I was just thinking the other day as I trudged up the hill on my morning run that I had better start pushing the pace a little bit so I can be in good shape for the upcoming Strawberry Shortcut 5k. The day of both of the Shortcut races on Sunday, June 23 is drawing near and my goal has always been to place in my age group. Sometimes I make it, other times I don’t. The competition in the old guys category is pretty stiff and I need to be on the top of my game if I hope to have a chance.
I was just thinking if I want to accomplish this goal, I probably shouldn’t stop so often on my runs to admire the scenery on Mitchell Creek Road, or to feed the horses carrots and apple slices along the way. I probably shouldn’t stop by Abbey’s Bridge just above the fish hatchery and sit by the creek and think about all the good things in life as the runoff waters rush near my feet.
I was just thinking that the little blackbird that sits on the rock near the creek and pays me a visit each morning is as glad to see me as I am him. I do believe my little feathered friend represents a spirit of some kind who is keeping tabs on me, almost like a guardian angel. I do think it may be my old running friend who used to love lumbering up that road and talking philosophy with me. But maybe it’s just a bird that is not particularly happy that I invade his early morning space and routine.
I was just thinking about Mr. Bear who crossed the road a little ways in front of me as I was running back to my house on one of those daybreak runs. I’m not sure if it was Yogi or Boo Boo, but he darted across the road and up the side of the mountain so fast that I’m sure he would win any age group medal in any race he entered. Following his crossing, I picked up a rock and slowly, then swiftly, made my way past the area where he was spotted. Mr. Bear is the first creature of any significant size that I have encountered in all my years running up that road. I’m thankful I have never met up with Mr. Mountain Lion.
I was just thinking about the only place I can go in Glenwood anymore and still feel like I’m in the town I grew up in. Whenever I go to the Glenwood Golf Course to put my inept swinging abilities on full display, I see many of the people I grew up with, their kids, young men that I coached or had in class, or just folks who moved here many years ago and have become part of the fiber of what used to be a quaint little spot just like Mayberry. It’s a shame that the town has grown and changed so much from the time I was a little league player and throwing those speedballs just like the great Nolan Ryan. But I guess that’s progress. I would call it regress.
I was just thinking about all the great men that I had as coaches growing up here. Many of them now have a gymnasium, football stadium or a street named in their honor. Bob Chavez, Harlan Spencer and Nick Stubler were my basketball coaches. Even though I only played football in junior high school, I felt like Don Miller was a mentor in so many ways to me in the hallways of Glenwood Springs High School and as the athletic director when I was the girls’ basketball coach.
I was just thinking that last year at this time, both Chavez and Albert Blanc came up to Carbondale to talk with the Roaring Fork girls basketball team about what it took to be successful on and off the court. Those men are both gone now. Chavez, Spencer, Stubler, and Blanc, along with my brother Dicky V, are the foundation on which Glenwood basketball was built.
I was just thinking how lucky I was to be around men like that who can never be replaced.
I was just thinking that I will miss the presence and “basketball analysis” of Bill Walton on those late night games from the old PAC 12 conference. Walton had an entertaining way of interspersing a memorable performance of Joan Baez at the Woodstock music festival with a clutch play in a game between Arizona State and Stanford. He would go to great lengths to describe to the viewer his night seeing the Grateful Dead at the Gil Coliseum while the game between Oregon State and Colorado played out before him.
I was just thinking about the night, in the middle of one of Walton’s ramblings, his announcing partner Dave Pasch interrupted, saying “Bill, we do have a basketball game going on here!” His coach at UCLA, John Wooden, said Walton was the most difficult player he ever had to deal with. He also was quick to call him one of his favorites.
I was just thinking that it could be quite possible that maybe I think too much. Time spent in reflection seems to be the best part of my days anymore, but that’s ok, as long as I keep moving forward.
At my age, any type of movement is a good thing, whether it’s mental or physical.
Don’t you think?
See you at the Shortcut races.
Glenwood Springs native Mike Vidakovich is a freelance sports writer, teacher and youth sports coach. His column appears monthly in the Post Independent and at PostIndependent.com.
