Over the weekend I went to the
Nike Store at the Jersey Shore Outlets to check out the sales. Work has been
especially hectic the last few months so I haven't been running much and
nothing jump starts me like new gear. Falling out of my running routine can
bring me down fast. I have a history of weight issues and I'm old enough
now that my metabolism is a ghost of its former self, so being sedentary at
work and not running is a bad recipe. Most importantly though, my time running
is my time for life, the universe and everything. It's my time for meditation
and reflection. When I'm particularly stressed or weighed down, exhausting my
body is the best way to free my mind; bringing myself to my physical limits
lets my brain loose from the rat's maze of routine, deadlines and demands, and
sets free the creativity and fantasy that I sadly just don't have the time to explore
much anymore. So for me going to the Nike Store is like flipping through a
travel guide.
I found a good pair of shorts
at a great price and as I was weaving through the aisles when something caught
my eye, even in the blurred periphery I knew, it was Pre! Steve Prefontaine!
When Pre died in 1974, he held every American record between 800m and 10000m.
Like James Dean, Pre is a true American icon that embodies all the cool, all
the bravado and all the Romance of a figure so uniquely American and so
prematurely tragic, who flares brilliantly and quickly leaving a looming almost
super human shadow burned into the landscape like the Shadows of Hiroshima for
any who dare to follow. Pre's legacy is not just what he accomplished in a
short time; he embodies infinite questions, possibilities, potential, loss and
all that could have been-never to be answered.
I'm always hopeful to come
across a piece of Pre-mabelia, which doesn't happen much since Nike's "Pre
Lives" branding campaign from a few years ago, and this shirt was a
WINNER. Great photo of Pre breaking the tape in black and white on grey, but
what was the yellow, a stain or mark? I moved past someone and a rack of jog
pants and my jaw dropped, I couldn't believe it! Superimposed across Pre's
singlet "Livestrong" and a yellow plastic bracelet on his wrist, the
"stain" that caught my attention, and all things considered,
"stain" is accurate.
Lance Armstrong’s
name became familiar to me over the years as it did most Americans and
countless others around the globe as the champion who beat cancer and whose
super human determination was producing super human feats of endurance. Only
someone with a heart of cold dead stone would not WANT to be awed by his story,
and we as a culture made him a celebrity, read about his ups and downs,
donated, bought his products, even the stupid plastic bracelets, because we
believed, because we WANTED to believe in the myth he had fabricated. This is
nothing new. Every Culture is laced with the power of mythology from the blunt
utility of The Art of War, the
shrewd manipulations of Machiavelli's Prince, even the lighthearted but biting criticisms of The
Importance of Being Earnest and the
fantasies of DC and Marvel comics. Our American mythology seemed to be
populated by the gods of Sport: Babe Ruth, Joe DiMaggio, Mohammed Ali, Kareem
Abdul Jabbar, Michael Jordan, on and on. Like the coliseum in Rome, spectacle
and the performers of spectacle have come to dominate our culture. Some we tear
down to make ourselves feel superior, most we elevate to demigods and obsess on
their glory. What Lance did was so shrewd, so calculated and so deceitful as
too make all that came before him seem benign. Lance created a far reaching and
powerful system of deception meant to place him at the center, elevate him,
transmogrify him like Jesus on Easter into something superhuman, and he did it
all in the name, under the guise, of a selfless victim turned champion who just
wanted to reach and help as many lives as possible. Even typing that makes me
as bitter as I can stand. It is beyond disgusting. Bankrupt ego run riot. This
is so far beyond the simplicity of an athlete trying to keep his edge or attain
some meager trophy like the Major League dopers and steroid users. This is a
man who single handedly manipulated the personal and professional lives of
hundreds first hand, thousands by association, and all predicated on the lie
that the rewards you reap are relative the your work and dedication to that
goal, but everything he achieved was a lie that in perpetrating, robbed dozens
of others from honestly achieving the "pinnacle" achievements of
work, dedication and sacrifice he professed: the athletes, spouses, families,
trainers, competitors, doctors, sponsors, the list goes on.
I WANT to believe in heroes,
but I don't want to believe in lies.
Of course all heroes have clay feet, but it’s about who they
present themselves to be. It is the person's character that matters and their
character that will endure. Pre was a loudmouth and a braggart to the point of
being at times obnoxious, but he never claimed to be inherently superior, he
always said that whatever happened in a race was simply a matter of how hard he
prepared, how deep he dug and what he left on the track. He famously said,
"Someone may beat me but they're going to have to bleed to do it."
This is what is inspiring to people like me about Pre. He said he wasn't built
like a great runner, he was too short, his torso too long. Hey! I'm too short!
My legs are too short! I smoked for 16 years! I'm slow! But I know, when it
comes down to it, and I commit myself, when all that matters is what's inside,
I will bleed my guts out before I just give up or walk away from something.
Pre carried that in all his
endeavors, the son of good German Protestant stock. He lobbied against the
burning of Fall crops because of pollution, particularly air quality during
track season. He lobbied to Congress about the deplorable treatment of amateur
athletes, a fight his friends carried on in his name and eventually won,
ironically freeing the way for Nike to create the Pro sponsor cult of
personality that has brought it so much success. He traveled from high school
meet to high school meet, an Olympic hero!, in his burned out MG with a trunk
full of Nikes, meeting fans and cultivating the sport he loved. It wasn't known
till sometime after his death that he was sponsoring prison running clubs for
years, perhaps sharing the freedom of body, mind and soul he had found with
those who had no other way to find their own. Pre had done all this and more
without making a spectacle of himself, at least off the track. Pre, for all his
bravado, is a testament of reverence for the spectacle of life that is all
around us and that I think he was thankful to be a part of. I'm comfortable
making this assumption because of how humbly and modestly he chose to pay it
back, whether handing out free shoes to young runners or raising money to
preserve his favorite running spot, a trail that was eventually purchased in
his name and I thoroughly enjoyed jogging. Pre celebrated life and reflected it
back to all those he touched because he innately knew what people like Lance
Armstrong will never understand: the ability to influence is far greater and
more important than the ability to take credit.
