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| Donald Sutherland playing Bill Bowerman in Without Limits |
Suddenly, there was Bowerman standing in front—in person—
as my coach.
“Look around you,” he said, as if he’d heard the same speech before the 10th Mountain had engaged the Germans at Italy’s Brenner Pass.
“By the time you freshmen are seniors, only three of you will still be on this team. Some of you will quit because you aren’t good enough, some because you aren’t tough enough, some because you don’t care enough.”
I would later learn that he was right about only three survivors: Mark Feig, Tinker Hatfield, and me.
“Gentlemen, whether you remain on this team or not, do yourself a favor and take advantage of the opportunity here at Oregon to get a good education.”
His eyes swept back and forth like one of those Rain Bird sprinklers, as if not only his words but his gaze could nourish something deep within us, could water our very souls.
“Men of Oregon,” he boomed. “I invite you to become students of your events. Running, one might say, is basically an absurd pastime upon which to be exhausting ourselves. But if you can find meaning in the kind of running you have to do to stay on this team, chances are you will be able to find meaning in another absurd pastime: life.”
Short and sweet. And, frankly, inspirational. He was talking about our higher purpose. I liked the guy, it seemed I needed to focus on two things for the next four years—my education and running—and see where that might lead me.
“And one more thing,” Bowerman said. I waited for a cymbal clash of inspiration. “Don’t forget to write your mothers.”
“Look around you,” he said, as if he’d heard the same speech before the 10th Mountain had engaged the Germans at Italy’s Brenner Pass.
“By the time you freshmen are seniors, only three of you will still be on this team. Some of you will quit because you aren’t good enough, some because you aren’t tough enough, some because you don’t care enough.”
I would later learn that he was right about only three survivors: Mark Feig, Tinker Hatfield, and me.
“Gentlemen, whether you remain on this team or not, do yourself a favor and take advantage of the opportunity here at Oregon to get a good education.”
His eyes swept back and forth like one of those Rain Bird sprinklers, as if not only his words but his gaze could nourish something deep within us, could water our very souls.
“Men of Oregon,” he boomed. “I invite you to become students of your events. Running, one might say, is basically an absurd pastime upon which to be exhausting ourselves. But if you can find meaning in the kind of running you have to do to stay on this team, chances are you will be able to find meaning in another absurd pastime: life.”
Short and sweet. And, frankly, inspirational. He was talking about our higher purpose. I liked the guy, it seemed I needed to focus on two things for the next four years—my education and running—and see where that might lead me.
“And one more thing,” Bowerman said. I waited for a cymbal clash of inspiration. “Don’t forget to write your mothers.”
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