Travel diary of a track nut: watching, competing and complaining

U.S. Olympic T&F Trials, Hayward Field, Eugene OR, June 2012
We spotted TV announcer Tom Hammond huffing and puffing his way through the crowd of spectators. No doubt hustling back to NBC broadcast booth, probably after a substantial lunch. Then, his brilliant play-by-play of the men’s 100 meter final: “And the gun goes off! They’re heading down the track! Some runners are ahead! It’s a tight race! They’re crossing the finish line! It’s too close to call!” Brilliant.
 
U.S. Olympic T&F Trials, Tad Gormley Stadium, New Orleans LA, June 1992
Ah, decathlon, the Rodney Dangerfield of track & field (“I’m telling ya, I don’t get no respect”). The average viewer’s attention span can’t handle 10 events over two days, with results determined by quadratic equations. But this year, Reebok’s marketing program created a mock rivalry between Dan O’Brien and Dave Johnson. “Dan vs. Dave – who’s the world’s greatest athlete?” To be, or not to be? Alas, not to be. Dan missed qualifying for the pole vault. Three tries, you’re out. Much consternation among fans in the stands. Does he get a do-over? A mulligan? No, no, no. Reebok marketing rep wailing and gnashing his teeth. Lots of drama, but not the kind of drama they were hoping for.
 
World Outdoor Championship, Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, August 2001
Outstanding meet, but not much else to do in this town. Natives call it Deadmonton. Opening ceremony day was sunny, then cloudy; calm, then windy; then rainy. I remarked to a local sitting next to me: “We’ve seen every kind of weather today except snow.” She replied, “Bite your tongue. It has snowed here in August.”
 
1984 Summer Olympics, Los Angeles
Some know-it-all behind us in the bleachers told his girlfriend that hurdlers lose points when they hit a hurdle. Resisted the temptation to whack him on the head with my souvenir program.
 
Some masters meet where we competed. Details illegible due to popcorn oil stain on diary page.
Rumor spreading like wildfire: Legendary Sprinter Who Shall Remain Nameless is on the concourse behind spectator stands, signing autographs for two dollars apiece. Why two dollars? Why not ten dollars? or fifty cents? Would he take a Canadian loonie? If I only have a twenty, does he give change? Could I con him by asking for his autograph on my $2 bill and then take it back? But nah, we figured this was just a ploy to cheat us out of two bucks. Instead we spent it on year-old popcorn at the concession stand.
 
Winter weekends, driving from our home in Wisconsin to indoor meets in Illinois
--Joliet (…and en route, Romeoville). On each trip, I can’t resist the pun of Romeoville and Joliet, the star-crossed lovers. Even better: when we drive past the equine hospital near Wisconsin’s southern border, I exclaim, “The horspital!” and make a whinnying sound. Hubby just grips the steering wheel more tightly, his version of a standing ovation.
--Byron, the site of a nuclear power plant. We always enjoy seeing two-headed cattle out in the fields.
--Dixon, near the Illinois/Iowa border, boasts that it’s the boyhood home of President Ronald Reagan. I’d prefer President Richard Nixon, because Dixon/Nixon is so much easier for us geography dummies to remember.
 
Miscellanous masters meets we ran. Where? When? Doesn’t matter.
--Elderly woman collapsed as she crossed the finish line. Is this a heart attack?! She’s revived by paramedics and immediately asks them, “Did I win?”
--Outdoor nationals in Long Island, NY. All day long, a strong wind blew and blew, and blew some more. A foreign-born friend griped, “I’m reellee pieced of by dis folking wind.” We still quote him to each other on windy days.
--One competitor wearing yellow top & yellow leggings; I think of him as Mr. Banana. Another guy wearing skintight white leggings, a classic example of why you shouldn’t wear skintight white leggings. Too Much Information. 

--Leah Rewolinski