Pete Bottomley's Induction Into the Maine Running Hall of Fame

Yesterday my good friend Pete Bottomley was inducted into the Maine Running Hall of Fame.

I was honored to introduce Pete and talk a little bit about his wonderful individual running accomplishments.

What is clear is that Pete's proudest accomplishments and deepest friendships came from running for Dirigo RC.

Pete has always been a person who doesn't talk about their own accomplishments and he only told a few friends he was being inducted.

When I was introducing Pete, I was surprised by how emotional I became. Running has had a deep positive impact of me and my children, so I guess I should have known that would happen.

When I was done speaking Pete walked up, shook my hand and gave me a big hug. I stepped aside and as Pete stepped to the podium he said, "You weren't supposed to make me cry." Of course, that's when my eyes really started to well up and I stood there with my arms folded across my chest holding myself tight so that I didn't start crying.

As expected, Pete didn't talk much about himself, but immediately said that, "The reason I chose Cameron to speak is because he is a great friend and I've known him a long time and he lives and breathes running, like most of us in this room, but it's really in his DNA."

This is the point when I started hugging myself hard and my mouth started to quiver. Then he mentioned that Kourt and Bran were college coaches and told the story of Sam's long journey from trying to break eight minutes in the mile in high school to now being able to run a marathon under eight minutes. Then he pointed to Sam, who was sitting at our table, and said, "So Sam stand up!" Sam shyly stood up while the crowd applauded, and I hugged myself a little tighter. "The room is full of inspiring people and you are one of them." Pete said over the applause.

He went on the thank the folks on the board of the Maine Running Hall of Fame for setting the event up and Jim Toulouse for doing an analysis of Pete’s Beach to Beach to Beacon accomplishments. The analysis shows what an incredible runner Pete has become when you use “age-graded analysis” of his performances. Pete used this information in his self-deprecating way to make fun of himself for “being a slacker” in his younger years.

He spoke with reverence about fellow runner Todd Coffin “jump starting” Pete’s career in 1977 when Pete, as a JV runner, watched him “float around” the cross-country course, winning and inspiring Pete to want to “run like Todd Coffin”.

The best part of the speech was when Pete spoke of his wife, Marlene, and her support of his running dreams. When he looked at her and thanked her for being his best friend and “adventure partner” for the last 37 years, you knew it was heartfelt and true.

Not once during his speech did he mention any of his own accomplishments. He simply pointed to others who inspired him and that is one of many reasons that Pete inspires me.

Sam's First Marathon

Sam just completed his first marathon. His goal was 3:30 which equates to 8:00 minute pace. As a freshman in high school his goal was to break 8 minutes for one mile. Sunday his was trying to do that for 26.2 miles. Kourt helped with coaching and planning. Brandon had a recruiting trip that allowed him to be in town so the three is us were able to be be Sam’s support team.

Sam and I got to the course bright and early on a very cold, rainy morning. Pretty soon Kourt and Bran we’re calling to see where we were. Big races can be chaos to try and meet. I dropped Sam with the things he needed and Kourt and Bran met him at the starting line to grab his warmups and give him last minute encouragement.

My job was simply to get to mile 8 and 16 to hand him GU for energy. I took off to find my way through blocked roads and detours.

I was able to get close to the 8 mile marker but the volunteers weren’t sure what mile marks they were volunteering at.

I settle in at a very cold spot and waited while Kourt and Bran called to complain about the same issue.

I went online to track Sam but the online tracking was down so I stood at the imaginary 8 mile mark and waited. I was afraid I’d somehow missed Sam and anxiously squinted to see if I could recognize his stride. The group running 3:20 passed. Then the group running 3:30 passed. Next the group running 3:40 passed and I was sure I had missed him. Suddenly, I saw this tall, strong, smooth runner and I started screaming his name and encouragement. I ripped open the GU packet and handed it to him as he threw his baseball cap to the ground.

It seemed that he was way off pace.

Kourt, Bran and I connected by phone and decided to meet at the 16 mile mark. They took an Uber and I drove. Fortunately they was a discount liquor store right at 16 miles. I bought some beer, used their bathroom and waited for Kourt and Bran to arrive. Once they arrived we started the Sammy count down. We saw the the 3:30 group pass and then the 3:40 group. Like the supportive, sarcastic dad I am I looked and Bran and Kourt and said, “ Should we call an Uber for Sam?”

Quickly, Sam appeared in the distance and again we all started screaming encouragement. As I stood with his GU in my hand another runner tried to take it. After letting him know I wasn’t an official I handed the GU to Sam. Then Kourt, Bran and I jumped in the car to get to the next spot.

As coaches Kourt and Bran were concerned with Sam’s pace.

We were able to weave through back roads to somewhere around 20
miles. Kourt ran a half mile or so and reported that he was strong and doing great. With his slow early pace we were estimating 3:32 to 3:33.

At the next stop about 2 miles down the road Sam had moved up significantly again. We all yelled encouragement and this time Kourt jumped in to run with him.

Brandon and I got caught in traffic at a stop sign and kept checking in the rear view mirror to find Sam and Kourt. Suddenly, there they were. Sam’s face was focused and he was running faster than he had the entire race. As I like to say “he was cranking along”.

Kourt jumped in the car with us. She was excited as she explained that he was “fucking killing it” and that he wanted to focus on his own for the last 2 miles.

At this point we knew he had a shot at breaking 3:30.

We screamed our last words of encouragement and then slowly worked our way through traffic. I dropped off Bran and Kourt, parked the car and hurried to the finish line.

Kourt and I found a cold, shivering, exhausted Sam and immediately asked him what his time was. He slowly lifted his arm and pointed to his Garmin...3:29:50! Of course Kourt and I exploded with congratulations and Bran arrived a couple minutes later to join the celebration.

Sam reach his goal with the help of love, support and encouragement but the real story is his personal odyssey to change his physicality and be fit and healthy. Within the race itself he knew how his body and mental process would work best in his race approach, even when two college coaches and his dad doubted it. When he needed to focus the most he was able the reach within and find more. That’s called grit.

He has a wonderful story to tell of the overweight teenager trying to run 1 mile in 8 minutes who can now run 26 in a row.

Congrats to you Sam. You inspire me every day.

As a writer it is time for you to tell your own story and help inspire others.

My Funny, Wonderful Grandmother

I remember my grandmother as a vibrant, funny and smart woman willing to expose her own foibles in hysterical stories about herself.

She always made me feel good around her and the self-effacing stories she told became part of my own personal mantra.

She was staying at our house in the winter of my eighth-grade year when I went streaking in front of the K-Mart in Falmouth, Maine. She was the first person I told, and she laughed delightfully, surely realizing that a cold winter’s night is not the time for a male to go streaking. Thankfully there were no cameras or social media.

One of my favorite stories she told me, highlighted her resourcefulness, openness and off-color sense of humor and performance.

Gran and Me. I think I was about 16. 

She was shopping for clothes at a department store in the 50’s or 60’s. Back then, many stores made you pay to get into the bathroom stalls. You would have to insert a nickel and sometimes more and then turn the handle to use the toilet. As the urge to use the restroom on this day hit Gran hard, she rushed to the ladies room, to find it was a pay toilet. Rummaging through her pocket book she found that she didn’t have any change.

Thinking quickly, she decided that even though she was dressed in a skirt, she would lay on the ground and try to scoot under the bathroom door. As she worked her upper body under the door her rather bulbous butt got stuck. She struggled mightily but only managed to get herself stuck more securely, feet flailing as she lay on the floor wondering what to do next.

The only option was to work as hard as she could to push herself back out from under the bathroom stall door. By now, tired and desperate to pee, she began for force herself back out while her dress caught and slowly moved up over her bottom.

Her panic now was less and about peeing and much more about someone walking in!

Finally, her skirt untucked, and her body moved quickly across the floor. She scrambled to her feet, straightened out her skirt and as she caught her breath, that overwhelming urge to pee came flooding back.

Looking around quickly she saw the bathroom sink. At least you didn’t have to pay to use that!

She immediately pulled down her underwear, hiked her skirt and jumped up on the sink to finally relieve herself. Ah, what a moment of satisfaction that must been!

Fortunately, no one came in and Gran was able to pull herself together, wash her hands and go back to shopping.

When she got home from her shopping trip she couldn’t wait to tell my grandfather the story. As she finished her story, Gramp simply scoffed and didn’t believe she did or would do such a thing.

Still wearing the same skirt she went shopping in, and standing in the kitchen, my grandmother reached down, dropped her underwear, hiked her skirt and jumped up on the kitchen sink and peed again.

This time my grandfather believed her, and I doubt if he ever doubted her again.

Celebrating Our 50 Years at Camp

I was fortunate to be raised in a family in which my parents loved each other and worked toward common goals.

In the mid-60s as my dad pursued his career as a town manager and my mother began her teaching career they found that they had a little extra disposable income.

For the past few years they had rented a cottage in their hometown of Surry, Me. for a week in the summer. The joy and connections they received from that experience convinced them that they should purchase their own cottage.

In 1968 they found a modest “camp” of 2X4 construction, built in the 1940’s on Crescent lake in Maine. The location allowed us to spend our summers there with my mother, while dad commuted to work in Falmouth.

I don’t know if my parents had the forethought to know what would happen to their children as that simple purchase changed the course of my life and the lives of our neighbors and friends.

Over the last 50 years my sisters, my kids and the families in the camps around us have shared rich experiences and created bonds and personal histories that will last forever.

I met my lifetime mentor and friend Steve through the camp and I really can’t fully explain how he and his family had an amazing impact on my life.

With this in mind, I decided to host “The 50^th Celebration of the Bonsey Camp”. I invited the surrounding camp families and friends who had visited the camp over the years. My one request was that they allow me to videotape their story or stories of how camp impacted them.

Once everyone had arrived we huddled around our picnic table and grill, drinking beer, eating hamburgers and started to share our stories.

After my daughter, Kourtney told her boisterous story if getting caught streaking, at night, by a father in a neighboring camp, everyone seemed to laugh, relax and tell their story.

My sister, Lorna’s stories revolved around the crush she had on Chunky as he sat behind her laughing and enjoying the attention and the acknowledgement that he still has great hair.

By early evening I had recorded dozens of stories full of love and humor. I uploaded them all to YouTube, “unlisted” them to make sure I didn’t embarrass anyone and shared the link with them all.

Years from now we’ll still be able to listen to those stories right from the mouths of those whose experience it was.

Nothing gets better than that.

Celebrate the Dick in Your Life

My ex-wife and I decided to get a divorce in 2006 during my daughter’s sophomore year and my youngest son’s eighth grade year. Our oldest son was attending college.

It certainly wasn’t an easy time but we did our best to protect the kids and not bring them into end of relationship issues until we had them worked out ourselves.

We stayed in our house together and Kim would sometimes leave to visit her current husband Dick.

In the early spring we knew we needed to sit down with the Kourt and Sam to explain exactly what our plan was. I had already explained to our oldest son, Brandon that we were getting divorced when he came home from school earlier in the year.

When Kim and I called Kourt and Sam into the family room to talk they certainly knew that something serious was about to be discussed and of course they were intuitive enough to understand that life for the last few months had not been normal. Of course, anyone who knows my family knows that we have never been what the average person would consider, normal.

Kim and Dick Enjoying the Celebrate the Dick in Your Life!

Kim and I took our time and explained that we were getting a divorce and that we were also selling the house. I’m not sure how long that discussion took but when I felt we had discussed what was appropriate, I said, “Do you have any more questions?” Sam, who was always funny and irrepressible as a kid said, “I have something to say.

He looked directly at me and said, “Dad, find somebody hot.” Then turn to Kim he exclaimed, “Mom, don’t marry a Dick!”

In what could have been a deeply sad emotional moment, I burst out laughing giving a knowing look to Kim. Sam didn’t realize just how funny he was being in the moment but I loved it. We segued into eating ice cream and our divorce process began.

Kim would get a job working for Georgetown University, marry Dick and we went about the process of living our lives and treating each other with kindness and respect. Life was different but we still had kids that needed to come first.

Kourt, Sam and I stayed in Maine and Brandon would come home on school breaks and summer vacations. We had to sell the house and we moved almost every year to a new house or apartment. We even spent a year living with the kid’s childhood nanny, Jill.

In 2011, after my credit had “healed” I began to look for a house to buy. Sam and Kourt were both attending the University of Maine and Brandon was coaching track and cross country at Syracuse University.

For the first time I was able too really think about where I wanted to live and what type of house I wanted. My requirements were simple. Live as close to the ocean as financially possible and have some good local bars to frequent. I was lucky to find a modest ranch located behind some rundown summer cabins in Kennebunk. I knew it was the right house from the moment I stepped inside because the layout was open and felt kind and warm.

That first summer my kids had a wonderful time. Kourt and Sam found jobs in the Kennebunkport and Brandon came home for several weeks.

Immediately we opened our house to Kim and Dick. It is only three bedrooms so I always gave them my room. The first time they stayed there I short-sheeted the bed and one time I put our wedding picture above the bed. They took it in stride and we all got a good chuckle.

By 2013 we were having summer parties together at my house and in 2015 we started naming the parties and we even ordered pink tank tops with caricatures of Sam and Kourt drinking on my roof to celebrate their bachelor and master degrees.

In 2016 we celebrated Brandon’s 30^th birthday calling it the “30 for 30” and with Sam being nicknamed “Ders” based on a character in “Workaholics” we named his 25^th birthday celebration “The Quarders”.

While brainstorming for the 2018 party I realized that Kim and Dick’s 10^th anniversary would be occurring and Brandon’s friend Brian and I decided to call it “Celebrate the Dick in Your Life!”

We announced our plans at the “Quaders” as I explained the name of the party to everyone and let them know that we would celebrate my 60^th birthday in 2019 and call it “Celebrate the Dick in your Life” for a completely different reason.

We had a wonderful time telling friends and family about the “Celebrate the Dick in Your Life”. Most people simply laughed and then couldn’t believe that an ex-husband and ex-wife can have such an open and funny relationship.

For me it has simply brought people into my life that I never would have known and allows our children to enjoy both parents at the same time, without angst and with a great sense of love and laughter.

How I Broke My Dad’s Track Record

I spent this past weekend in Burlington, VT at the New England Cannabis Convention. It is a beautiful, eclectic city and it brought back a wonderful, unique and humorous track experience for me.

As a freshman at the University of Maine I experienced a quick transition to college level running. My body responded well to the increased mileage, intensity and competition.

My dad would come to all my meets whether they were home or away and, in our first meet of the season in early December, he watched me lose to the New England Champion at 600 yards by a step.

Dad was excited after the race and quickly told me he would not be able to travel to Burlington, VT for the UVM meet the next weekend. This didn’t disappoint me at all and was a relief. It was the end of my first semester and with finals coming up I didn’t need any additional pressure.

Early Friday afternoon we boarded the bus and I ended up sitting next to our wild, energetic, senior triple jumper. As the bus left the campus, he reached down and pulled out two cans of beer. I’ve never been one to turn down beer but being that we had a meet the next day and we were riding on the team bus I hesitated…for a minute. “Drink a couple of beers”, I thought. “And it will help you sleep on the long trip”.

Remember, this was 1978 not 2018 and no coach was coming to the back of the bus to check on anyone. It wasn’t long before I was drinking my fourth and fifth beer and listening to the clanking of our empty beer cans, that had been stashed in the luggage rack, as the bus accelerated, slowed or took a sharp turn.

When we stopped at a diner, for supper with our cash per diem, all the other athletes took a right turn off the bus while the triple jumper and I took a left to spend our money on beer. Back on the bus we continued our pre-meet prep all the way to UVM.

Upon arrival we checked into our rooms and immediately looked for a party on campus. We found several. Free beer and, like this past weekend, plenty of cannabis.

I don’t recall what time we got back to the hotel. The sun wasn’t coming up yet but it wasn’t too far away. I slept through breakfast and then slowly and agonizingly made my way to the track.

As I sat down on the track and nauseously began to stretch, my only thought was, “Thank God dad is not here.” As I continued my stretching, I looked up to see a familiar figure excitedly, prancing over to me. Dumbfounded and extremely hungover I listened as my dad joyously told me how he decided to fly to the meet so he could see me run…..

I don’t know if it was vomit or my heart that I swallowed as a meekly replied, “That’s great.” I put my head down to pretend I was focused on stretching and thought, “Oh fuck.” I hadn’t planned on this and being an impetuous 19-year-old, I had put myself in this situation and I had to deal with it. I thought about pretending I had the flu but my deep seeded guilt would never allow me to do that so I changed my thought process from “Oh Fuck! to Fuck It!” I decided to just run as hard as I could and if I failed, I failed.

I began to warm up and because of age and fitness I started to feel better almost immediately. By the time we toed the line for the 800-meter race, waiting for the starter’s gun, my confidence was back and I exploded from the line as the loud “boom!” pierced my ears. The night before was nowhere in my mind. My only thought was each next step. I heard each lap split and knew I was running fast. As I came down the back stretch unchallenged and saw the time as I crossed the finish line I thought, “I just set the facility record.”

Dad, of course was over the top happy and when I told him about the record and he said, “Are you sure?”

Dad was a maniacal preserver of family history and loved any tidbit he could find with a Bonsey name or especially an Osmond Bonsey name printed in public.

That Sunday, dad went home and wrote a letter to the Vermont coach asking him if I had set the Vermont Indoor Track Facility Record in the 800 meters. Two weeks later dad received the reply. “Yes Osmond, you did set the 800-meter facility record. You are off to a terrific start in your track career.”

Yup! Somehow the track coach thought I was Osmond. They posted the facility record on the wall as “Osmond Bonsey”. This gave my dad great joy and a terrific story to tell.

Two years later I returned to the UVM facility and broke my dad’s facility record.