Individual or Team?

The first athletic games I learned were baseball and football. Somewhere in the mix were croquet and badminton, both of which I played with a passion to win, but neither kept me from going back to baseball and football.

My brothers and I, there were three of us, would make up football plays, handoffs we were sure would score touchdowns. We challenged the Bell Brothers, our black friends, and were overwhelmed by their athleticism. For some reason our well rehearsed plays didn’t work the way we had diagramed them. What was that about? After that lesson, we made our challenges more carefully. If us white boys were not particularly gifted athletically, we did know how to draw water from the well. We invited the Bell Brothers to join our team and we then issued a challenge to our cousins, Garland, Marvin and Doyle Baker. These Bakers lived not just across town, but slightly out of town, in Telferner. They knew neither of their parents would drive them in to play football on the vacant lot next to our house, so they secretly hitchhiked into town, a roundtrip adventure of 16-17 miles. To tell the truth, I had all but forgotten about this grudge football match until Garland recently reminded me of it. I can’t even recall who might have padded out the rest of the Telferner Baker team, but I am told my team, full of Bell “ringers” won going away.

Solo or Ensemble?

If I have learned anything in my pursuit of athletics, a modest quest at best, it is the lesson learned lately that team sports are still a lot of fun. My bones wouldn’t stand even flag football any more, and I never had a baseball player’s eye, though I love the game with a passion. My sport these days is running. I have flirted with triathlon, but really get my kicks, physically and mentally, from moving my feet down the road. It’s a largely solitary activity, as are the races for which we all train. For the most part, that’s fine by me; I am largely a do-it-yourselfer. That’s why I was so surprised a few years ago when I organized my first running team. Six musician runners from the Mid-Texas Symphony teamed up to run the Beach to Bay Relay Marathon, an annual event in Corpus Christi, Texas. None on the team had experience with relay running, so we were all flabbergasted to find how much fun was the team dynamic. Duh….let’s think about this. Six musicians, none of us recitalists or soloists. We were all orchestral players, comfortable in an ensemble. Somehow, it still took us by surprise how the running parallel of orchestral musicmaking was, logically, team running. We fell for it, and fell for it hard.

Not every runner wants to be part of a team. One of our original team runners drifted away, and I have had other runners pass on joining the team, preferring to run alone. That’s fine, though those runners might be surprised to find they would like running with a team. There are several elements of team running which contribute to its appeal. Ask any of us who run with team Mid-Texas Symphony, and we are unanimous in saying it makes us run faster and with greater determination as individuals. This might seem counter-intuitive, but it is at the core of being ensemble musicians. You play your part for the greater good of the orchestra. Play your heart out and those around you will do the same. In the end the sum is greater than the parts. With relay running, it’s much the same. Each runner knows their ability, and what might be extended from that ability, and for the most part everyone gives greater than 100 percent.

I have not been on a running team which contends for first prize. We run for the challenge and run against our expectations. Occasionally we run to beat another team. (I’m still not quite sure why Jonathon Hager seemed so driven to beat the Dairy Queen team at the Texas Independence Relay, but WE DID.) Our Mid-Texas Symphony team has always been a mix of tortoise and hare. Frankly, I am tickled as can be that the fast runners on the team seem to enjoy, or at least tolerate, those of us who run more deliberately (a kind way of saying s-l-o-w-l-y). I like to believe that it is the ensemble dynamic which binds us together: runners with varied abilities teaming for surprising results. But what I also know, and it’s what served so well in that Baker Bowl grudge football match so many years ago, is to look for a few “ringers” when you can. A six minute miler sure goes a long way to making my ten minute mile look like eight. Thanks to my teammates who have given me and the others on the team such thrills over the years.

And now, what I originally set out to say is thanks to those other teammates who helped us so much at the recent Texas Independence Relay (TIR). My sister Brenda Jackson, the original “Wrunner Wrangler,” has been with us from the first Beach to Bay. She was ably abetted by Dorian Ramirez at the TIR. Thanks for keeping us on track and running strong. And then there was the considerable generosity of Carroll Voss, of San Antonio Fleet Feet. Carroll has taught me a great deal about race hydration, while encouraging me to take satisfaction from my modest running accomplishments. Carroll also contributed a variety of Hammer hydration products to team Mid-Texas Symphony for the TIR, keeping us all better able to perform at our respective competitive levels.

And finally, there were individuals who support the Mid-Texas Symphony, board members and others, who gave monetary support to help defray the cost of registering the team for the TIR. Thanks to all of you for your generosity. I hope you enjoy being on our team as much as we enjoy being on yours.

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The Texas Independence Relay 2008: “Simply the Coolest thing I’ve ever done!”

Like kids waiting for Christmas morning to finally roll around, team Mid-Texas Symphony finally had its opportunity to see what the new day had brought them. Would it be a weekend of wonder, or a huge sack of coal? For sure, it was dark as we rose at 4:30 am, with dense fog to boot.

Seven of our team of runners and drivers had arrived Friday evening, February 29, in Seguin. Three were runners I had never met before, the three who had finally capped our running team at ten. Dinner together had dispelled any fear of incompatibility. It was apparent we were together for one primary reason, a love of running. Throw into that a sense of adventure, risk and musical overtones and the gelling of a team was begun. The origin of this team is to be found in the Mid-Texas Symphony, a regional orchestra which plays for a very supportive public in Seguin and New Braunfels. The core of the running team consists of musicians from the orchestra, extended further by family relationships to the orchestra. Thus there was some question regarding the musical qualifications of the newest members of the team. They had responded to my frantic appeal for runners:

“Three or four runners needed to run with Mid-Texas Symphony. You don’t have to be a musician, but it would be nice if you really like music.”

Alan and Marie Pekarik had responded, followed a half day later by Holly Murphy-Brackin. Holly admitted upfront that she was a beginning piano student. That’s good enough for me; then in a Google search I saw she was also a member of the band boosters in Caldwell. Not wanting to spook Alan and Marie, I made no inquiry about their musical interests. However, my sister Brenda just couldn’t contain her curiosity.

She wrote to Alan:
“Looking forward to meeting you and your wife. So, the important question remains (the answer doesn't make a difference). Did either you or your wife participate in band/orchestra/choir in junior high or high school?”

Alan wrote back:
"Marie, played clarinet in high school band (first chair), and can still play a mean harmonica if you ask her. I played classical guitar for about 4 years but the skills are almost gone after all these years.

“Wow, glad we passed that test... hope we can do as well running!”


We drove to Gonzales to begin our quest of 203.67 miles of small towns, countryside and big city Texas. But wait, there were still other runners to meet! Steve and his son Jonathon were waiting at the parking lot while I tried to contact our last three runners by cell phone. No answer, and I saw some doubts creeping onto the faces of several on the team. Was this really as well organized as it needed to be? And then came Maeve Goetz, the daughter of Mid-Texas Symphony librarian and violinist Eithne Goetz, with her cousin Brian Renaghan and his wife Denise. I sighed in relief at having ten runners and two drivers all in place.

BAM! A nearby cannon shot reverberated sympathetically with the historic shots which began the Texas Revolution in October, 1835. “Come and take it,” challenged the rebels as the Mexican militia tried to recover a cannon which had been given the Texicans by the Spanish governor. Today the course lying ahead cried “Come and Take It!” We lined up our team of ten at the starting line on the historic town center, prepared to take an initial team lap around the square before Marie would peel off and begin our one-by-one, leg-by-leg attack of the challenging course ahead. Our drivers, Brenda Jackson, the “Wrunner Wrangler,” and cellist Dorian Ramirez pounded the starting gong, signaling the start of our race. Feet began to beat the street and our hearts began to pound. At 12 minutes past 7am we were off, not (we hoped) to be denied.

Here began the energy of forward motion which would propel us in striking ways for the next 31 hours 18 minutes. None of us had a clear understanding of how we would feel as the race unfolded. I had imagined it would be a period of intensity as I would run my assigned leg of anywhere from 3 to nearly 9 miles, followed by 6 or 7 hours of inactivity, probably even boredom, while waiting the next turn to run. How wrong I was! And I think for the most part everyone had the similar experience of being continually energized by the team effort and the energy of the race itself. Oh, I got a mild sense that those runners who had to wait a few hours in the early stages before the van 2 team became active, might have twiddled their thumbs a bit. But for the most part, everyone was involved, actively running or just getting out and cheering, cheering for teammates and for other teams. The sportsmanship between teams was tremendous, and every town along the route produced volunteers and cheers. It was a remarkably heartwarming experience.

Yes, you get tired. Everyone gave a brave surge at the end of each leg, leaning forward to pass the baton to the next runner. And heaven only knows how we managed to keep ourselves motivated and energetic as morning turned to sunny afternoon to early evening and then to mid-night. The carnival atmosphere in Columbus, propelled by the town’s steel band and little ensemble of wind instrumentalists, kept all the runners and their brave support teams energized. Finally, about midway through the race and with 100 miles already behind us, we enjoyed the hospitality of the little town of Wallis, which opened up gymnasiums for showers and a few winks of sleep. All the while, others on the team kept moving forward, advancing on the outskirts of Houston and ultimately to the still distant San Jacinto Battleground.

Our team was a mix of fast runners, medium runners and slow runners. We even had a walker, but one who proved she could walk with a fast and gutsy pace. As each leg came in and we began to monitor the progress, it became apparent that we might be faster than we thought. Initial predictions had us running at an overall pace of 9 minutes 44 seconds per mile. Now admittedly it helps when the fast runners begin to turn in miles of sub-7:30, and then the anchor leg burns it up at a blistering 6:24 pace. But in the end, the fast shared their glory with the not so fast and we collectively celebrated a team pace of 9 minutes 13 seconds per mile.

Over 31 hours after our start in Gonzales, nine runners and two drivers stood waiting the arrival of Jonathon. Had the day been clear we would have stood in the shadow of the San Jacinto Monument. But more importantly, we each understood we were standing in the shadow of an accomplishment we had previously only imagined. Steve went out to meet his son Jon so the two of them could run in together. I choked back my emotion as the two of them ran together up State of Texas Vista Road. Our team run of the final four tenths of a mile was our opportunity to celebrate. We radiated smiles and proudly accepted our Texas-sized finisher medals.

As they always say, there are many to whom we owe our thanks. A higher force looked after us and we give thanks for that. Mother Nature smiled and kept the rain and the cold away until we were finished. Our runners supported each other in ways which were touching. We cheered, we brought water to each other, and we were each patient to allow our teammates to relish their moments. Mountains of patience and support were provided by Brenda and Dorian, our van drivers. And throughout it became more and more apparent how carefully and lovingly the Texas Independence Relay had been prepared. Aside from some skimping on route markers along the way, Joy and Jay Hilscher are to be commended highly for providing such a marvelous setting in which we runners ran and played. Without hesitation, team Mid-Texas Symphony is already looking forward to a chance to do this again. See you in 2009!

Cool, heartwarming and funny tidbits:

Being welcomed to Borden, population tiny, by the mayor and the entire population.

As I ran along a scenic but remote stretch of Highway 90, a van filled with adults and kids stopped ahead of me. They crossed the highway and divided themselves into a gauntlet. As I passed through, they cheered me on. Such doesn’t happen in ordinary races.

After the runners in van 1 had finished their second round of runs, we pulled into a Subway shop for a bite to eat. Our timing was good, since we were near the front of a not too long line of customers. But then the tidal wave began to roar as one van after another unloaded hungry runners. There were only three employees working at the time. As we sat and enjoyed our sandwiches, the shop manager could be heard desperately describing the situation on the phone. “They just keep coming in vans, and buses, in waves! We need help!” We smiled with a curious blend of humor and sympathy.

Viva TIR!

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