Dog At The Wild Duck (2015 Pre Classic)

You said I was weak. You said I couldn’t do it.

Thank you.

You gave me everything I needed to prove you wrong.

– Steve Prefontaine

Eugene.

Rented a car, 
drove south on I-5
with a retired long-haul trucker
who hasn't talked to me since.

He too is a philosopher
with multiple personalities
and we - most of us - disagreed 
how life should be lived.

The key to all,
we did agree,
is luck.

Thinking maybe I need to up my game.

Perhaps spent too much time 
at the Wild Duck. 
Maybe not enough.
Whichever.

Guess I have to place the blame 
squirrelly 
on the short shoulders 
of Jackie Hansen 
and Joe Henderson.  
Two famous party animals. 

Met there for lunch. 
In the bright of daylight.
And their smiles.

Joe purchased my first feature article.  
Runner’s World.  1975.

Co-written with Dr. E.C. “Ned” Frederick, 
so I had to split the $40 check.
Worth $221.57 today.  

You won't believe this
But I had exactly $110.79
when I returned to the Wild Duck 
that same night, 
because, well,
I know where it is 
and they have beer.

That’s a laugh.  
Not really.

Turns out Thursday 
is open mike night.
Aspiring comedians 
in a college town.

Which sounds 
like a B-movie at a drive-in.
In a bar 
owned by one of the Carradines.

Who could easily play Buck Knight.
Talk about your wild duck.

The kid comics focus awful lot 
about penises and vaginas.
And boobs.  
Then you remember 
you are old
and weren’t always.

A buddy rented 
this ten-bedroom psuedo-mansion
with two laundries 
and a second fridge 
for my cans of Foster's.

Last asking price rumored
close to two million.

Walking distance to Hayward Field.  
And the Wild Duck.

One morning, 
looked out front to see
a huge deer 
eating expensive landscaping.

Started feeling slightly inadequate 
in a room full of friends
when I realized 
I was the only guy 
not planning an African safari.

Thinking maybe I need to up my game.

Hayward Field  
is a track fan’s idea 
of heaven on Earth.   
And the 2015 Pre Classic 
did not disappoint.  

Helps I know the Meet Director.

Conversation went like this: 
‘I don’t hear from you 
for twenty years 
and the first thing 
you have to say is, 
‘I need a press pass?’

Also need, I told him,  
some party invites  
for me and my buddy. 
Thank you, Tom.  
Mean it.

So we walk into the Pre-Pre Party  
at the Lewis & Clark Catering Company  
next to the BMW dealer's  
and I look across the room,  
spy some guys I ran with  
in the late Seventies.

Which is not as amazing 
as I recognized them.
And they're talking 
about the trips 
they’ve made together
to hike in the Swiss Alps.

Thinking maybe I need to up my game.

Friday night is Distance Night at the Pre.
I am a distance guy.

Amused to watch Galen Rupp 
come on the track.
Crowd responds 
and a smirk crosses his face.

Reminded me of that scene 
in Stir Crazy,
Gene Wilder and Richard Pryor 
get put in jail.
“We bad, Jack.  We real bad.  
We don’t take no shit.”

Galen Rupp, 
always the full name, 
Galen Rupp warmed 
to the crowd 
when he shed his warmups.

Then there was Cam Levins, 
normal-enough-looking little white guy 
who chased the leaders of the 10K 
like he was Clint Eastwood 
leading an angry posse.

And, of course, later at the Wild Duck….

Had my photo taken 
with Galen Rupp 
and suddenly-famous Cam.
With my old buddy Alberto, too.

Who hasn't talked to me since.

Stayed an extra day, 
so I catch a free ride to the airport 
with John Parker, 
author of Once A Runner.

Talked about his new novel, 
a prequel titled Racing The Rain,
might be his best work.

Another buddy drives a Tesla.

Thinking maybe I need to up my game.