I’ll never forget the end of cross country practice one afternoon my sophomore year in high school.  I was 14.  It had to be early in the season because it was still warm and sunny.  My coach and I were walking out of Grant Park here in Chicago, (our home course), and I cracked some joke.  He laughed and put his arm around my shoulders. 

If you are lucky, you will meet someone when you’re young who you are afraid to disappoint and who you are eager to please.  In meeting Jim Connelly, who died yesterday, I was very lucky.  That moment 23 years ago is special to me because I felt I had gotten on the good side of a person I respected, admired, and genuinely liked.  I remember feeling very happy.  I was not his best runner, nor was I his best student, but the affection he showed in that small gesture proved that he appreciated me.  And it wasn’t just for whatever joke I had cracked a second earlier.  He appreciated me—my effort, commitment, and budding discipline.  That small, friendly gesture made me feel a foot taller.

Actually, in the four years that I ran for Mr. Connelly, I did grow a foot taller, so maybe there’s something to that statement.  I first met him in August of 1988, when I was all of 4’7”, but his reputation preceded him.  And man, what a reputation!  He was the kind of short man a short kid turns into a role model.

As they say over in the old sod, brilliant:

Big ups to the Gray Lady.  Both of these are completely kick ass.

"A Simple Bike Race."

"One Race, Every Medalist Ever."