Randy Lussenden- A Short Profile

Looking back at old high school state meet results in North Dakota, I stumbled across someone who very well might be the fastest North Dakotan steeplechaser ever. He's another product of Bismarck, which seems to me has produced an incredible amount of talent over the years. It's those hills, I tell ya...

From NDSU's website

 Randy Lussenden competed for Bismarck High School in the late 60s. In 1966, his second place finish at the state cross country meet in Valley City helped BHS win the state championship, dethroning Fort Yates (a Native school located in the far south-central part of the state on the west side of the Missouri). The next year in 1967, he won the individual title at the state cross country meet in Minot, not only breaking the course record held by Casey Ryan of Grand Forks, but also helping his team to a championship with a stunning 17 points scored, breaking the state record for lowest point-total at the men's state meet.* Then in the spring of 1968, he won the 1600m at the state track meet, running a new state-record time 4:20.4, while also placing 5th in the 800 with a time of 2:02.

After high school, he continued on to NDSU and put together a successful career there as well. He was inducted into the NDSU Athletics Hall of Fame in 1992 after securing All-American status twice. He is currently ranked in the NDSU top-ten list: 9th in the indoor mile with a time of 4:10.40, which actually won him the 1972 NCC Indoor Conference Championship title. Adding onto that, in 1971 he won two events at the NCC Outdoor Conference Championship: the two-mile and three-mile. In the NDSU track media guide both times are listed as 14:17.6, so I assume that time to be the three-mile time and the two-mile to be incorrect. He also, according to NDSU's Hall of Fame page, holds some retired records for track program, but I can't find those on their website. While at NDSU he was also two-time All-American in cross country, his best finish being in 1971 when he placed 7th at the National University meet (teammate Mike Slack, who ran the only sub-4 mile ever in ND, actually won that race and went on to take third at the national meet behind legends Pre and Garry Bjorklund).** It is indeed interesting that an incredible steeplechaser did not actually win anything or run anything fast relative to the steeple while in college. That came later.

After college he eventually ran with the Chicago Track Club and started competing in the steeplechase on the national scene. In 1974 he won the US Track and Field Federation 3k steeple with a then-record time of 8:38. Not to be outdone, at the Pan-American Games US Trials in 1975, he finished second to Olympian Mike Manley of the Oregon Track Club with a time of 8:27:85. Lussenden was actually in third coming into the last lap, but he passed one runner and almost passed Manley, who was only 1/10 of a second ahead in a winning time of 8:27.75. This secured for Lussenden a spot on the team to the Pan-American Games. The Pan American Games that year were in Mexico City (which is brutal because the city sits at more than 7000 ft altitude and racing any long-distance event that high is awful), and he went on to take fifth (competitor Manley actually won the race in 9:04, there's the altitude for ya).

In conclusion, we have a North Dakota high school state champion, All-American at NDSU, and representative of the United States on the national and international stage who ran what seems to be, if not the fastest, one of the fastest steeple times of any North Dakotan so far. Pretty nifty, eh?


*For those unfamiliar with how cross country is scored, it goes a little like this. Each finisher is assigned a place with a corresponding number, with the winner getting 1, second place getting 2, and so on. For scoring, a team's top five finishers all have their scores added up for total. Thus, the lowest possible score a team can get is 15 (1+2+3+4+5), and so to score 17 points at the state meet is pretty crazy. Bismarck did it again actually, at the 2011 state xc meet.

**Currently (since 1973) the system for cross country nationals is divided: if you are D1, you race at the D1 meet, and if you are D2 you race at the D2 meet. Before 1958 there was only one race, but that year what we now know as D2 broke off and split it into NCAA University (D1 now) and NCAA college (D2 now). Furthermore, in 1973, D3 broke off and created the system we still see today. Before D3, the best in the University division at their national meet could run in the D1 race (something like two days later I believe). I need to do more research to learn how this all worked.

Links I used for research:
1968 State Track Meet Results
2013 NDSU Track and Field Media Guide
NCAA Archive
NDSU Hall of Fame Page
Chicago Tribune Article
BHS 1966 State XC Champs
BHS 1967 State XC Champs
Eugene Register-Guard Article
Pan American Games Results
Spokesman Review Article

Same Planet, Different World

I wake up in my snug bed, content to sit there for awhile. I look over at my roommate, still sound asleep but with smartphone close at hand and lit up for the majority of the night. After turning my own phone on to see if I have any notifications, I waddle out of bed, trying to avoid the inevitable squeaking and squawking of the floor on my journey to the bathroom. As I creep down the stairs, I attempt to do the impossible: make a bowl of oatmeal in the microwave without waking up the freshman delegated to sleeping on the couch. It didn't work. After slipping on my shoes and taking my chances with rogue, untied shoelaces tripping me up, I leave the townhouse, making sure to leave the door open a crack so I can get back in without using the key I don't have. I continue my early-morning waddle over to the nearby beach to catch the sunrise; it does not disappoint. There is this half-cloudiness, half-haziness in the air from the light sea breeze, and the sun rising in the east bounces off of all of it, shining every color from orange to yellow to the already brilliant blue of the sky. I observe the beach- I have a teammate sitting not too far away on the sand, a nearby couple begins to pack up from a morning picnic date (donuts and orange juice to accompany flowers), and a procession of unrelated people walk past along the shoreline. I take another bite of oatmeal and think to myself- this isn't so bad.

One thing that was apparent to me was how the sunrise here was exactly the same as back home, even while everything else seems so different. It's astounding to me to see all these different groups of people come walking past, because the whole concept of vacationing to the beach in the middle of March is still foreign to me. Speaking from the perspective of the northern plains, I know many people who hit the months of February and March and want nothing more than to soak up the sun at the beach and live in what is described as paradise, and I know many people every year who do just that. Maybe it's because I've never taken much for 'vacations' in the sense that you go somewhere and essentially ignore responsibilities and your 'real life' for awhile. I guess the question I ask myself is whether these folks walking along the beach are content with where they are now, having successfully run away from home, or if their hearts may be yearning for home. Can we ever truly leave from home?

I'm waddling back to the townhouse now. My hamstrings and glutes are still a little sore from lifting on Tuesday, but I have a track workout coming up this morning. I opt to run to the track for my warmup, and on that 4 mile route I run through our resort, past a bunch of really nice beach homes, through another resort, and then into Myrtle Beach outside of the beach. Yes, it is true that Myrtle Beach does exist outside of the resorts, but it's much quieter. I wonder to myself what local Myrtle Beach-ites think about the tourism industry that inundates the town. Do they embrace it as part of their culture- the economic driving force of their metropolitan area? Or do they look upon wealthy outsiders with scorn, wondering if they could take their lax, money-spending lifestyle back to wherever it is they came from? I'll admit to having no idea, but I always wonder. Deep down, I hope to not be met with scorn by local simply because I'm an outsider. Irrational? Possible. True? No idea.

Well I made it to the track. Jim Shaw Stadium is the name, and it's actually nowhere near Coastal Carolina University, the school hosting this hugenormous spring break track meet. It's a public outdoor track/stadium area with posted hours for people to come use either the track or the turf field inside of it. They have made a name hosting large invitationals over the spring breaks of most universities, and looking around the track I see Ohio, Dartmouth, Purdue, U-Mass Lowell, and the heat sheets promise that Tennessee and Clemson will be here this weekend as well, not to mention the scores of smaller universities I don't recognize.

I've spoken here before about how track is a universal language, but apparently some are more, um, inclined than others to speak it properly. It seems to me that at a track where many teams are training that warming up in lane one wouldn't be a good idea, but nonetheless people are out there doing it. Now, it wouldn't be a problem if after one time of yelling 'track' they moved to the outside, but after I pass by, they move right back, as if not expecting me to every come by again. It confuses me, but I guess we aren't speaking the same language. I leave for cooldown. While running my cooldown, I come across a guy running in the opposite direction, wearing a green shirt that proudly says 'cross country'. I nod and say hello- he smiles, nods, and says hey. We continue on our way. He speaks the language.

One of my favorite parts of this trip is getting to watch all of the other teams, not so much how they perform, but how they train and interact. Most of the time we only see other teams at meets, and so we only see them when they are competing. However, on this trip we get to be around teams while they are doing their workouts. I get to hear what their coaches say, how they say it, and how the athletes respond. It's crazy to see how much respect some athletes have for their coaches because you can literally hear and see it. It's also crazy how much respect some coaches have for their athletes, because you can see it and hear it. They are so invested in each other that it's motivating just to be around. I mean, today there were a couple of hurdlers doing run-throughs in lanes next to each other, but they were on different teams. One girl was division one, and she and her coach were working on some highly technical aspects of her form that I don't even understand. She would pop out of the blocks and clear each hurdle easily, turn around, and come back to her coach for advise. The girl next to her was from a school I've never heard of, and I could tell that she was new to hurdles, either because she's trying it out or doing multis. She was working on the fundamentals of clearing a hurdle properly, and after each run through she would come walking back a little sad from consistent struggle, and her coach had a big smile ready, and would give her some emotional advice before digging into the specifics. I love it.

After that, it was back to the resort for food, recovery, and convincing myself that I had reasonable excuses to avoid homework, including (but not limited to): mario kart, super smash bros, march madness, eating again, and typing up a blog post. I asked Coach if we could go watch the 10k races tonight even though nobody from UND is competing. He said sure; he must speak the language. After all, even though we're 1600 miles away from Grand Forks, we'll probably feel right at home.

Where the Road Ends

The gun goes off. As the smoke is gently whisked away by the South Carolina sea breeze, 15 bodies take off down the backstretch, jockeying for position. As members of the crowd holler encouragement to the athletes, elbows attack chests, and spikes attack shins. Everybody looks for the inside on the corners and open space on the straights. Each time the group comes around the start line, coaches are screaming numbers at their athletes, followed by advice in the few seconds they get to make a statement before the group is gone again. With 300 meters to go, I start moving up onto the shoulder of the leader, fixing to get my final kick going at any moment. I have the second-fastest seed time, but that means nothing right now. Another runner moves up on my shoulder and the race is on. We are sprinting around the corner- 200 to go, 150, 100- there's the finish line. I'm getting tunnel vision now as I sprint towards the finish. If I can just get there....

I snap back to attention. I'm actually about 1600 miles north and west of this race, sitting at the funeral of my grandfather. We are back in Horace, surrounded by family and friends. My second family took off for South Carolina two days ago, but unexpectedly I was not with them. I can't help but imagine what the race I was scheduled to take part in would have been like, but that's not important now. I look down my row, at my mom, dad, brothers, grandparents, uncle, cousins, and girlfriend. It's crazy how everything can be put on hold when family has a need. Not only was I scheduled to go to South Carolina, but one of my brothers was planning on being in Florida for a mission trip, while the other had a high school band trip to Denver. The adults all had jobs that needed to be disrupted temporarily, but employers seem to be quite forgiving when there is a death in the family. It's understood. It's something everybody knows.

This is one of those times I'm thankful for having running in my life, because I can head out down the road and try to collect my thoughts. This is the closest death has ever been to me, and I'm trying to figure out what it all means. One second a person can be there, while the next they are gone. Even though I wasn't super-close with him, I can still hear his hearty laugh replaying over and over in my head. During my runs, I think back to when I was much, much younger, and I would get to spend some time out at the farm with Grandma and Grandpa. I would get to ride the tractor, play around in the shed, go visit the cats in the old barn on the north side of the farmstead, try to stalk deer through the trees (even if they weren't there), watch pheasants pick at the rocks on the gravel driveway, ride the 4-wheeler with Grandpa to go get the mail, play catch where we would try to throw the baseball over the powerline and to the other person, and be afraid of the basement like every kid is. I remember there was this little path through the trees (10 yards long maybe?) that I would run through instead of the taking the gravel road around the trees to get to the shed. I thought it was the coolest thing. It still is.

They eventually sold the farmstead and retired in West Fargo. I remember the day of the auction. I spent considerable time wandering through the trees and fields around the farm, because I knew I had to cherish the memories while they lasted. Now I look back at those memories. It's interesting how our brains work sometimes. I remember watching the movie 'Mr and Mrs Smith' one time, and literally the only thing I can remember from it was this quote: "I guess in the end you think about the beginning." It was profound then, and it is profound now. Whether it's the last day of school, the last day of camp, the last day of track, the last day of a job, or the last whatever of anything, we tend to look back on our experiences and how far we've come since the beginning. If we climb a mountain, we turn around to see how far we've come and what the start looks like. Another quote I recall is from a song by the artist 'Listener' who said "we only have what we remember".  We can amass all of these crazy items and possessions, but in the end it seems our memories are what prevail and captivate us. It makes me wonder if at funerals people think back to their weddings. Such a tragedy can lead some to dig into their memory bank for that intensely happy day in their lives. I'm sure my Grandma looks back and even though she has pain from her loss, smiles at what was.

This fall we were out deer hunting at the farm, because we've kept most of the farm and ranch land, even though the house was sold. At the end of one day, I went for a run down in the Sheyenne River Valley. I ran down the steep black dirt trail made by the ruts of pickup tires, weaving around corners and having my legs brushed with, well...brush. I made it to the valley floor, surrounded by hills and woods, when I came upon the old homestead my grandpa grew up in. As I came past the decrepit building that has since caved in, I recall stories grandpa told about vehicles actually driving across the rocks on the Sheyenne River due to how low the water level was; in fact, there was a county highway that supposedly went through there. They had a clearing where crops could be raised, which immediately went into the hills of the valley, covered with trees and scattered about with cattle. As I run the cattle trail into the woods and up the hill following the fence line, I disappear from everything. I come to a tree with a tiny little creek gently flowing past it, and I rest. The sun is beginning to set off in the distance, the evening glow in the sky does not disappoint. The wind is calm and even the nearby gravel pit trucks have stopped working- all is quiet and peaceful. I think of my dad working out here as a kid, fixing fence and loving the beauty. I think of my grandpa many years before- how quiet it must have been and what the landscape looked like. Things were different back then. I sit there and think about what it must have been like for grandpa as a kid out here. The weather is so beautiful and the stream gently flows past.

My thoughts come back to me at the church. As I sit at the funeral, I'm well aware that my body is asking me for food and water, reminding me of my morning long run already. Sitting here makes me think about what I'm actually doing. I suppose I could look at my running in two ways: on one hand, I could say that all of my pursuits are feeble, because I'll eventually die, as evidenced by where I'm at currently, and that it's not worth all of the work; I could also say that it's clear that our days are limited, so why not make the most of every moment? Performances will fade out of memory (remember who won the 10k at the 1980 Olympics? Yeah, me neither), but the way that we affect people will stick (I'm sure anybody alive in 1980 could tell you someone who impacted their life at that time). I've had some great talks with fellows runners lately, and I love the community that this sport can bring. I'd love to share as many of my experiences as I can, because having people to love this sport with me is what I search for. Because where the road ends, who will be with you?

So Rest in Peace in Heaven Grandpa. I know you positively impacted people in your life and you will be missed. But your memories will live on. Your childhood homestead down by the river may be in shambles now, the new farm technology may be unlike anything you ever knew, the people you grew up with might be scattered everywhere, but memories travel with us.

I can still hear you laughing.