My other car … is a pair of Nike Waffle Trainers
OK, first let’s get this straight: For years I hated running and would do almost anything to avoid it.
This abhorrence dated back to the 1950s, when sadistic gradeschool and junior-high gym teachers would force us reluctant students to run laps if even one of us had the gall to look at them cross-eyed.
“OK, that’s it! “these “educators” would bellow at some imagined offense. “Give me a quarter-mile.” Or a half-mile or a mile.
So I developed an aversion to running that took me well into the 1970s. After all, cars could get me around a lot quicker and easier.
Then the Running Boom began. Jim Fixx’s “Complete Book of Running” became a best seller, American Frank Shorter won the 1972 Olympic Marathon and distance runners Bill Rodgers and Alberto Salazar become heroes.
Not to be denied, the USA’S Joan Benoit won the first-ever women’s Olympic Marathon in Tokyo in 1984 — with the Boom still in full swing.
And no, females were no longer frail creatures who could not survive a marathon. Instead, they became accomplished distance runners who today win some ultra-marathons outright.
But back to the 1970s: Another running landmark came when University of Oregon track coach Bill Bowerman used the family waffle iron to create a homemade prototype of the future Nike Waffle Trainer — which a runninghungry public then bought by the millions.
I was not immune: By this time I had realized I wasn’t any good at sports which required even minimal coordination. So, swept up by the Boom, I bought myself a pair of Waffle Trainers and hit the roads.
You’ll remember those heady days of the 1970s: Runners were everywhere, hoofing along highways, byways and trails here in Tuolumne County and almost everywhere else. Not coordinated enough to excel at tennis, golf, or even slow-pitch softball, I had finally found a sport that required zero style.
I attacked it with a vengeance, running the streets of Sonora at lunch hour, then stretching in front of The Union Democrat office before adjourning to work.
At least I did this until told by an editor that my shirtless knee bends were not the kind of image our publication wanted to send to the reading public.
Undaunted, I toweled off and began stretching inside. Then I continued the workouts, accumulating hundreds of miles on my Jim Fixx running log and at times going months without a miss.
What’s more, I figured that I might drop a few pounds with all this running, Then maybe women — who for years had ignored me — might send a second glance my way.
They did not.
But what if I won a medal in a 10K race? Maybe then I’d get that second glance. But Tuolumne County at the time had no 10Ks
No problem: In early 1978, I called Roger Scott, a former Union Democrat sports editor who had become Tuolumne County’s recreation director.
“If you put on this race, my boss will pay for it,” I told him, not at all sure I could deliver on the promise.
But Scott said yes, and so did Democrat publisher Harvey Mcgee, after I assured him that hundreds of runners — many of them would-be advertisers or subscribers — would show up.
Harvey not only bought this suspect bill of goods, but insisted the race be free to all. Now, the pressure was on: I had to sell a free run.
With unceasing hype and hoopla, I described our Columbia-area 10K as a “distance classic” before a single runner had signed up. If he could turn back the clock, I claimed, Pheidippedes would choose our race over his 490 BC run from Marathon to Athens.
Instead of dying at the finish line, I pointed out, the legendary Athenian soldier would get a free can of Bud courtesy of The Union Democrat. (Yes, in the 1970s Columbia State Park had no problem with a beer giveaway).
Because an old lumber mill had been on the race’s 6.2-mile course more than a century earlier, we named our new 10K “The Old Mill Run.”
As the race neared, I cranked out stories on fat runners turned thin, slow runners turned fast, old runners, young runners and runners in between.
I arm-twisted County Historian Carlo De Ferrari into writing a piece on the history of our course, which included a hideaway used by legendary outlaw Joaquin Murrieta. Then there was my guide to “The Dogs of the Old Mill,” warning of “woofers,” “growlers,” “yappers,” and “long and low trouble in the form of an outspoken dachshund.”
Still, I suggested, signing up for the race was akin to a dip in the Fountain of Lourdes. It would cure what ails you — no matter what that might be.
So did this barely bridled bloviation work? Well, 263 runners turned out for the first Old Mill.
And did women flock to me after I crossed the finish line 10 minutes after the leaders? Well, no. Not really. In fact, not at all.
But I had an ice-cold beer, endorphins coursing through my veins and a certain euphoria about our first 10K being such a success.
Even my boss was convinced: “The joy of running, like the joy of spring, is for everyone,” Mcgee wrote after that first race.
The Old Mill quickly became an annual family reunion for foothill runners, complete with elders, kindly aunts, cranky uncles and nervous newcomers. As turnouts rose to 600 and beyond, we’d gather at the Columbia gazebo to swap stories, lies and excuses, jokes and jibes, high fives and thumbs up.
Then, in 1984, Jim Fixx died of a heart attack, and couch potatoes nationwide celebrated. Kenyan marathoners began outrunning Americans. Knees and hips got creaky. Fitness clubs opened. Yoga replaced interval workouts. Still, the Old Mill persisted. As the race neared its 40th anniversary, longtime runner and educator Dave Urquhart took over as race director and coordinated the race’s continuing revival.
Urquhart and his cohorts in 2018 cut entry fees, enlisted sponsors, added a two-mile walk, and recruited artist (and 1980 Old Mill winner) Chuck Waldman to design a special-edition retro T-shirt. Race proceeds go to the Tuolumne County Christmas Eve dinner and to the WINGS Fund.
Sidelined in 2000 by a replaced hip, I ran my last Old Mill decades ago. But I’ve been at the race almost every year since as a volunteer, so I know there is still magic in Columbia each April. That heady blend of competition and camaraderie that began in 1978 never disappeared. And I’m still convinced that running is the cheapest, most effective and most enjoyable way to get and stay in shape.
So I am hereby inviting you to join us in Columbia State on Saturday, April 20 for the 43rd Old Mill. To register, go to itsyourrace.com. Entry fee for runners 12 and under is $15, and for those 13 and older, $25. Fee includes a T-shirt if you register on or before April 3.
Like many a dearly missed car, those Nike Waffle Trainers are long gone. But esch April, with the Old Mill Run; the fond memories return,
For more about the race, check out oldmillrun.org.
And, yes, replaced hip, replaced knee and all, I’ll cover the course on a pace bike — fervently hoping I can stay ahead of the lead runners.