Chronicling my early years of wind sprints and distance running
By W. Thomas Smith Jr.
I often write about THE IMPORTANCE OF STRENGTH TRAINING: I’m not a competitive powerlifter, but I do regularly work out. I have for years. And my doctors tell me that my years of strength training are what saved my life when I suffered several simultaneous strokes nearly two years ago. So, yes, strength training is critically important to me, and it has been for a very long time.
But what few people know – in fact most don’t – is that I also used to be a very serious runner. Running came naturally to me, and I loved running until Uncle Sam’s Marine Corps literally ran that “love” out of me, which I’ll get to momentarily.
As a kid, I ran and thought nothing of it. After all, every kid runs. One of my fondest memories as kid was (is) of playing football in the front yard of my friend Gregg Hendrix’s house. Whenever the game was over, I would sprint as fast as I could, across the street with the setting sun in my face, across a corner of Mr. Hannon’s yard, through Mr. Jamison’s yard, around his house, across a little brick walkway, hurdling a line of shrubs into Mr. Flynn’s yard then the final 50 yards to the backdoor of my house leaping a short brick wall along the way. Why? I was a kid and for no other reason: And on my route from Gregg’s house to mine, I sometimes pretended bad guys or enemy soldiers were chasing me which made it all the more fun.
Among the summer camps I attended as a boy was FRANK MCGUIRE BASKETBALL CAMP where we learned the finer points of the game from several of the then-Gamecock greats like John Roche, Tom Owens, and John Ribock. One of my favorite memories of that camp was when we broke from daily shootarounds and ran laps around the court (Frank McGuire Arena in Carolina Coliseum) with the huge Gamecock logo in the center of the court. I wasn’t a very good basketball player, but I loved the game. I loved the Gamecocks. And I loved running laps in that famous arena.
A TROUBLEMAKING TEENAGER
When I was a little older – a teenager and up to no good – I remember outrunning several cops who were chasing me on foot across the Forest Lake golf course in Forest Acres (Columbia), S.C. And I was always ‘wrongly’ proud of that little mini-criminal escapade.
In fact, it was during my wild, restive teenage years that the late Coach Robert “Bob” Reynolds, the history teacher–track coach at my high school urged me to go out for track, but I didn’t have the discipline: It shames me to say, but I was far more interested in foolishness and causing trouble than running on the track team.
I always respected Coach Reynolds, a U.S. Army veteran of the Korean War who later became the athletics director at Allen University (ultimately a S.C. Athletic Coaches Hall of Fame inductee), and at the beginning of school desegregation in S.C., he was the first African-American schoolteacher I’d ever known.
As a teacher, Coach Reynolds helped further in me the love of history I already possessed. As a coach, he recognized my running gifts because he had once witnessed me running from one of the assistant principals (yes, I out-ran him too) after I had mischievously triggered the fire alarm in one of the school buildings.
Also in high school, my freshman year, I played on the B-squad football team. I wasn’t a star by any stretch (though I did once recover a fumble, Sept. 27, 1973, the very day my Granddaddy passed away, in a game against a rival school). As I said earlier, I was an undisciplined kid, and I HATED football practice, especially the brutal two-a-days in August where in “famously hot” Columbia, South Carolina the sweltering summers were and still are referred to as “Hell’s front porch.” Though I hated practices, I loved the end of the day when we ran wind-sprints because running was easy for me, my headgear was off, the breeze in my face and through my wet hair was merciful, and I knew sprints signaled that practice was nearly over for the day.
NOT ONLY SHORT BURSTS, BUT DISTANCE
I never ran a marathon, but I easily ran more than a few half marathons (a half marathon being 13.1 miles), and during my college years it was nothing for me to run 15 miles in a clip usually starting out in the early evening when it was cooler. I also ran a few organized road races in order to get the t-shirt.
And I was fast; faster than the majority of my peers. I ran the 40-yard-dash several times and was “clocked” at a very impressive speed. I won’t share my times because no one would believe me, and if they did they’d wonder why (a) I wasn’t a receiver for my beloved Gamecocks, or (b) why wasn’t I a safety or a cornerback for the same. The answers are simple. First, I didn’t have the gifted “hands” to be a receiver, and second I didn’t have the discipline, desire, or the encouragement to explore (as a walk-on) any other position.
UNCLE SAM’S MISGUIDED CHILDREN
I did however become a Marine Infantryman (rifle scout) and THAT was everything to me then … and now. I almost-always scored 100-percent on the standard USMC PFT (physical fitness test) which in those days included a max set of pull-ups, sit-ups, and a three-mile run. The Marine Corps was also where I was actually clocked in the 40. But ironically it was the Marines that ruined running for me: Why? We ran and humped (USMC-speak for hike) all the time. As a rifle-squad leader I remember subordinately leading my men on forced marches – including a pre-deployment MCRESS (Marine Corps Readiness “hump”) humping 70-80-pounds of gear on our backs for 20 miles over tough, broken terrain. And the hump had to be completed in a limited period of time, which meant there was a bit of jogging (with all that gear) near the end of the hump to successfully make our time.
We also had regular platoon runs sometimes in tennis shoes (instead of boots) and shorts during morning PT, and then company and battalion “formation” runs often in “boots and utes” (meaning combat boots and camouflage utility uniforms aka cammies). We humped and ran until we hated running: Same as the disdain we developed for constantly cleaning weapons.
RUNNING UP STAIRS AND LAND NAVIGATION
Later, on an Armed Response (SWAT) team at a nuclear power station, my measured-time running up several flights of stairs in full combat-kit as well as my timed speed on the road running a one-miler helped me earn the title, class HONORMAN.
At any rate, my running days are long since behind me. Knees are a problem and feet-and ankles are not much better. I do however still enjoy hiking at my own pace and navigating with map, compass, simple terrain features, and at night by the stars through a remote stretch of the nearby Congaree National Forest and other areas in central S.C. I even used to lead church groups and others on simple land-navigation treks, though I haven’t done any of that since before the stroke in 2024.
What else, my 91-year-old mom recently reminded me that I used to run around the neighborhood dribbling a basketball. Wonderful memories.
– W. Thomas Smith Jr. is a formerly deployed U.S. Marine Infantry leader, an award-winning combat correspondent, and a New York Times bestselling editor. Visit Smith online at http://uswriter.com.