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Ponce spent the rest of the summer in school trying to learn English.
Then, in early fall 1991, Ponce’s mother met her future husband. He asked her to move to Denver with him. In Denver, he promised, was the opportunity for a better life. She agreed, and they were off.
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Ponce and his mother settled into his aunt’s apartment in the projects of North Denver. They were there for four months. It is difficult to conceive of this as the good life, and there certainly was not money falling from trees, but as far as Ponce was concerned, it was the American Dream. “It was tough,” he says, “but then, it wasn’t. It was better than Amarillo and it was better than Juarez because it wasn’t survival anymore. First, I was going to school, and second, I was staying out of trouble. In Juarez, trouble was everywhere. I mean, in Juarez, I saw someone get his brains blown out in front of me . . . I went a week without eating anything . . . So, it was easier [in the projects] in the sense of the progression we made. Compared to now, though, it was tough.”
At Denver North High School, Ponce flourished. The tenacity that enabled him to survive the streets of Juarez, coupled with his mother’s love, now enabled him to prosper in a more stable setting. His largest obstacle was learning English. He feared not speaking properly, so he applied himself. “My mother taught me not to quit at anything,” he says, “and she taught me to be tough. She’s the foundation, all the passion, all the strength.” He learned to count watching Sesame Street. He would stay home and read the dictionary for hours on end. Soon he was speaking fluently, with only traces of a Spanish accent.
Before his English caught up with his Spanish, his legs started speaking volumes on the track. Mark Mounsey, a CU runner in the early seventies, was Ponce’s first high school track coach. More important, he was the first white person to treat Ponce with dignity and respect. Says Ponce, “Before him, I didn’t like white people. But he’s just a caring person. He was the first one to see me not just as a brown kid. He treated me like a human being.” As Ponce’s career progressed, Mounsey called Jerry Quiller, CU’s track coach at the time, to tell him about Ponce. “Because of him,” says Ponce, “I came to CU.”
Ponce’s track and personal development in high school was assisted by the aid of Dr. Jeffrey Young, a Boulder veterinarian and runner. He provided more structure to his training, “and he gave me the biggest opportunity with financial support. He would take the whole team out to eat.
No one had ever done that for us. He would take us to the movies, and pay for everything. He even co-signed to help my mom get a house.”
Dr. Young still plays a prominent role in Ponce’s life. Says Ponce, “I consider him my father. He’s just there for me. Whatever I need, emotional, financial, whatever.” Ponce now lives in a file room he converted into a loft next door to Dr. Young’s clinic in Boulder. There is no plumb-ing, and it is certainly not a luxury accommodation. But Dr. Young is letting Ponce live there rent-free in exchange for the work he did to transform the place. Living here, a year away from graduating with a degree in RUNNING WITH THE BUFFALOES
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Spanish literature, Ponce feels blessed. “Sometimes I feel like I’m dreaming,” he says. “I’m gonna wake up washing windows, or selling gum. I’m so thankful. In the ghetto they say, ‘It’s all good.’ But it’s not true. But here, right now, that’s true for me. It’s all good. I’m here, I’m alive, and I’ve got my family, my treasure.”
Two years ago when he entered CU, Wetmore told Ponce, “We have a pack of lions. And every day a different lion roars. If you want to be part of this team, be patient, and work hard. I’m looking for an investment from you. You won’t see changes for two years. You’ll be sore for two years.”
After two years, he told Ponce, he would start to reap the benefits.
Ponce made it out of Juarez. He made it out of the ghetto. He made it out of Denver North, a rough inner-city high school. When he graduated from Denver North, he tied for first in the Colorado state championship 1600-meter run. His PR was a modest 4:28. But he made it through the soreness as a Junior Varsity understudy for his first two years at CU.
He is on track to graduate, and he has his eyes set on becoming the first ever All-American athlete to graduate from Denver North. And today, he made everyone take notice as the University of Colorado Cross Country team’s number one man. On this day, Ponce was a lion, and he roared.
CSU INVITE
PLACE
NAME
UNIVERSITY
TIME
1.
Jeff Simonich
Utah
24:48
2.
Jason Hubbard
Adams State
25:14
3.
Bryan Berryhill
Colorado State
25:20
4.
Rees Buck
Western State
25:22
5.
Shawn Nixon
Adams State
25:25
6.
Oscar Ponce
Colorado
25:27
7.
Aaron Blondeau
Colorado
25:31
8.
Mike Friedberg
Colorado
25:32
9.
Brock Tessman
Colorado
25:33
10.
Chris Cole
Colorado State
25:35
11.
Chris Valenti
Colorado
25:41
15.
Wes Berkshire
Colorado
25:50
18.
Ron Roybal
Colorado
26:04
22.
Adam Loomis
Colorado
26:14
36.
Matt Elmuccio
Colorado
26:35
37.
Cameron Harrison
Colorado
26:36
55.
Zach Crandall
Colorado
27:15
58.
Chris Schafer
Colorado
27:24
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Sunday, September 13, 1998
The Buffalo Ranch
8 a.m.
Money in the Bank
Local runners mingle among the Varsity CU runners at the Buffalo facing Balch gym as 8 a.m. approaches. The forty to fifty runners waiting for Wetmore’s arrival are the only people on the CU campus at this time on Sunday morning. No doubt many CU revelers have only recently drawn the curtains on their Saturday night.
Wetmore approaches the Buffalo from his office, carrying a document that contains the day’s assignments. He walks purposefully, and the glint in his eye indicates the delight he takes in the controlled chaos that he has presided over in one way or another each fall for the past twenty years. But as much as he enjoys the sight of all his charges, it is not without its downside. Because of the number of athletes waiting to run, Wetmore has but a minute to chat with Batliner about his leg before Wetmore sends him to Kitt Field for some easy jogging. For Bat it is a good day: thirty minutes of jogging and he “feels great.”
The runners pile into cars and head north of town for a run known simply as “the Grange.” It is a relatively flat run primarily on dirt roads through farmland speckled with horses and cottages. There are six loops, ranging between twelve and eighteen miles, that extend from the run’s nexus off of Nelson Road, along with a two-mile segment that can easily be added on. The gentle descent that extends for the first five miles makes for a quick early pace—and a long finish for those who go out
over their heads, perhaps forgetting that all the runs finish with a three-mile ascent back to the start.
The usually desolate dirt lot that adjoins the road at the starting line is packed with cyclists of all shapes and sizes. A bike tour is in progress, and the cyclists have stopped at the refreshment and aid station that has been set here. The thought of people paying money to go for a ride amuses Wetmore. He compares them to the thousands of recreational runners who jog the Bolder Boulder road race every year. “There’ll be 40,000 people running the Bolder Boulder,” he says, “but only maybe 500 people will be racing. The rest will talk about it for six months, train for one to three weeks, then pay twenty bucks so they can run six miles. Amazing.”
The leaves are changing, and for the first time this fall the morning sun does not seem oppressive. But a quarter mile into the run, Goucher starts to heat things up. He quickly creates a fifty-meter lead. “What’s he doing?” Friedberg condescendingly asks. Berkshire comes to Goucher’s RUNNING WITH THE BUFFALOES
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defense, “Ah, he just wants to run alone.” Severy then takes off and quickly catches Goucher. They remain about fifty meters in front of the others until they reach five miles. JD has parked his van at the five-mile mark, opened the back doors, and placed cups of water and Gatorade there for the runners.
Despite early indications to the contrary, the men are running controlled. Goucher and Severy reach JD in a shade under thirty minutes.
Perhaps due to their cumulative fatigue, Goucher and Severy do not extend their lead, and the main pack also maintains the same steady pace throughout. Tessman runs fifteen miles in 1:31— just a shade over six minutes a mile. Even better, Roybal also runs 12.4 miles at a six-minute mile clip, and he “feels great.”
The mileage monsters also have a good day. Ponce, Berkshire, and Friedberg run nineteen in two hours, while Severy runs twenty miles in 1:59, finishing a minute behind Goucher. More money in the bank.
Elmuccio is the day’s only casualty. His hamstring is sore from yesterday’s race, so he stops eight miles in and gets a lift back from JD. His injury frustrates him, but he does not dwell on it because he is preoccupied with the afternoon’s activity. The team is going to his house—fleas and all—for brunch. He let it slip that he thinks his french toast may be better than the Village’s supreme french toast. “The secret’s in the spices,” he says. “I gotta run to the store and get some vanilla.”
By the time Ponce and Berkshire have finished their runs most of the runners have already hitched a ride back to campus. The cyclists are long gone, but four cases of bananas remain in their stead. Sev runs over from his car and grabs a bunch. As he does this, Wetmore barks at him from his truck, “Sev! That’s it for you. That’s all you eat —for a week!” Sev laughs at Wetmore and flashes his goofy grin. Wetmore says, “Look at him. Does he look like an athlete? He doesn’t, but he’s an amazing athlete.” No one is going to confuse Sev with a gazelle when he runs, but on skis he is grace personified. Ever the outdoorsman, Sev’s day is just beginning. He is driving to Crested Butte to go kayaking with a man who may be the next cross country All-American in the family, his little brother Jonathan.
The Bus just has endless endurance.
Brunch is a smashing success. Although the verdict is still out as to whether Mooch’s french toast takes the blue ribbon, everyone is well fed and no one gets attacked by the fleas that call Mooch, Berkshire, and Loomis’s place home.
There are ten weeks until Nationals.
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Tuesday, September 15, 1998
The Buffalo Ranch
3:45 p.m.
The Dam
Says Batliner, “In my opinion, this is the toughest workout we do.” Ten miles, all out. Tougher than Mags, tougher than Flagstaff. In years past Wetmore has run the ten miles down the creek path to a dam that serves as the five-mile mark and back. Hence, the dam. Goucher has run 53 minutes for the dam (as they refer to any practice where they run ten miles hard, regardless of the locale where it is run) when he is fit. Reese’s roommate Kelly Lambert, preparing for the Chicago marathon, recently ran it in 52 high. Today, though, the guys will do the ten miles on the cross country course. What used to be the toughest session just got tougher.
And to add to their misery, it is 80 degrees, and there is nowhere to hide.
The sound of crickets fills the air. It is as if they, too, are commenting on the heat.
Batliner is not “damming” it today. He does not have compartment syndrome, but he may have a stress fracture. He is seeing a doctor in the training room at 6:00 p.m. Until then, he has a meeting with “the devil, the inferno of hell.” The pool. Wetmore and JD are extremely concerned. JD
cannot stop thinking about Bat and the ramifications of his absence. He says: “We’re screwed if Bat’s out. I think we’re already hurting a little bit.
With Bat in tenth and Gouch one or two, we’re in pretty good shape. But with Bat twentieth, then what do we do? Can Sev be seventeenth again?
He had a summer of a lot of mileage that year (1996), but he missed all of last year racing. Sev is so obsessive though that a summer in the 80’s might get him there.” Exasperated, JD shakes his head. “And Reese, what can he get back?”
Severy is running the dam, although he, too, can be added to the list of the walking wounded. His hamstring is sore where it connects behind his knee. But his soreness might not be related to running, but rather, to his car ride back from Glenwood Canyon. Two and a half hours away from Boulder, a tire blew out on his car. Wetmore shakes his head as Sev recounts the story and says, “That’s why I don’t allow any fun in my life, Sev.” Sev has to laugh. “There’s no doubt about it,” Sev says, “something will always come and get ya.”
If Sev’s nuisance is not bad enough, Goucher now has a sinus infection. “I woke up with it on Sunday morning and it just got worse.” His eyes are a bit swollen, and he sniffles constantly through the warmup. Is anyone healthy?
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Before departing, some of the guys start negotiating about switching up groups. Wetmore overhears this and quickly defuses any such thoughts. He claps his hands to get their attention. “Don’t switch groups.
Don’t switch groups. You don’t have my permission. I’m the big man who gets paid all the money. Don’t go up groups [to faster group], please trust me. Okay, [ Jodie] Hughes? Don’t go out with Goucher.”
Point made, Wetmore lines up with them at the start. He often runs while they do, and today he runs in the opposite direction so he can in-tercept them during their run. Wetmore lines up with them and says,
“Set, go, goodbye!”
JD sets out water cups in the back of one of the vans the team has driven in to the course. He wonders aloud about the health of the guys after learning that Blondeau is not running today because of a sore back.
“The one thing I remember about Wetmore’s program is I was always dragging ass and beat up. But I was only in it a year, and I think it takes longer to come around. I was always worn to hell. I mean long runs, I’d never done that.”
Tessman is currently feeling as worn out as JD once did, but today he looks better than ever. Halfway through the run he comes up a small in-cline, smiles, and shrugs, palms in the air, as if saying, “I don’t know, man, but I feel great.” He finishes the run tied for fourth with Ponce in 55:46.
Afterwards, he is still amazed at how comfortable he felt out there. “It was weird, I don’t know what happened.” His heart rate at the finish is a placid 144. He adds, “I got this stuff down. Anaerobic stuff, milers, that’s what kills me, but it’s great, I’m doing that the next six weeks.” “Brockford Files,” as Reese calls him, appears to be getting fit when the team needs it.
Reese cannot relate to Tessman’s experience. “I’m fit enough to race,” he says, “just not enough to do the CU workouts. That’s a long way.
After one mile I was like, ‘fuck!’” He still runs 56:01— a full three and a half minutes ahead of Roybal, who now also has an ailment of his own. “I rolled my ankle, and when I did it, it hurt like hell.”
Despite his cold, Goucher rolls a 54:15, twenty seconds ahead of Severy. He credits his good workout in part to a rare and cherished three-hour nap this afternoon. Thoughts of how a sinus infection killed him at NCAA’s last year have him determined not to let history repeat itself. He says, “I’m starting to get on top of it with shots and medicine.”
To help his body recuperate from the hard training, Goucher has added massage work to his regimen. He saw local masseur and Fiji Olympian Binesh Prasad on Sunday and he is seeing him again tomorrow at 11:30.
The look in his eye says he is fearing this more than any workout Wetmore throws at him. “I’m not too fired up about this appointment,” Goucher 90
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says. “It will hurt. I mean, I’ve never heard anyone say ‘I went to Binesh, it was awesome!’ It’s one area where I’m not very tough—people sticking fingers and elbows into my sore spots, but he told me last week I need a lot of work.”
Perhaps too beat up to face the “dam,” O’Mara is AWOL again. Says Wetmore, “There’s a meaning to every behavior . . .”
Back on campus, Batliner waits to see a physician in the training room in the Dal Ward Athletic Center. He is not optimistic. “I tried jogging up the hill [to Dal Ward] and I couldn’t even do that. But I don’t know, maybe I’m looking at this wrong. Maybe pain is good.”
Wetmore, not wanting to delay the inevitable, heads right there when he gets back to campus. He fidgets while awaiting Bat’s results. “If Bat has a stress fracture,” he says, “I’m gonna kill myself.”
Again, the doctor has no conclusive information for him. Batliner tells Wetmore: “It’s not acting like a stress fracture, but it could be. He doesn’t think it’s compartment, because I’m missing 90 percent of the symptoms. There is an inflamed muscle with a shinsplint on top of that.