Running for My Life Read online

  I chose not to run cross-country my first semester at school. Like I said, my grades and test scores in high school left something to be desired. My grades weren’t too bad considering I did not speak English when I arrived in New York in late July 2001. Still, I graduated high school on time in May 2004, just as my mom told me I would. All things considered, I felt very good about how far I’d come. However, I knew college presented a whole new set of challenges. Mom and Dad and I discussed it at great length and concluded I should not run right away so that I could adjust to the academic demands of college. I planned on running in the Olympics in 2008, but I had to take care of first things first. And that meant preparing to graduate college on time. Mom made sure of that.

  Even though I did not go out for the cross-country team, I trained harder than I ever had. That was how I met one of the senior track stars for Norfolk, Tom Hightower. Tom and I hit it off immediately. He reminded me of my friends back in Kakuma, and he took care of Dominic and me the same way the older boys took care of the younger in the camp. The three of us ran down to the beach together nearly every day. When I run, I talk, and I told Tom about my big, Olympic dreams. He had to be a little skeptical when I first told him. After all, here I was, a freshman with the build of a football player who claimed to be a runner, a runner who didn’t even go out for the cross-country team. He was a senior and one of the top runners at the school. Yet, it did not take long for him to see the potential in me.

  One day, Tom and I were hanging out in his apartment, eating pizza. “In two years I can apply for citizenship,” I told him, “and two years after that I am going to try out for the United States Olympic team.”

  “I believe you. I think you can do it. But, if you want to run in the Olympics, Norfolk isn’t the right place for you.”

  That was not what I expected to hear. As a senior leader of the cross-country and track teams, he should have pressed me to go out for the team. Instead he told me to leave. “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “You are better than this place.” Tom could tell from the look on my face that I still did not understand. “Lopez, you are an exceptional runner. You have more natural ability than anyone I have ever seen. But natural ability alone is not enough. There are a lot of good runners out there who never live up to their full potential. You need to go to a school that can teach you to get the most out of yourself.”

  “Where do you think I should go?”

  “Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff, Arizona. The school sits at a high altitude, which helps distance runners. I spent a summer out there training with their coach. He knows his stuff. He can get you to the Olympics.”

  I didn’t know much about Arizona beyond the fact that it was hot and far from home. “Let me think about it,” I said.

  “I’ll contact the coach and tell him about you. Also, because you didn’t go out for the team here this year, you still have all four years of eligibility left. That also means you won’t have to sit out a year when you transfer.”

  “Don’t call Arizona’s coach. I can reach my dreams here. You and I can train together. That will be enough. You will see.”

  “No it won’t, Lopez. I’m not as fast as you. You need to go up against guys who can really stretch you. You need to go to Northern Arizona.”

  Tom made a lot of sense, but I had something more to consider. Mom and I had found Norfolk State together. Plus, Dominic loved it here. He didn’t want to transfer to Northern Arizona. The two of us had been inseparable since before he came to live with us. I was not sure I could leave without him. I also did not know how I could possibly tell Mom that I planned on transferring.

  I didn’t need to worry. When I broke the news to her that I was even considering transferring, she smiled and said, “Joseph, I don’t care where you go to college, as long as you get your degree. That’s all that matters to me.” As for Dominic, both of us knew that eventually we had to go our own paths. Whether we shared an apartment in Norfolk or lived three thousand miles apart, we remained brothers. Nothing could change that.

  But it was not as simple as that. The coach at Norfolk State did a little research when he saw Dominic and me running around the area. When he discovered our high school records, he wanted both of us on the cross-country and track teams. That summer, after our freshman year, he started recruiting us hard. I was back home in Syracuse talking to Mom and Dad when the coach called. Mom answered the phone. The coach must have figured he could make more progress with her than me, because he did his best to sell her on Norfolk State for both Dominic and me. “I have a full scholarship for Lopez,” he said. “No more school loans, no more worrying about how to pay for school. Everything will be taken care of,” he said.

  Mom listened to what he had to say but was noncommittal. “It’s up to you, Joseph,” she told me. “You have to do what you think is right.”

  I was torn. I had not even seen Northern Arizona University yet. I’d talked to the cross-country and track coach there, Coach Hayes, and he wanted me on the team. However, my math scores were not yet high enough to qualify for a scholarship at NAU. I had to take, and pass, another math class before he could commit anything to me.

  I didn’t have to do anything more to qualify for a scholarship at Norfolk State. All I had to do was sign on the bottom line. I liked the school. I loved the weather. And I loved living next to the ocean. Arizona sat in the middle of the desert. Scenery wise, it could not compete with Norfolk.

  The Norfolk coach called again the next day. Mom answered the phone. “Joseph, he wants an answer.”

  “Tell him to give me five minutes. I need to go pray,” I said.

  Five minutes didn’t give God much time to give me an answer, but I knew He already had a plan for my life. He was the One who gave me my gifts and my dreams, and He was the one who brought me to America. “Oh God, hear my prayers. Let my cry come to You,” I prayed. “I need to know what You want me to do, and I need to know it fast.”

  Five minutes later the phone rang. Mom again answered the phone. “Just a minute,” I heard her say. She came into the living room where I was on my knees, praying. “What’s it going to be?” she asked.

  “Tell him to give my scholarship to someone else. I’m going to Northern Arizona University. That is the place that will take me to the Olympics.”

  Mom looked shocked by my answer. “What if you don’t get into school there?”

  “Don’t worry. God wants me to go there.”

  “Dominic wants to stay at Norfolk State.”

  “All I can say to him is, ‘Enjoy.’ I am going to Northern Arizona.”

  “Are you sure?” I could tell from her voice that she was worried.

  “Yes, Mom. I’m sure. It will be okay. You will see.”

  Mom smiled a nervous smile. “And you will get your degree,” she said.

  I laughed. “Yes, and my degree,” I said. Northern Arizona might be the place that would take me to the Olympics, but it had also better be the place that took me to a degree. After all, that was the point of going to college, and I knew my mom would not let me forget it. Ever.

  SEVENTEEN

  Running for Joy

  I trotted around the track, warming up. The stands were full. CBS Sports cameras covered every angle of the track. I should have been nervous, but I was not. A few months earlier I faced the pressure of an NCAA championship final race when I won the 3,000 meter indoor. I was not nervous then, and I was not now. Coach Hayes walked over to me. “How do you feel, Lopez?”

  I grinned. “Great. This is really fun,” I said.

  Coach Hayes shook his head with a wide smile on his face. He assumed I had butterflies flopping around in my stomach. I didn’t. Not even close. “Remember, this is a tactical race,” he said. “You’re going up against a really strong field. Most of these guys specialize in the 1500, so you have to run smart out there.”

  “Sure, Coach,” I said. “No problem.” Unlike my competitors, I did not have m
uch experience in the 1500 but I had proven myself as a strong runner and we had a plan going into this race. The previous track season I ran the 800 almost exclusively. This season, I ran a little bit of everything, including the 800, relays, an occasional 400, and the 4-by-400 relay. Coach Hayes let me try all kinds of races to help me figure out which event best suited my skill set. I also volunteered for anything I could do to help the team score points.

  Toward the end of the season, I ran the 1500 in a dual meet and in the conference meet. After running ten kilometers during the cross country season and 3,000 meters in the indoor track season, 1,500 meters seemed short. I liked the race because it requires more than pure speed or sheer endurance. You need both, plus you have to think all the way around the track for all four laps. Coach was right. The 1500 is a tactical race, which is why I entered it in the NCAA championships.

  Because of my inexperience, I came in as a dark horse. No one knew what to expect from me in this event. Everyone, from the other teams to the fans to the media covering the event, seemed shocked when I zipped through the heats and semis to make it to the finals. Not me. I like this event. I expected great things from myself in it.

  “Remember what I told you,” Coach said. “Don’t take off chasing the rabbit at the front of the pack. You need to save as much as you can for your kick in the last 80 to 90 meters. But don’t get so obsessed over saving energy that you fall too far behind.” He pulled off his ball cap and rubbed his head. He wanted to see me succeed as much as I did. “It’s all about tactics, Lopez. You have to run strategically.”

  I smiled and said, “Yes, Coach, I understand. Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll let you get back to warming up.”

  I lay down on the infield to stretch my legs, first the right, then the left. I looked around at the guys I would soon run against. The field looked very different than the one I ran against in my first “race” in the United States. It was more a fun run than a race because it took place at my dad’s company picnic. The day’s festivities included a 10K run. I never thought about entering until Dad said, “Come on. You should run.” I did not have running shoes with me. “Here, use these,” Dad said as he pulled off some generic running shoes for me to wear. They did not fit right. I hated running in shoes back then. They made my feet feel slow and heavy. But everyone who entered got a free T-shirt, and Mom promised me a Coke at the finish line. I couldn’t say no to free T-shirts and Cokes, so I ran. Back then, that’s all it took for me to run. It doesn’t take much more today.

  Running in that August heat and humidity took its toll. I nearly stopped halfway through, except my mom cheered me on. “You can do this, Joseph!” I finished third or fourth against an experienced field of runners, which wasn’t bad for a soccer player.

  Now I found myself in Sacramento, California, on a blistering hot June day. Some athletes complain about the heat, but I love it. The air was hot and dry, no humidity at all, just like Kakuma. Every day there was the same, with temperatures at or above 100 degrees; dry, hot air swirling around; zero humidity. My mind went back to running thirty kilometers around the perimeter of the camp without shoes, wearing ragged hand-me-down clothes. Back then I didn’t even pause to grab a drink of water after finishing my lap around the camp; I was too eager to get into the soccer game. I would never think of doing that today. “Stay hydrated,” Coach Hayes preached to the team. I could hear his voice in my head as I pulled out my water bottle and took a long drink.

  “First call for the 1500,” the loudspeakers announced. I gathered my things and walked toward the start line. Outside I put on my game face. Sunglasses on, stern look of determination on my face, I looked ready to dominate. Inside, I wore a huge grin. How could I not smile? Although this was the biggest race of my life up to this point, I did not run for my life. I ran that race a long time ago when I took off in the night with my three angels. We knew the rebel soldiers might open fire at any moment, which made us run even faster. Once we arrived in Kakuma, I ran every day, not just to play soccer but to take my mind off of my empty stomach and the harsh realities of life in the refugee camp. Today I ran for pure, absolute joy. My past set me free to enjoy the present moment, and I planned to enjoy it to the fullest. No man ever felt so blessed by God as I did in that moment.

  “Second call, 1500 meters.” My eleven competitors gathered near the start line. This was a strong field. Both the defending 1,500 meter outdoor champion, Vincent Rono, and Leonel Manzano, the Mile indoor champion, made the final. Any one of half a dozen guys could easily win this race. I had to run smart.

  I pulled off my warm-up jacket and pants and tossed them to Coach Hayes.

  “You ready for this?” he asked.

  “Yep,” I said. I looked down at my navy blue jersey and the yellow letters across my chest: Northern Arizona University. Tom Hightower told me this place and Coach John Hayes would take me to the Olympics, and he knew what he was talking about. But over the past couple of years, NAU had grown to much more than that.

  When I arrived on campus, I found they had one of the best hotel management programs in the country. God planted the idea of majoring in this area back when I got a part-time job at a local Best Western near my home in Tully. My goal then, and now, is to build a hotel in South Sudan and help open the area to tourists. Tourists bring money, and money will allow my people to build schools and hospitals and dig water wells. My success as an athlete can also help make these things happen. The lost boys of Sudan made the news back in 2001, but people have short memories. The more successful I am as an athlete as a former lost boy, the more people will talk about where I came from and the greater focus I can put on the needs of South Sudan. Then, with my education from NAU, I can lead the way in doing something.

  None of this made me feel greater pressure as I lined up for the 1,500 meter final. Pressure is trying to make a UN food allotment stretch for thirty days. Pressure is watching friends die of malaria and wondering who in the camp will be next. Pressure is writing an essay that will determine your entire future in a language you do not know. A footrace, even a championship race, did not make me feel pressure.

  “Third and final call for the 1500. Runners to the line,” the loudspeakers announced. I stepped up to the start line in the sixth position, right in the middle of the field. Coach warned me to watch my position on the track throughout the race. “Don’t let those guys box you in,” he told me over and over again. The 1500, like every race longer than 400 meters, does not have lane assignments. If you are not careful, you can easily find yourself trapped on the inside, back in the pack, unable to maneuver. I planned to run a careful race.

  “Runners, take your mark.” I took a deep breath. Enjoy, I reminded myself.

  The gun sounded. I took off, five guys inside of me, six outside. Everyone descends toward the middle of the track before the first turn. I didn’t worry too much about running out too fast. The first lap of the 1500 doesn’t count for anything. Rabbits sprint to an early lead, but they never last. “Relax, relax, relax,” I could hear the voice of Coach Hayes in my head. “Run loose, not tight,” he preached to me. If I were any looser, my legs would give out from under me.

  We rounded the first turn at a pace I liked. The leader did not take off like a rabbit, nor did he hold back and make the race too slow. The rest of the field takes its cues from the leader. Coach Hayes was right when he said this is a tactical race. All races are, to some degree, even the ten kilometers of cross-country. In my first season at NAU I did not understand race strategy. I just went out and ran as hard as I could for as long as I could. My approach worked most of the season, but not when the team needed me the most. At the Big Sky Conference cross-country meet my first year, Coach told me to keep pace with Seth Pilkington, Weber State’s top runner. Weber State and NAU went back and forth as the top team in the conference. Apparently, Seth’s coach told him the same thing about me. The two of us ran the first seven kilometers so fast th
at neither of us scored any points for our squads. My team won the conference title, but I beat myself up over my foolish race. The next season I came back a different runner. Coach Hayes and that race finally convinced me that strategy means as much as speed. My second season also convinced Coach that the Olympic dream I talked about nonstop was a real possibility.

  I trotted along through the first lap, right in the middle of the pack. The leader ran the first lap in just over fifty-eight seconds. I ran it in sixty. Okay, a good, honest pace. I like this. This feels good, I thought.

  Before the first turn of the second lap, I sped up, moving from sixth to fourth. My place overall did not matter as much as the distance I wanted to keep between myself and the leader. The second lap is all about positioning yourself. No one has ever won the race on the second lap, but many have lost it there. If I let the leader stray too far from me, I would not be able to catch him at the end, no matter how strong my kick. And I had a very strong kick because I run a variety of distances. Most runners specialize, but I don’t. I won the Big Sky Conference cross-country title in both 2006 and 2007, running 8,000 meters. Then, in 2006, I finished fourth in the NCAA outdoor track 800 meter race. My experience at so many different distances made me believe in my kick even more.

  I settled into fourth position, keeping myself close to the leader. If he’d sprinted out from the pack, I would have moved up. But he stayed at a steady pace, and I matched him stride for stride. The track felt hot beneath my feet. Through the years I’d run on many different surfaces, from the jungle, to the savannah, where thorn bushes tore into my legs, to the sand and rocks under my bare feet in the camp. Back in high school, the track team ran through the school halls when it was too cold and snowy to run outside. I didn’t so much run as bounce. Every other stride I jumped up to try to touch the ceiling. One day I didn’t notice the door frame right in front of me. Next thing I knew I was in the nurse’s office with no idea how I got there. Mom showed up, scared to death. “Joseph, from now on you need to focus on running straight, not jumping and running!”