A lifetime ago, I considered myself something of a runner.
That included my time in Colorado, when I used to run the foothills and trails in Boulder. If you've ever been there, you know the city basically sits at the foot of what are called The Flatirons. They are huge, sheer rock faces and loom over the town.
It's a spectacular sight, and makes for a picturesque setting.
But its beauty masks the challenge - at least for runners. You are more than a mile high, and that has nothing to do with the fact that recreational use of Cannabis is now legal in the Rocky Mountain State.
Most of my Rocky Mountain High in those days came from running, but I'll be the first to tell you that it took me a while to adjust to that altitude. It affects just about everything in terms of athletics.
Basketball? Forget it. I never could adjust to the way I felt when I tried to run the court.
But after several months I gradually built up my endurance and soon was zipping along the trails pretty much the way I had back in Pennsylvania.
But I never encountered "the zone" there.
In fact, I got that ethereal feeling often experienced by runners only once in my life.
It was a drizzling summer Sunday afternoon. I left the house in Oxford for my usual jog. I soon found myself picking up speed and then settling into a fairly quick pace.
Then it hit me.
I wish I could describe that feeling. It was like I wasn't feeling a thing. I felt like I could have run forever. And I almost did, covering a lot of territory on the rural roads outside town.
Eventually, life got in the way and my running ways - like so many other things - got stashed in the closet.
I hadn't run in years when something on TV "jogged" my memory - literally.
I decided that was the time to revisit my running days. Big mistake.
I wasn't far from the house when I returned home and collapsed into a chair.
I haven't run since.
All of this is a way to say I've been thinking about running a lot since I heard the news that a 25-year-old trainer at Upper Darby High collapsed and died at the Broad Street Run.
25.
I never met Brian Smart. But a lot of people who did describe him as a great guy.
Smart was an accomplished runner who had tackled several races, including the Broad Street Run. He collapsed at Mile 8 of the 10-mile Broad Street run.
His father indicated initial autopsy reports indicated Brian may have had a larger than normal heart.
The kids at Upper Darby High could attest to that. He had a big effect on the school even though he had only been there for a year.
25.
That's the thing that jumped out at me from that story. When I first heard the radio report of the incident, I was thinking about someone my age, some weekend warrior who decided to recapture some of his past glory.
Not an athletic trainer and accomplished runner with his entire life in front of him.
This isn't supposed to happen to people who are 25.
Saying he was gone too soon is an understatement.
RIP, Brian Smart.
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