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ENLARGE
The question often asked is “what makes us tick?” One that could be reasonably asked about runners is “who makes us run?”
I'd bet there has been a strongly influential person in the lives of serious runners that led them into being just that.
For me, that was my father, Richard Bond, who passed on last Thursday, Jan. 7.
Several of my running friends and I had a memorial run for my dad that very morning and it was very touching, especially with my two daughters Jennifer and Traci, starting it with us.
Yes, my dad was a runner at times in his life, clocking a personal best 56 seconds for the quarter mile, back in the days when tracks were much slower and running shoes prehistoric. Dad also ran his first and only marathon (New York City) in his sixties.
But those weren't what inspired me and my younger brother, Bruce. Or my older brother, Jock, who ran his first and only (so far) marathon (Marine Corps) at age 60.
The inspiration came from within him, from his Puritan work ethic and never give up attitude.
At times it could be tough on his three sons, because we strove throughout our lives to make him proud of us.
Back in the ‘70s, when Bruce and I were at New Canaan High School in Connecticut, and the running boom was hitting thanks to Jim Fixx, Bill Rodgers, Frank Shorter and Steve Prefontaine, our dad pushed us to only ever be satisfied momentarily, and then push on to be better than we were before.
At whatever we did.
I can remember Dad saying to me many times, when I questioned what I should be doing with my life as a teenager, “I don't care what you do, just pick something and do it the best you can.”
So, we tried various sports, finally finding our niche in running.
And if we ever faltered, he was there to push us again. If I was tired and waffling about going out for a training run, or nervous about a race, his advice always boiled down to the same thing, “Don't complain about it, just DO IT!”
And we did.
Always trying to please and impress the father who was a great business success, a very good tennis player, and for seven years the First Selectman (mayor) of New Canaan. Certainly he was no underachiever.
Jock went on to have a 20-year military career, ending up a Lieutenant Colonel in the Special Forces.
Bruce and I were on two world record breaking 24-hour-relay teams in high school, were track captains and on the State Championship cross country team, both qualified for the State Open in track and went on to be track captains at our respective colleges (Princeton and University of Virginia, respectively) and both broke school records.
And we're still running.
Who lit the fire under us?
Our father.
He who, if you told him you got a 98 on a test, replied, “Why didn't you get 100?”
Or, if you finished second in a race, “Why didn't you win?”
Or, if you won, “Why didn't you run faster?” Or, “Was there only one person in the race?”
We KNEW he was proud, even if, as a Depression era child, he wasn't very emotionally expressive.
On Bi-Centennial Day, July 4, 1976, I ran one of the best races of my life in New Canaan and beat four runners I never had before, winning the race.
The picture, from the finish, ran in the local paper the next week, and you could very clearly see my dad, rooting me on, camera in one hand, with a BIG smile on his face.
That's my favorite picture of my Dad and how I choose to remember him.
The first person I called after every race was my dad. He mellowed in his later years and was able to be even more supportive and encouraging.
Many thoughts have been running through my head the last few weeks.
Appreciate and thank those who have contributed positively to your life.
Appreciate that you can run. Not everyone is able, and it can be a beautiful, freeing, powerful experience.
Appreciate your parents, family and friends as much as possible.
Take care of your health by eating well, exercising and getting adequate sleep.
Appreciate the powerful stress relief that running/exercise brings. I would visit my Dad in the hospital, later go out and run, then come back and share the experiences with him.
And there was a lot to share. I took a tour of the town for him, touching every building I could find that meant anything to him, for him, because he couldn't. The movie theater, all the schools, the town hall, his church, the train station, the football stadium, the track, the cross country course, and many more.
I also ran from the high school to his house and back, four miles each way. 18 degrees, zero wind chill factor, snowing and ice on the ground, 30 mile an hour gusts. Painful AND a spiritual experience. Dad was “with” me. I flew the last mile.
I am very thankful that I could travel across country to see my dad for most of that last week, to be able to thank him in person for giving me the opportunity to have a great life, for his encouragement and support, and to say goodbye.
As my kids were saying goodbye, my eldest daughter, Jennifer told my dad, “We love you Papa,” and he replied, “Love you.”
His last words were of love. How perfect.
And I'm thankful that I could make him laugh, one last time.
I also told him I will carry him in my heart and in my head for every run for the rest of my life.
He's not heavy.
In fact, as always, he helps me run faster and stronger.
(I wrote this tribute to my father the day after he passed on. The following day, I went out to run "with" my dad on my regular 7.6 mile route, which I've run more than 100 times, giving it my best effort to run faster than I ever have, for him. When I go hard, I might break my best time by three or five or 10 seconds, if at all, or on a really good day, up to 30 seconds. Dad was with me the whole way this day. I felt his presence, and with his inspiration, I broke my best time by one minute, 48 seconds. Thanks Dad. You live on in me and others who love you.)
Steve Bond is a competitive runner who lives in Nevada City and regularly writes columns and feature stories about running for The Union. He may be reached via e-mail at stillrunning55@sbcglobal.net.
I'd bet there has been a strongly influential person in the lives of serious runners that led them into being just that.
For me, that was my father, Richard Bond, who passed on last Thursday, Jan. 7.
Several of my running friends and I had a memorial run for my dad that very morning and it was very touching, especially with my two daughters Jennifer and Traci, starting it with us.
Yes, my dad was a runner at times in his life, clocking a personal best 56 seconds for the quarter mile, back in the days when tracks were much slower and running shoes prehistoric. Dad also ran his first and only marathon (New York City) in his sixties.
But those weren't what inspired me and my younger brother, Bruce. Or my older brother, Jock, who ran his first and only (so far) marathon (Marine Corps) at age 60.
The inspiration came from within him, from his Puritan work ethic and never give up attitude.
At times it could be tough on his three sons, because we strove throughout our lives to make him proud of us.
Back in the ‘70s, when Bruce and I were at New Canaan High School in Connecticut, and the running boom was hitting thanks to Jim Fixx, Bill Rodgers, Frank Shorter and Steve Prefontaine, our dad pushed us to only ever be satisfied momentarily, and then push on to be better than we were before.
At whatever we did.
I can remember Dad saying to me many times, when I questioned what I should be doing with my life as a teenager, “I don't care what you do, just pick something and do it the best you can.”
So, we tried various sports, finally finding our niche in running.
And if we ever faltered, he was there to push us again. If I was tired and waffling about going out for a training run, or nervous about a race, his advice always boiled down to the same thing, “Don't complain about it, just DO IT!”
And we did.
Always trying to please and impress the father who was a great business success, a very good tennis player, and for seven years the First Selectman (mayor) of New Canaan. Certainly he was no underachiever.
Jock went on to have a 20-year military career, ending up a Lieutenant Colonel in the Special Forces.
Bruce and I were on two world record breaking 24-hour-relay teams in high school, were track captains and on the State Championship cross country team, both qualified for the State Open in track and went on to be track captains at our respective colleges (Princeton and University of Virginia, respectively) and both broke school records.
And we're still running.
Who lit the fire under us?
Our father.
He who, if you told him you got a 98 on a test, replied, “Why didn't you get 100?”
Or, if you finished second in a race, “Why didn't you win?”
Or, if you won, “Why didn't you run faster?” Or, “Was there only one person in the race?”
We KNEW he was proud, even if, as a Depression era child, he wasn't very emotionally expressive.
On Bi-Centennial Day, July 4, 1976, I ran one of the best races of my life in New Canaan and beat four runners I never had before, winning the race.
The picture, from the finish, ran in the local paper the next week, and you could very clearly see my dad, rooting me on, camera in one hand, with a BIG smile on his face.
That's my favorite picture of my Dad and how I choose to remember him.
The first person I called after every race was my dad. He mellowed in his later years and was able to be even more supportive and encouraging.
Many thoughts have been running through my head the last few weeks.
Appreciate and thank those who have contributed positively to your life.
Appreciate that you can run. Not everyone is able, and it can be a beautiful, freeing, powerful experience.
Appreciate your parents, family and friends as much as possible.
Take care of your health by eating well, exercising and getting adequate sleep.
Appreciate the powerful stress relief that running/exercise brings. I would visit my Dad in the hospital, later go out and run, then come back and share the experiences with him.
And there was a lot to share. I took a tour of the town for him, touching every building I could find that meant anything to him, for him, because he couldn't. The movie theater, all the schools, the town hall, his church, the train station, the football stadium, the track, the cross country course, and many more.
I also ran from the high school to his house and back, four miles each way. 18 degrees, zero wind chill factor, snowing and ice on the ground, 30 mile an hour gusts. Painful AND a spiritual experience. Dad was “with” me. I flew the last mile.
I am very thankful that I could travel across country to see my dad for most of that last week, to be able to thank him in person for giving me the opportunity to have a great life, for his encouragement and support, and to say goodbye.
As my kids were saying goodbye, my eldest daughter, Jennifer told my dad, “We love you Papa,” and he replied, “Love you.”
His last words were of love. How perfect.
And I'm thankful that I could make him laugh, one last time.
I also told him I will carry him in my heart and in my head for every run for the rest of my life.
He's not heavy.
In fact, as always, he helps me run faster and stronger.
(I wrote this tribute to my father the day after he passed on. The following day, I went out to run "with" my dad on my regular 7.6 mile route, which I've run more than 100 times, giving it my best effort to run faster than I ever have, for him. When I go hard, I might break my best time by three or five or 10 seconds, if at all, or on a really good day, up to 30 seconds. Dad was with me the whole way this day. I felt his presence, and with his inspiration, I broke my best time by one minute, 48 seconds. Thanks Dad. You live on in me and others who love you.)
Steve Bond is a competitive runner who lives in Nevada City and regularly writes columns and feature stories about running for The Union. He may be reached via e-mail at stillrunning55@sbcglobal.net.
