Du-Dad
Du Dad
At Villanova, I took a class called the Philosophy of Sport. The class was taught by Dr. John Doody. He has been teaching the course since my father, Matthew W. Hayes, took it at Villanova in 1985. Ideological debate and sports happen to be two of my interests; the course ended up being one of my few A’s as an undergrad. We discussed current events and debated topics during class. On one occasion, I got into a heated debate with a fellow student over whether Barry Bonds would ever be inducted into the Hall of Fame. While the discussions were diverse, the general idea behind Philosophy of Sport was “Why do we love sports?”.
“Why do we love sports?” is a not a question that many ask. Most sports-lovers have been loving their sports since before they can even remember loving sports. Ask a sports fan to explain their love for sports and they may seem to struggle. The answer is not obvious because sports fans don’t ask themselves that question. That is why they are fans. John Doody asks that question. That is why he is a Doctor.
I contend, that we love sports because they provide us with an arena to be our best. Sports show us who is the best in the world. The best athletes compete against each other to show the rest of humanity what we as a species can achieve. Their stories of success inspire us. Sport is about skill, hard-work, focus, determination, challenge. These are all basic human experiences with which anyone can relate.
Sports also provides us with an arena to be our best on an individual level. Not everyone can be the best in the world, but everyone can be their best. Anyone can achieve their potential; sports provide the rules through which you can reach it. I played goalkeeper for a bad soccer team. Every time I allowed a goal in my net, I found myself craving another shot. Zero future shots would have been better for the team, but I wanted the opportunity to prove myself. I wanted the challenge. I wanted to achieve my best. That is why I love sports.
My Dad used to be a golfer. We used to watch golf together on Sundays, my favorite player was Greg “The Shark” Norman. When I was old enough to walk, he sawed down and regripped an old 3-wood for me. When I was barely old enough to stand, he shanked a chip in the back yard and the ball almost hit me in the head. Skulled inches from my skull.
As I remember it, he stopped playing golf one day and started running. Family members struggled for years when confronted with the news that golf related Christmas gifts were no longer relevant. People joked that it was a mid-life crisis.
“Better this than a convertible,” My dad would joke.
Mid-life crisis or not, my father’s journey into marathons and duathlons is the perfect example of why we love sports.
He began his running career by charting a two-mile route around Havertown, Pennsylvania. A few summers later, the family vacation was planned around the Annual Captain Bill Gallagher 10 Mile Island run in Sea Isle City. The following year he completed his first half marathon. He continued to add miles. It was not long before my father had completed his first marathon.
Many people would have ordered a 26.2 bumper sticker, slapped it on the back of their car, and felt satisfied with their accomplishments. My father’s next target was to qualify for the Boston Marathon. To qualify for the Boston Marathon you must complete another marathon within a designated qualifying time. The time he needed was 3 hours and 30 minutes.
I remember his two-hour training runs during the weekends. I remember watching him walk up our street, returning from a twelve-mile run before seven in the morning when I left for school. I remember seeing his disappointment as he failed to run a qualifying time in 11 straight marathons, in two of those he failed to finish the race. I thought that he would give up. It didn’t seem like his body could make the time, no matter how hard he worked. He qualified for the Boston Marathon on his twelfth attempt at the Steamtown Marathon in Scranton, Pennsylvania. The Boston Marathon was his thirteenth and final marathon.
I was so proud of him. He had reached his Everest. I was wrong. He pivoted. Duathlons.
Even before he ran the Boston Marathon, the distance had become too much for my father’s knees to handle. His racing career was not over, however. He transitioned to duathlon races, which consist of a run, a bike, and another run. The shorter distances were better for his knees and he really took to the bike culture. When he began racing he joked that his mid-life crisis cost less than a Ferrari, but I guarantee he has spent more on bicycles than I spent on my used Jetta.
My father and his expensive bikes have completed over 100 duathlon races. It has not been an easy road. He has put a lot of miles on his 50-55 age group body. He has had a list of racing related health issues including an expiring hip that needs to be replaced. To continue racing, he has been receiving cortisone injections in his hip for the past nine months.
He battled through the pain because he had a new goal: to compete in the National and International Duathlon Championships. He raced in the National Duathlon Championships in New Orleans towards the end of 2016. On August 19, 2017, his birthday, he ran, biked, and ran some more as a member of Team USA in the International Duathlon Championships in British Columbia, Canada.
His accomplishments in the face of adversity have been remarkable, but that is not why I am so impressed by him. His motivations for racing are what impress me most. My father did not race to post about his races on Facebook, he doesn’t really have a Facebook. He did not race to win. He never showed off the medals or trophies that he won. The only trophy prominently displayed in my parents’ house is a trophy that was won by the youth cross country team that is coached by my parents. My father raced because he needed to push himself to be his best and that is why my father’s ongoing racing journey epitomizes our love for sports.
