TUPATALK: WSC track of 1980s forged lasting memory

Since I learned Damian Lillard — a current NBA icon and force behind a special basketball experience in Portland, Ore., that involved Bartlesville High’s David Castillo — I’ve reflected in a few columns on my sports memories at Weber State (then college), which also is Lillard’s alma mater.

Some of those experiences directly helped me in my opportunities in newspaper work. Others created special memories that have lasted almost a full lifetime.

A place on campus that became very special was the track, located in the football stadium.

In 1981, after I joined the U.S. Marines on a delayed enlistment, I began a fairly intense distance running program to try to get ready for boot camp.

Considering I had never done that — other than a couple of tries that always faded after a few days — it required quite a motivation. The fear of keeling over in boot camp provided that stimulus.

Mostly I ran a three-mile course (near as I could tell) that I staked out from my front door, through a cemetery and the steep hill on the other side, along a long and winding road (yeah, yeah, yeah), up a pretty steep incline and back home.

But, occasionally I ran on the Weber State track, especially when I wanted an accurate time measurement.

One day in October that year, the sky was overcast, a cool breeze tickled the loose debris on the ground and the task appeared about as inviting as a brunch date with Jabba the Hutt.

Dressed out in my normal running gear — off the rack tennis shoes, a faded P.E. shirt and blue shorts with the Weber State insignia nearly scratched off — I determined to run 20 laps. That measured out to five miles.

For some reason, I had been blessed all my life to that point, and for many years after, with an above average lung-oxygen-heart exchange,an ability that would serve me very well, but which, unfortunately, is not the case for me at the stage of life I’m writing this.

Anyway, I began my run with the stopwatch on my watch activated.

Normally, I felt a real comfort zone — albeit it required focus and determination to keep going — once I settled into my running rhythm.

But, on this particular day, the cloud turned grayer, the breeze grew up into a chilly wind and little rain drops began to fly.

Soon, the droplets felt like needles as they bounced off my bare, cold-induced red legs and arms. But, I kept on going.

I had promised myself nothing short of a broken leg would prevent me from going the full five miles and acquiring a time to measure my progress.

How did I do it? I just tried to put the pain out of my mind and kept taking one step after another. I tried not to think about the finish or how many more laps I had to complete. That was no half-spirited feat because of the rain daggers that seemed to prick my skin.

But, although in my life I haven’t always endured in some cases as I could have, in this instance I made it to the end.

It was a long walk from the stadium to the parking lot, but I didn’t especially hurry. I wanted to prove Mother Nature couldn’t intimidate me.

That might have been my last time on a distance run on that track. I had taken 21 credit hours — trying to wrap up my degree before I entered boot camp — and the demands of end-of-the-quarter papers and test, along with my full-time job, ate up a huge part of my time.

But, the preparation of running paid off in boot camp. When it came to cardio and running I ranked in the top two or three percent in my platoon — although I had other physical performance shortcomings (especially chin-ups) that raised the level of difficulty.

During our final Physical Fitness Test — which would determine whether we would graduate boot camp with our platoon — I managed five pull-ups (more than minimum required), a maximum 100 points on sit-ups (80 in two minutes) and finished up with the run. Just as I had on that five-mile run so many months prior, I made up my mind to run the PFT 5K run with the 100-point time of 18:00.

It seemed during the run as if I wasn’t breathing properly and as if I were running in mud. But, I did it, crossing the finish line at exactly 18-minutes-flat, one of the proudest accomplishments in my life. (During the next two years, I would drop my time to 16:50 prior to aggravating a injured knee and requiring surgery.)

From the Weber State track framed on a nearly frozen October day the connection extended to that warm, bright day in San Diego.

I sometimes wonder how much of that man of 40 years ago still exists. Sprightly strides have turned to limps, perpetual lung strength is now a perpetual challenge and pain has replaced gain. But, the energy and desire still fight to find the courage and grit to grind through as they did on that Weber State track four decades ago. The steps are slow, the lungs unwilling.

But, the corse hasn’t changed — it still winds ahead forward no matter how fast the pace.

This article originally appeared on Bartlesville Examiner-Enterprise: TupaTalk column explores college track memory