McCowan & Me

By Robin Deutsch, Sports Information Director

For the past five years, I have had a long standing banter with Vassar men’s and women’s cross country coach James McCowan about my running prowess. Or what he deems as a lack thereof.

I like to regale James about running four Marathons. Three of them were in Boston, where each time I miscounted the number of hills in Heartbreak Hill. The other was New York, where I swore there were hills in Central Park. I was later informed that the trek through that portion of the race is essentially flat. So much for my topography prowess. I do know, however, that each marathon was 26.2 miles.

But ever since my running totals decreased to about .2 miles a week, James likes to refer to me as a “middle school” runner. I believe this has something to do with me complaining about his prescribed workouts and the fact that his routes take me places where my shoes get dirty.

I don’t particularly like my running togs caked in mud, yet several of James’ excursions have ruined two perfectly clean pair of Asics. Well, not exactly ruined them, they’re just not as pristine looking.

James and I started at Vassar at the same time, in the summer of 2004, and became fast friends. Working together to figure out how an obsolete, archaic-dos-based-program functioned to compile results for the annual VC Invitational brought on the type of comradeship that would have made Churchill and Stalin best buds. Many times during the painstaking process of toying with the 2 ½ x 2 ½ floppy discs, I wanted to beat them into a crumpled heap with a sledgehammer. James would laugh and say, “If we only had the manual.”

James actually had me beat at Vassar by five years. A 1999 grad, he was an All-America and NCAA Regional Champion. Understandably, you could imagine my trepidation when, in trying to explain a workout route he wanted me to run, James became exasperated and ran the course with me.

Since running has a significant amount of mental fortitude involved, I was scared s@#%less that he was going impose some serious psychological and physical punishment on me. But he didn’t (thank you to someone above). We ran easy and loose – at my pace – and he entertained tales of my running lore (I did churn out a 1:34 half marathon at the 2000 New Haven race thanks to a sparkling pair of silver Mizuno racing flats and six Power Gels). I was thrilled, albeit nervous, to run a few miles with an All-America and my friend.

The one time I do recall paying attention to coach McCowan’s workout instructions, I was sprinting up a series of steep hills on our old cross country course in 80 degree heat. It left me woozy, nauseas and in severe oxygen debt.

“I said to run the hills at 80 percent,” James corrected me. “Not on an 80 degree day.”

“You said sprint them,” I retorted.

“No, I didn’t.”

“I believe you did.”

“Middle school runner.”

James and I are forever asking things of each other. He likes to borrow photographs, proof sheets, the office color printer/scanner, my laptop computer. I like to hold those things hostage for a team sweatshirt. Begrudgingly, we both agree (insert big smile here) to part with our precious objects. We’ve never actually had to wrestle the goods away from each other, but I do believe upon our last exchange I heard James mumble something about the next time he takes me out running.

This space isn’t necessarily the place to analyze the intricacies of James’ coaching philosophy. For one thing, I don’t totally understand his rhetoric (somewhere between Phil Jackson and George Sheehan) and secondly, I don’t follow how an Anthropology major turns himself into a heckuva cross country and track coach.

Every now and again I meander down to the Atrium in the Athletics & Fitness Center to listen to James’ practice monologue. I am thinking it might inspire me to increase my weekly mileage from .2 to 1.2. One of my more recent visits found James in the midst of dispersing the season’s new training gear.

“You must have smelled the stuff from upstairs,” he said with a big grin growing across his face.

“Nah,” I replied. “You must have sensed that I haven’t updated anything on the Web that involves either cross country or track in weeks.”

The Fall Athletics season has a turbo-charged feel. Short and tight and intense and explosive and over in a snap.

McCowan & Me have been through 5 ½ years of them now. I believe I am speaking for both of us when I say we’re still having a blast. Together. Coach and Middle School Runner.