Track and Field Blogs - Patrick Rizzo

I must have mistaken another sign for the last mile marker. No way, that was a 5:05 on the fifth mile. Wait! Was that last mile a 4:59!?! We STILL are only six miles into a recovery twelve miler. Is this how the group got so good? Can I hack it here on a daily basis if this is a “recovery” day pace? I have to surge right now or I am going to get dropped pretty decisively. Surge? On an easy day? Listen to me! I have been here for three days and I have yet to speak a single word on a run. Fear and shyness? No. Pace? Yes. I am pushing with everything I have just to maintain contact with this group right now. I have no clue where I am and certainly I could never find the house from where we are right now. “Come on, Toby! You made this pace!” Who is Toby? What’s Brian saying? Does he not know my name or is the pace hard enough that he is delirious as well?

My first two months in Michigan that was a typical run. I now confess that I am a one-stepper but in my infancy here I was unaware of my affliction. This made me inadvertently stir the pot on more than one occasion. Due to our predisposition to being alpha males here, nobody will back down unless he is physically incapable of hanging. Though we recognize that this is often not “smart” it is how we function and that causes most of our one-hour conflicts. (*One hour conflicts refer to the fact that any event taking place on a run and causing tension among ourselves immediately has a reset button hit as we finish running.)

In my three and a half years since then, I have shed my title of “Toby.” (For those who do not know, Toby is Brian’s golden retriever.) The guy who once hated me is now not just a teammate but also a mentor…even friend.

All of us who are around Brian Sell daily know that he is a very loyal friend. His loyalty and respect are earned through hard work and the return of sacrifice and dedication in an unending reciprocal exchange. Brian claims that New York was his last competitive race before he will contently retire, leaving running for a more stable job that he has long dreamt of pursuing.

Since I know that I can never sit and have this conversation with Brian face to face because his humility would force him to change the topic to something more jovial and simple, I have chosen to write my public thank you to a great teammate who has taught many of us the values of being a hard-nosed bastard.

Brian, I do not mean for this to come off as a sort of eulogy, but rather as a thank you. Thank you for the lessons that you have given me through your own experiences, running and in life. Thank you for the countless motorcycle rides (this includes any combination of the whole gang of Eberly, Big Ern, you, and me) that acted as a balance to and escape from the otherwise demanding lifestyle we choose to live. Thank you for the days in your garage working on said motorcycles and/or cars. Thank you for occasionally picking up dead animals on runs and hurling them at people. Thank you for hosting the cookouts that became increasingly frequent when poker nights waned in frequency, going on to become remnants of the not-so-truly-distant past. Most importantly thanks for always being yourself in any audience and every instance. That is a lesson more people can learn from. I think I speak for the whole group when I say that I hope you at least drag your sorry, old butt out the door and keep meeting us for morning runs, if only on Clint-frequent intervals. It has certainly been a hell of a trip and we all still have a lot more we can learn from you. Thank you for getting us this far.