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.
