Yes! Are you really determined to beat him? Yes!

There were an awful lot of "reallys" in the pep talk, but when the kid surged past me they didn't seem to matter. What did matter was this: Mike had been running 90 miles a week. He had been working hard. He didn't need a pep talk, because he knew he'd paid his dues. If you'll forgive my saying so, his nut-pile was well-stocked.

Duh!

It's obvious, isn't it? But when the messages we so often hear are to rest, to have a positive attitude, to watch your diet, to visualize greatness, and so on, it's no wonder that the sometimes painful truth of our sport can get lost in the subtext. You gotta train.

Rest allows you to work harder. Good nutrition gives you the energy to work hard. You visualize success so you understand what it is you're working toward. But what you really do is very clear, very simple. You work hard.

At least you do if you want to beat Mike.