Date:           Thursday, Feb 13th 1997
Subject:     Cardio Report ... Just in time for Valentine's

It must seem like I live in my past. I always write about days long gone, my Glory Days of High School. In my home town of Wayland Massachusetts, this is not uncommon really. We all have a soft spot in our hearts for that time and that place. But for me, I feel a significant connection to my past these days. The people and events of those days have carried me to where I am now. I believe they will carry me for many years more.

Endurance and the lack there of. I have always maintained that my endurance in running is very limited. I figured this out early at the age of 12. Much like John, that Crazy Alaskan Runner, I was thrown into an event I had never attempted before for Field Day in Junior High school in 1968. It was the 600 Yard Run and though I wanted very much to compete for social reasons, I had no ambition to try this particular event. But our Phys. Ed. instructor saw no other openings for me, not even in the sprints. By offering me this one and only chance to race, Mr. Devine, who was a known athletic peer of my older brothers , Bud and Frank, all of whom were excellent football players and sprinters for Wayland High school only 8 years prior, was making the assessment that I would NEVER be as fast as my famous brothers and that maybe there was some hope in longer slower distances. Everyone already knew the favorites for 1st and 2nd place, Lloyd Keyes and Peter Howland, but did I have some kind of shot at 3rd? Without going into the gruesome details of that race, it was obvious that I had no endurance whatsoever. I didn't finish last but I didn't impress anybody that day. But it was my first time ever to suffer major fatigue and to feel my lungs burn! And I never forgot that day as I was reminded so many times in my HS years as a sprinter by that same sensation of my chest on fire. At least later, the only "wall" I hit was the WHS Field House wall at the end of the 40 yard dash indoors.

In HS I was a mediocre athlete at best, despite how quickly my physique and muscle tone developed as a teenager. So it's not hard to imagine the disappointment everyone, including myself, felt over not being able to perform at the level that both my brothers before me had. Mentally, I was just not cut out for team sports. I appeared to lack coordination. I never really understood the strategies involved in either Football or Wrestling, but for which I stuck it out almost every one of my four years in HS. Track, on the other hand, was simple and there was little expectation tied to whether or not I did well, largely because it was traditionally the team that all the "other" kids could make. Track evoked very little interest at Wayland High School, as is probably the case in most small towns around the country. It was more of a cult experience in our school and looking back I have to say that it suited me well.

I took up sprinting for the very same reasons I pursued the Fullback position in Football - it was the well-known reputation that my brothers had established ahead of me. I would be a sprinter. In my own mind I would be a sprinter if nothing else! And fortunately for my withering confidence, I could indeed sprint! I waited until my Sophomore year to join the track team, hoping to avoid the embarrassment of not being chosen for competition at the varsity level which was all WHS offered. To my surprise in the Spring of 1970, I was able to compete and actually place 3rd in a few 100 yard races that year. But 200 meters (220 yards) had proved to be extremely tough for me, if not my upper limit distance-wise. I never ran more than a mile in HS and even that was done just once for any given practice, at a very slow pace. As it was a low-key sport traditionally, nothing more was required of me unless I desired more. At that point I did not. In any case, such minimal effort earned me the highly coveted varsity letter and jacket that some of my Football buddies had already acquired that year. This alone kept my ego afloat despite my less than impressive performance in other seasons.

The giant setback came during the Winter of 1970/71. As an occasional starting wrestler on a very successful team with a Statewide reputation, the workouts were extremely stressful as one might imagine. In the middle of that season I had difficulty getting into shape. And when I could not shake a bronchial infection I had picked up a month prior a doctor's visit was in order. And out of that physical examination came the unexpected discovery of my heart murmur. Looking back now it is clear that Dr. Clarence Brown, who was our family doctor but also specializing in Cardiology, was the most astute one of all. He spent a good 30 minutes trying to hear what vaguely resembled a leaking mitral valve. He was probably be the first person to attest to it's strangeness. Unfortunately there was no such thing as ultra-sound in those days so the only course of action was to limit the activity of someone who displayed evidence and therefore a proneness to Rheumatic Fever. Not withstanding that I was involved in such a strenuous sport as Wrestling. I was yanked off that team immediately. But after seeing another Cardiologist, I was able to beg the permission of my parents and coaches to stay on both Football and Track teams after making a solemn vow to NOT engage in hard practices. As for sprinting in particular I was only to show up to the races. What a deal! I was lazy about training anyway so it wasn't much to sacrifice.

In Spring Track that year the intra-team competition had narrowed, but there was the significant presence of senior sprinter, Merrill Rubin, who not only had the longest hair on the team (very cool for the times) but quite often placed 1st in the 100 and 220 in dual meet competition. My highest aspiration was to cross the line directly behind him and in fact I did take a few 2nd places that year. Of course this was even better for my head at the age of 16. But while Merrill was out training with the 400 and 800 meter runners, I was loafing around trying to figure out that cursed Shot Put event that my brothers had also dominated. There I was with my destiny clearly etched for me and the need to exceed these expectations ... without the benefit of training. Of course, deep down inside I felt that the Rheumatic heart diagnosis was a mistake and admitted only to myself that I held on to that ticket as my best excuse for not living up to reputation of Bud and Frank, household names in the town of Wayland in those days.

My senior year in Football was as anticlimactic as it could possibly be. I tore the ligaments in my left ankle shortly after earning a starting position as a defensive end. (Defense, ha! I had proved I was the fastest guy on the entire team during double sessions by running the quarter mile in 60 seconds with cleats, pads and helmet on, beating our star tailback by a good twenty meters at least). That was the end of that season for me - emotionally, not physically. With a switch from Wrestling to Indoor Track that Winter, however, the success I craved all my young life had finally arrived. I had an incredible season at the event I inherited all to myself that year, the 40 yard dash. So short and quick that usually all that mattered was an explosive start out of the blocks in deciding the outcome. And best of all, it rarely taxed my leg strength or my lungs. I not only won every dual meet race but I had plenty of energy left for the excitement of the relay event. In this 4 x 290 meter race I readily hit my endurance limit each time. The dizziness that followed those victories was enough to stir my own fears about this all but substantiated heart condition of mine. And yet I was able to accomplish so much that year, riding purely on the natural speed I inherited somewhere from my lineage. Emotionally and spiritually I was too fragile to consider the restrictions and possible dangers of my abnormal heart. My survival depended on one thing , and one thing only. It was not enough to simply cover the same territory my brothers had opened up for me. If only for these brief distances of 200 meters or less, I needed to, and did in fact, surpass their accomplishments and won the title of "Fastest Human" in my little town in 1972. I cashed in all that I had for those fleeting moments ... those Glory Days. I have no doubt that I am a far better, if not healthier person for it today.

My theory on low endurance is straight-forward after what Dr. John Jayne said in response to my questions about the "real" problem with having this heart of mine. I asked if there was a burden on the heart muscle itself during stressful activities like running. He reiterated that my heart had obviously compensated magnificently for it's own defects. But that the burden of all this extra blood flow was in fact on my lungs. The destination for all the body's oxygen-poor blood, at some point in my life my lungs may not be able to tolerate or fulfill the needs of my heart. This not only explains that nagging dizziness when I max out in a sprint, but also the tendency for fatigue in running long distances. The overload could force undernourished blood to reach the brain as a result. It could conceivably lead to a stroke and it might be totally unexpected and sudden. Again, the limitations I experienced from the time I was 12 to the present day at 42 seem clear to me now. And I suppose I am grateful that 30 years and 7 Cardiologists later, the truth will finally be known. Though it's still preliminary, Dr. Jayne called me today to arrange one more test (the infamous Stress Test which I will end up doing on a bicycle because of my knee) and to let me know that everyone he has spoken with is recommending open-heart surgery. I'm not sure if he thinks I am in danger immediately, however. If so, what the Hell kind of risk was I taking by training for that 400 meter race last Summer - a distance I know is beyond my range for sprinting? Luck! What luck? I'm Italian, not Irish!

Part Two

Analysis

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