There was a time in my life where my dream job was to work for a big shoe company, preferably Nike, 1983 was an exciting time with the emergence of R.E.M and the height of the running boom. I followed marathoning as a sport and came to be a big Fan of Alberto Salazar. I really loved running as it was a pathway to a richer fuller life. After grad school I wrote a few letters of inquiry, with resume attached, to Nike hoping to get an interview or my foot in the door. I owned a big book of stamps. I imagined Beaverton to be an exotic magic land at the far end of my imagination.
Many years later, by some quirk in the cosmos I ended up living in Beaverton. It was not the exotic paradise I envisioned but there were worse places to live. I worked for for a tech company that had a large campus right across Murray Blvd. from Nike.
We had a group of friends who would meet up for lunch time runs. There were a few days where we all meet up to do speed work on the Nike campus. The track was actually ideal, as we would at times be greeted by a family of deer on the fist curve of the track.
There were rumors, that one should not wear non Nike apparel while running on their campus. Many of us were lucky just to remember to pack our shorts , shoes and a shirt the night before. We never knew when we were going to the tranquil shaded Nike track and we were not Nike loyalists.
We were just finishing up a set of 10 quarter mile repeats when I saw Alberto Salazar and his band of followers start into their warm ups. We exchanged pleasantries, like always, and continued into our last interval. Al was always approachable. One of the people in our group was new to running. He didn’t have the typical runners body, and struggled through the last few quarters. He usually finished fifteen seconds behind us. And we admired the living daylight out of him for sticking with it.
He collapsed upon completion and sat sweating and panting in the perfectly cut grass. He was a mess yet rather happy to be finished as he guzzled from his water bottle. He then walked over and refilled his bottle from a trackside fountain.
It was then when Alberto walked over to our friend and told him he should not be on this track. Apparently he wasn’t one of the pretty people Alberto envision running in his paradise. He lectured him on proper running attire, and what should be worn on the track. He also made an underhanded comment about our friend’s weight.
In later months, we continued to use the Nike track. That was more of a statement than being scared away by a bully such as Alberto. If for some reason, we were wearing a shirt with the ever present swoosh, we covered it with two pieces of masking tape. Eventually we moved our workouts to a school a few blocks away. We didn’t need all that drama on our lunch hour.
It took me another fifteen years until I bought another pair of Nikes, and relished the well deserved demise of Alberto Salazar.
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