“We go through a lot, my stopwatch and I.”
My stopwatch died the other day. Ultrak 495. Matte black. Capable of recording 100 lap splits. I’ve been using an Ultrak for about fifteen years. To my mind, the best stopwatch on the market. I carry a spare in my coaching backpack. My primary stopwatch resides in my car door, ready to grab when I walk out to the track for practice. We go through a lot, my stopwatch and I. It is a comforting talisman, my fingers clicking start-stop-reset without my conscious mind noting. It is my grown-up version of Linus’s blanket, a security totem that soothes in ways I am not prepared to publicly examine. On race day, when staring at a final result, the watch gives me a small endorphin rush.
It sounds like masturbation when I put it like that. So be it.
An Ultrak 495 is not easily found. I know of no stores that sell them. So as soon as the battery on my stopwatch died, and I realized to my, well, horror, that I couldn’t find the backup, my first call was to Sean Zeitler at VS Athletics. A good man. An old friend. He moved to Idaho a few years back and all of us who once coached with him miss having Sean around on a regular basis.
Sean overnighted two new watches. I didn’t have to go twenty-four hours without my watch. They’re here with me now. Order has been restored to the world. My world.
I crave order right now. I’m also practicing my guitar every day, following an online program known as Tony’s Acoustic Challenge. It props me up, makes me realize I can learn a new skill if I just stick with it.
Taking London is selling well. I’m getting the best reviews of my career. Costco has become quite the sales forum. The New York Times has not yet seen fit to give it a rip, though in this political climate that is not surprising. A book about British fighter pilots and the fate of the world seems escapist — and it is. Nothing but action and history. Which, I would posit, is something we need a little more of right now.
There is precision in the stopwatch. There is structure in learning new chords. These are things I can control. I can also control — I made a list — my happiness, gratitude, what I eat and drink, how much I train, whom I choose to spend time with, and what my next adventure will be.
And what I write. Take that down if you hope to become a writer. Deep breathing is a method of calming anxiety, but so is tending with loving care to the written word. When it all goes well, I even get a little endorphin rush.
Martin Dugard is a best-selling author, a board member of the USA Track & Field Foundation and a high school cross country and track coach.
