Centrepiece Online | Summer 2011

The Last Mile

I visited the commonwealth of Kentucky for the first time in October 1986, as an awkward 17-year-old prospective student. Coming from the infamous high desert city of Reno, Nev., where the “sin industries” of gambling, prostitution, free-flowing alcohol, and cheap all-you-can-eat buffets are as much a part of the scenery as mountains and quaint old west mining towns, it was an enormous change for me to visit a charming burg where the land is green, the churches are plentiful, and there is not a single slot machine or cocktail lounge in sight.

My mother convinced me to join the cross-country team when I came to Danville in September 1987. I was apprehensive at first, since I had never run a race of any distance. I had never even been timed while running. Coach Burchett convinced me to run my first full marathon in Cleveland during my sophomore year at Centre in 1989, and I ran thousands of miles out on Bluegrass Pike, the US 150 Bypass, and all around Danville during my time at Centre.

And running was a part of my very last hour on Centre’s campus.

My final day as a Centre student was the day of my graduation, June 2, 1991. By dinner time, my parents, aunts, and uncles had left, and I was all alone at the Holiday Inn with my suitcases, my memories, and absolutely nothing to do until the next morning, when I would fly back to Reno. At about 11 p.m., I decided to go for one last run in Danville. I knew that I would probably not return to Kentucky for a long time.

I ran down to the Norton Center, where just hours earlier at the graduation ceremony I had crossed the divide from student to alumnus. In the warm, fragrant air of late spring in Kentucky, I meandered through the silent darkness of the empty campus, with the streetlights casting an eerie glow on our beloved college.

I walked the familiar path past the library; no students or faculty were entering or exiting the place where I had spent countless hours cramming my exhausted brain full of mathematics, history, biology, chemistry, and humanities. I have so many warm memories of wonderful people, including professors Walter Nimocks, Pete Reckard, and Bill Johnston and counselor Carol Lunney.

I strolled through the still night towards the quad and Nevin Hall. No music was thumping from the frat houses, and I could hear no laughter from fellow students at wild parties. I made the fateful decision to abandon much of the social aspect of the “Centre Experience” after my freshman year in order to focus on the lonely task of pounding the pavement to the tune of 120 to 140 miles per week.

There were no lights on in the dorms. Not a soul was in sight. There would be no more demands from my fellow dorm residents to “run all the way up to Lawrenceburg and get us some beer!” I looked up at my old room on the third floor of Nevin Hall once more. My freshman year roommate, Joe Rich ’91, is still one of my best friends in the world and now a marathon runner as well.

Oh, the memories . . . of waking up at 5 a.m., day after day, struggling to cast off the slumber, fatigue, and soreness, throwing on the track suit and shoes, and departing my humble abode at the Hillside House or Wiseman Hall for yet another morning run of eight to ten miles in the cold, black darkness. This was the basic training that melted my 20 pounds of baby fat and forged my legs into the rock-hard limbs that would later carry me for 26.2 miles at five minutes and fifteen seconds per mile.

As I walked around Cowan Dining Commons, I thought of the endless piles of high carbohydrate chow that I stuffed myself with on a daily basis. There would be no more questions of “How many miles today, Jason?” from Sue Alexander.

Of course, I made one last stop at “my” track, where I had run lung-burning interval workouts. This is where I ran some of my first competitions, but also where I had taken my bones, muscles, and tendons past the breaking point.

In the warm, silent darkness, I felt the finality of it all, but I also realized how profoundly my years at Centre had affected me. The emotion of the memories caught me like a runaway freight train speeding across a Nevada desert, and I ran full tilt back to the hotel, ready to head back to the Silver State and begin the next chapter of my life.

Jason Mayeroff ’91 majored in mathematics and has run marathons all over the world.