Sports Editor
Peter Hockaday
peterhockaday@dailyemera!d .com
Thursday, October 10,2002
-Oregon Daily Emerald
Sports
Best bet
NHL: Detroit at San Jose
7:30 p.m., ESPN2
Jesse
Thomas
Go the distance
Portland Marathon
tests perseverance
I woke at 3:52 a.m., 20 minutes before I had set my alarm, on
Sunday morning. My day of destiny had begun.
I poured my cup of coffee and toasted a whole wheat bagel. I
added some strawberry jam to it and when I finished, I grabbed
the red apple I had set aside the night before.
Then again, how was I really eating? I didn’t even feel hungry;
my stomach was in my throat.
After I cleaned up, I put my uniform on, pinned on my bib
number, laced up my running shoes,
grabbed my PowerBars and was off.
I jammed out to my “Rocky” soundtrack
to get me pumped up on my drive to Port
land. It’s a pre-race ritual for me. It was 5:45
a.m. and still dark outside.
The sun wouldn’t show its face until mo
ments before 7 a.m. when I was at the start
line. I listened to Mayor Vera Katz as she
spoke of something; I really didn’t pay at
tention. I couldn’t think of anything except
what would happen next.
Then we all took a moment to cheer on
90-year-old John Besson Jr. in his quest to
set the world record for a man his age. And he would go on to de
stroy the record by more than an hour.
I stood among 8,000 others as we counted down from 10 to
the start of our race. I was heading into the 26.2-mile monster
known as the Portland Marathon.
I anticipated that I could average a seven-minute mile pace all
the way. Well sure, I could hold that pace for maybe 10 or 12
miles, but if I did that I would never make it.
Through five miles it was amazing, from seeing my mother at
certain spots on the course taking pictures to hearing all the
spectators cheering and chatting with other runners.
I felt so slow. Yet I was faster than the pace I had wanted to
run. I was excited, and adrenaline was running through my
entire body.
Front Avenue can seem very long and straight when you run the
next six and a half miles on it. The farther you go, the more the
cheering dies down, and you hear nothing but your heartbeat.
I did not begin to feel my feet or my legs until around mile
eight. Then I realized I was human and not Superman. It was
my first marathon, and it would be a battle to the finish.
I found my stride by that point, and I got really comfortable at
a 7:25 second-mile pace. I began to see a lot of the same people
around me, which was good.
The fun and games would soon end, and I would have to push
myself to reach my goal.
Around mile 13 you separate the men from the boys. It’s a
four mile gradual climb all the way to the St. Johns Bridge. I
dropped to a 7:46 pace — my slowest mile yet, and unaccept
able. My next mile was 7:28, a much better time.
Through the climb, I was passed only one time. I had only
trained to the distance of 16 miles, so once I passed that point it
was all new to me.
It was still a matter of focus. Cresting the bridge is great, but
there are still another eight miles to go to the finish.
For all the runners out there, the saying ‘hit the wall’ is very fa
miliar. And to all the rest who don’t understand, it is when hell
comes knocking at your door. The body shuts down and doesn’t
want to give anymore.
I hit the wall. I didn’t even see it coming. I just hit it, and I hit it
hard. I slowed down, and for the first time I questioned whether I
would make it to the finish.
No longer was I taking my race mile by mile, but step by step. I
smiled for the race photo that they take at mile 22, amazed that I
had made it that far.
Then after the 23rd mile an older gentleman ran up next to me
and said, “There is ice cream at the finish.”
I’m not even that big a fan of ice cream but he recognized my
pain, and right then I no longer felt alone.
The Rose Garden was in my sights soon enough, and then I
could begin to hear the faint cheers and screams of the finish line.
Then the bridge of destiny. I knew if I made it to the Steel
Bridge I could last one more mile. That’s when I ‘put the hammer
down.’ In non-runner terms, I went as fast as feasibly possible in
my condition.
Now I audibly heard the screams. I saw all the spectators
cheering and screaming. My soul had taken me through the
longest eight miles of my life after my legs gave way.
The finish line. I told my father, who ran the marathon in
1994, before the race started that “I’m going to hell, and I’ll be
back in about three and a half hours.”
I crossed in 3:22:34.
I was happy. My friends and family threw their arms around
me and said how proud they were. I walked across the street to
get my finisher’s shirt. I made it. I survived. The end.
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His views do not necessarily represent those of the Emerald!
UO chums out coaches
ucms boo loieao is one or
many former Oregon assistants
who is now the head coach
at another Pac-10 school
Peter Hockaday
Sports Editor
When UCLA head coach Bob
Toledo started as offensive coordi
nator at Oregon in 1983, he had no
idea what he was standing on.
A stepping stone.
That’s what Oregon has become
for many coaches in the Pacific-10
Conference. Four current confer
ence coaches started as assistant
coaches at Oregon including
Toledo, Ducks head coach Mike
Bellotti, California head coach Jeff
Tedford and Arizona State head
coach Dirk Koetter.
“It’s kind of the cradle of coaches
on the West Coast,” Toledo said. “It
was a stepping stone, and it still is
because a lot of people have had
success going there and then mov
ing on.”
Toledo is the most established of
the ex-Oregon assistants, aside
from Bellotti. During his time as
offensive coordinator for the
Ducks, Toledo coached the likes of
Bill Musgrave, Chris Miller and
Derek Loville. His tutelage of those
players helped him land a job at
Texas A&M, where he coached the
school’s most prolific offense ever
and was with an Aggie team that
went to three-straight Cotton
Turn to Coaches, page 14
Courtesy UCLA Media Services
Bob Toledo (center) spent five years as an assistant coach at Oregon before moving to UCLA.
Ducks advance despite sickness
Emerald
’ Sven £winnen will play with Oded Teig in the doubles draw.
Three Oregon mens tennis players go winless, but
advance to the main draw of the Icy Hot tournament
Tennis
Jon Roetman
Freelance Sports Reporter
Every now and then, we all need a little luck — especially
while battling stomach sickness.
Despite going winless and having to fight through upset
stomachs, three Oregon men’s tennis players advanced to the
main draw at the Icy Hot/ITA All-American Championships,
beginning today in Chattanooga, Tenn. Preseason No. 63
ranked freshman Manuel Kost will play in the singles draw,
while freshman Sven Swinnen and junior Oded Teig will com
pete in the doubles draw.
Oregon head coach Chris Russell said the stomach problems
were a result of something the players ate Tuesday evening.
Rost forged on, winning the first set of his qualifying match
in a tiebreaker, but couldn’t hold on as he eventually fell to
Baylor’s Ivor Lovrak 6-7,6-2,6-2. Swinnen and Teig struggled
with their illness, losing their qualifying doubles match against
Butler’s Brandon and Kevin Gill 8-4.
Russell was informed by a tournament referee Wednesday
that the Ducks had qualified for the main draw by virtue of the
“lucky loser” entry.
“It was an interesting day for us,” Russell said. “They should
feel a little better tomorrow.”
Kost will face off with preseason No. 92 Oliver Levant of
Florida in today’s first round. Swinnen and Teig have a show
down with Tulsa’s tandem of Ryan Livesay and Dustin Taylor,
also in today’s first round.
“Everyone from here on out is very good,” Russell said. “In
fact, everyone the last two rounds has been very good.”
There are 64 players in the singles draw and 32 pairs in the
doubles draw. The tournament finals for both draws will take
place Sunday.
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