Round Two: Chasing the story

I had never covered a high school track and field meet prior to being hired at the Record-Courier in March 1994. What’s more, I had never even been to one.

So it was a true baptism by fire that spring as I learned what worked and what didn’t as I shoeleathered around Portage County covering dual meets, tri-meets, relays, invitationals and the various rounds of the postseason.

Each week was a completely different experience, starting with the first big weekend meet I ever covered, the Valkyrie Invitational at Waterloo High School in early April 1994. I had a dual meet or two under my belt by this time, but I was only just barely discovering how best to manage my time and “find the story” at a track meet.

As I prepared for the Valkyrie, co-workers at the Record-Courier gave me a few tips: Results for every event would be available in the press box, keep an eye on the athletes who were having a big day since that would be the story, and I had to be quick if I wanted to interview a coach or athlete because they were always on the move and could disappear in a hurry.

Let’s take those track tidbits one at a time:

Meet results

As for Tidbit A about the meet results being available in the press box, I had no problems in that regard that day at Waterloo. The results came in at a good clip and were made readily available to those who needed them, particularly 26-year-old sportswriters who pretty much had no idea what they were doing.

I soon found out, however, that the Valkyrie Invitational was a rare breed of high school track meet. For the rest of my days at the Record-Courier, the level of difficulty in getting results at track invitationals was right up there with getting the meeting minutes of a Kremlin roundtable. At least hiding Kremlin secrets makes sense. Hiding how fast a 16-year-old can run makes no sense whatsoever.

I’m not talking about the coaches. Without their help in tracking down results, who did what at a lot of these meets might have remained a mystery to this day. No, I’m looking right at the meet officials and their helpers in the press box. Some were actually pleasant and helpful, but way too many others were combative and even hostile. I don’t know if they thought sportswriters were going to take meet results and sell them on the black market, or if being intentionally disruptive to someone else’s job made their day, but it made me appreciate the 1994 Valkyrie Invitational all the more.  

And, just my luck, results of high school track invitationals became readily available on the internet – in just about real time — right after my days of covering high school track & field came to an end in the early 2000s. I’ve often wondered what these press box brownshirts have done for fun since then.

Finding the story

It’s hard to find the story at a track invitational without the results, so we’ll start there. At the Valkyrie, it was simple enough: look at the result sheets and see who was winning the most events. There’s the story.

After that day, though, because of the fluid situation at most invitationals regarding whether or not results would be made available (to the media, anyway), I soon developed a strategy: find the coaches of our local teams at the meet and hang out with them. As a meet wore on and the picture started to clear up, I would then ask the coaches which athlete or athletes they would like to focus on for the article.

This worked out well, for two primary reasons: The article in the next day’s newspaper was guaranteed to be on point, and tracking down these athletes for an interview would be much easier since the coach already knew who was being highlighted for the story.

That strategy proved to be efficient and effective. It’s too bad I didn’t think of it in time for the Valkyrie.

Want an interview? You better be quick

I thought I was in relatively decent shape at the time of the 1994 Valkyrie Invitational. I had just turned 26. I was working out semi-regularly— not training for the Olympics, but not lounging on the couch watching reruns of “Hee Haw,” either. All things considered, I felt pretty good about where I was at physically.

Until I staggered out of Waterloo’s stadium at the conclusion of the Valkyrie.

You see, having never covered a high school track & field invitational before, and despite the helpful hints offered by my co-workers, there were gaps in my coverage knowledge. Big gaps. Like: It wasn’t necessary to track down every local athlete who won an event at the Valkyrie, minutes after they won it, to interview them.

I didn’t know this. I just heard the “you better be quick” warning and ran with it— and I mean, literally, I ran with it. Upon arriving at Waterloo that day, I immediately set up shop in the press box for a bird’s-eye view of the proceedings. I asked the nice people in there if a spot was available for me (there was, which turned out to be high school track’s answer to Halley’s Comet), placed my laptop on the counter, and pulled out my pen and notebook. I was ready.

To start sweatin’ to the oldies.

Because I spent the next several hours hoofing it from the press box down to field level and through the crowd of fans, coaches and athletes to do an interview, then back up the stadium steps to the press box until the next event finished, and then right back down to the field for the next interview. Over and over and over. All day.

It was a nice, sunny, comfortable spring day in Atwater, but by the time the meet finished and I had logged hours’ worth of steps up and down the stands, I was pouring sweat, my lungs were on fire, and my legs were turning to Jell-O. I don’t think I’m doing it right, I thought, if I’m working harder than the athletes.

I had nothing left by the time the Valkyrie was over. How I got out of there without pulling a hammy, spraining an ankle or dropping from exhaustion, I’ll never know. And it wasn’t like I was dressed for the gym: I was wearing khaki slacks, a button-down shirt and loafers – not especially conducive to running steps.

It was one of those days in my career I won’t forget, probably because I can’t forget. It was a hard lesson learned. But now, when I look back on needlessly working myself into a stumbling, sweaty mess that day, I laugh.

Because if I don’t, I’ll cry.