By Ron Eller

This is my event,

passing down the tree lined hall.

Around and with.

Someone, Some all.

Sharing the passage.

Visited by women and men.

Some large, Some small.

Pulling upon the breath of a

mountains painful traverse.

How much farther must we go.

How much until we know.

Passing. Moving on.

Moving upon transient trails alone.

Was I abandoned? Was it disregard?

Was the solitude preferred?

By inevitable anticipation
the passing will come,

like a reflective mirror in the sun.

Sharing the provided passage

down the tree lined hall,

carefully avoiding the crowd

and the crises of the inevitable fall.

I take stride with a man
by all appearances knows.

Where the endless one goes.

Forever lost, forever free

life’s forever dichotomy.

My friend, my hero, my inspiration.

passings, passages

we take what we can.

We leave the rest.

I can not be long,
burdened by the struggle.

Barring the weight of guilt.
The sync-less scales attest

to truth’s deceptive fate.

How long, how long before the end.

My tunnel vision shimmers to the dancing of the desert heat.

Adding it up, the wins are far surpassed by defeat.

The passages expand our vision.

A few truths littered by serendipity.

By such miracles gifted.

through the scattered passings,

this journey lifted.

Wake-up Call

I was uncertain about what to expect. We were scheduled to do my usual wake-up call ten mile run through the desert and deserted streets of Albuquerque, New Mexico. Then onto the soft grass and shade of a fully grown park. A rare find under the New Mexico Sky. It was a perfect environment. The local Albuquerque Newspaper had sent along a photographer to take pictures. Billy was considered to be athletic royalty and his visit to our community was noteworthy. I picked the location for the photo shoot. It was an ideal site with rolling designer hills and enough soft turf to keep the stress upon our legs at bay. We met the photographer at the University Stadium parking lot, a 400 yard jog from my apartment.

We began our trek over to the park as the photographer took a few snap shots along the way. It was my first year at the University of New Mexico. I had a number of full scholarship offers but chose UNM because the school was posed in the high desert above 5000 feet and was one of the perfect US locations to train for the 1968 Olympics to be held in Mexico City. At 7000 feet the 1968 Olympic site was problematic for most United States distance runners. The difficulty  was further exacerbated by the AAU. (US Olympic Committee) Their rigid adherence to a charter of amateur status prevented them from assisting our athletes with the proper funding and circumstances so they could devote their time to training. This morning run was being done in the late summer of 1966. We had plenty of time to find our way before the fire and flags would light up the Mexico City stadium. Much has changed since the times when US athletes had to pay their way to represent their country as Olympians. All I can say our country should be ashamed of itself. Sadly, this land of the free and home of the brave, have much work to do by way of making amends to a group of people who prevailed in spite the inequalities.

At this stage in my life I was working to fulfill my ambitions. However my ambitions were at rest during our morning jog.  I was running with a man who had just accomplished his dream in a dramatic and unconventional manner. What was so appealing, Billy Mills was a man who carried his fame well. He recognized that his talent was a gift and a responsibility.  As we advanced along the road to the park we did cadence to our conversation which covered Billy’s love of running, bits and pieces about the Marines, his training schedule that lead to victory in Tokyo, and his desire to repeat in Mexico City. The fact that we both were in search of the same gold medallion did not dampen the beginning of a friendship. We had far more in common than we did not. We connected on all the levels that really counted. As men we were bound by career, values and obstacles along the runway of life. We definitely were on the same course. Little did I know that with in the blink of an eye life could change immeasurably and the once chartered course would be but a stumbled sextant and a weather-stained course map..

The park was in sight and I felt a sense of pride to be running alongside my friend who was so much more than a runner or a composition of physical attributes that culminated in the Tokyo 1964 win at 10,000 meters. He was brave and gentle, confident yet humble. I could go onward with these dichotomies. Suffice it to say his talent for running was a way to a much broader goal. He was to reinforce the Dream, “The come from behind Dream” that inspires all mankind to be better than we are.” This is the Dream we pass on to the younger generations.  The story of Billy Mills come from behind victory gives us light when there appears to be none.

Once in the park we began the real work out. I felt comfortable introducing Billy to the thin air as we did a form of training called Fartlek, a system of conditioning for distance runners in which the terrain and pace are continually varied to eliminate boredom and enhance psychological aspects of conditioning. The swedish word has always given me pause and a smile. It’s pronunciation closely resembling a western “Fart Lick.” God bless the Swedish. In my best days running I did my share of Fartleking. As we ran I wanted to make sure I could keep the pace which soon became a non sequitur. The altitude was taking it’s toll on Billy although he was definably fit.  I would race one steep incline to make the workout profitable and then relax as Billy quickly caught up. It must have impressed him because several months later Billy commented in a LA Times article that I was going to be one of the better runners in the United States and I was a possible Olympic contender.