Michigan Runner Magazine is a Michigan magazine covering sports: fitness. This magazine is owned by Great Lakes Sports Publications, Inc..

Calendar
Calendar September to December 2007 p. 29

Features & Departments
Editor’s Notes: Caboose Club By Scott Sullivan p. 4
Dexter Boys: Michigan High School Runners of the Year By Jeff Hollobaugh p. 6
Marissa Treece: Michigan High School Runner of the Year By Jeff Hollobaugh p.10
On Choosing Prep Runners of the Year By Scott Sullivan p.11
Running Shorts By Scott Hubbard p.12
The Free Press Marathon – The Beginning By Dr. Edward H. Kozloff p.14
Michigan Juniors Compete with the Best
Photos by Carter Sherline/ Frog Prince Studios p.17
Notes on the Run: Doping Doubts By Daniel Kelsey p.19
Demand Certified Courses By Doug Kurtis p.20
Scenes from USA Track and Field Championships
Photos by Carter Sherline / Frog Prince Studios and Victah Sailer / photorun.net p. 22
Michigan Runner Race Series 2007 p. 28
Running with Tom Henderson p. 38
GLSP Television Network Schedule p. 40

At the Races
Walczak Again Dominates Keweenaw Trail Fest By Ryan Towles p. 9
Rain Spawns Fast Times in Frankenmuth By Charles Douglas McEwen p. 18
State’s Toughest Road Half-Marathon Tests Soles, Hearts By Ryan Towles p. 20
Hot First Charlevoix Marathon Comes Off Without a Hitch By Don Kern p. 21
Apple Grow, Runners Flow in Sparta Rain By Daniel G. Kelsey p. 23
Foursome Leads Charge at Waterloo By Charles Douglas McEwen p. 24
Steve’s Run: Where States, States-of-Mind Connect By Daniel G. Kelsey p. 25
Mom’s Prosper at Father’s Day Run By Charles Douglas McEwen p. 26
Howell Aquathlon: Water, Graves and Fun By Charles Douglas McEwen p. 26
Wheeler Dashes Downhill to Solstice Win By Charles Douglas McEwen p. 27
Record Field Rips It Up at Torn Shirt By Charles Douglas McEwen p. 28

Cover: Marissa Treece sets new meet record, 16:36.34 in the 5,000 meter run, Nike Outdoor Nationals, June 14, 2007, Greensboro, North Carolina. Photo by Victah Sailer, photorun.net.

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Editor’s Notes:
By Scott Sullivan

“The first shall be last,” said Jesus. That’s what I thought — “Jesus” — when my daughter Flannery said she was going to run a 3.1-mile foot race.

“You’ve never even run a mile,” I said.

“Carly’s going to run. She’s seven and I’m seven,” Flannery said.

Yes, I thought. Carly’s also a half-year older, five inches taller and has finished 10 runs this distance. I’m the same age as 1983 Boston Marathon winner Greg Meyer.

I noted Carly, who’d planned to do this, was wearing sneakers; Flannery had on flipflops with plastic flowers.

“Let’s go!” she said.

This was eighth of a nine-race series in which I was vying for a top-10 finish. Should I let her fend for herself? “It’ll make her tough. She will thank me someday ...” I couldn’t.

So I set out with Flannery, Carly and Carly’s mom, Francine, behind 85 runners in my daughter’s Quixotic first crack at a 5K race.

Luckily for me, Francine had been through this. “Slow down,” she told the girls when they tried to take off with the hard bodies. She’d brought high-tech running fuel, i.e. gummi bears, to re-ignite flagging energies, and showed Carly stretches to cope with side stitches.

“What’s a side stitch?” asked Flannery.
“A sudden, sharp pain in the intercostal muscles.”
“I think I have one.”
“Which side?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe both,” she said.

Other runners disappeared ahead. The girls plugged on — skinny, freckled limbs flailing — to the mile mark where leaders, then everyone else, dashed back at us.

Rain fell. “It washes the sweat away,” Francine said.

Flannery gave me her flip-flops and ran/walked barefoot. Every time Carly would pull away, she would get a side stitch and walk, prompting Flannery to crinkle her nose in determination and run to catch her. Then they’d walk together; passing would be rude.

Their hair grew plastered with rain and sweat. “My neck bone hurts,” Flannery said.

When she’d see a marking cone tipped over, she’d stop to right it. Leave the course tidier than you found it. How come she’s not that way with her bedroom?

Many are called names — “slowpoke,” “caboose club” — that we’ve not chosen. As we neared two miles, we saw other runners — having finished, cooled down and had time to read all the Harry Potter books — driving home.
“Are you proud?” asked Flannery.
“Of a kid who’s nuts?”
“You are proud.”

It didn’t matter if she was fast, slow or even finished. If other parents had kids who were champions, scholars, beauty queens. I loved her so much my heart hurt.

Finish-line officials cheered when the girls at last came in view. Carly took off; we didn’t chase her. My wife jogged out to join our jog in, encouraging.

“You’ll never beat me!” I told Flannery, speeding up with 20 yards left. That spurred her to sprint and beat me, to cheers from a handful of people left. We had ice cream in lieu of a laurel wreath. Went out afterward catching fireflies instead of glory.

It was the first race I’d finished last in — and slowest but best time I’ve ever had. MR

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