Eat at Nino's Place

If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it 1,000 times: Heat kills. Whenever anyone asks me what weather is the worst for runners in races, I give two answers: 1. Extreme heat and humidity; 2. Cold rain. The second is really uncomfortable (especially for a coach) but almost never life-threatening. Heat? Heat kills. That’s what I say all the time.

Today, I’m sure glad this phrase was not literal.

We were at the Fairfield Invitational for the first time since 1997. Back in the day – when I was in college in the 1980s, and then when I started coaching in 1991 -- Fairfield was usually the season-opening meet. This means, I’ve seen this story before. Blazing sun. No shade. Fairfield. Today was not a season-opener. It’s the last full weekend in September. It’s not supposed to be like this, really. Factor in an 11:45 a.m. start, humidity and freakish wind, and what you get is the recipe for a train wreck.

Anyway, in the men’s race, we had three DNFs today. One of them ended with a trip to St. Vincent’s Hospital in Bridgeport, CT.

Junior Ryan Fitzsimons was running a really strong race. I was not surprised; Fitz had a solid summer, and his training since preseason has been strong, hard and consistent. His workouts have gotten better and better. He was ready. When I saw him at Mile 3, he looked great and he was passing people. He was definitely going to be a varsity scoring team member for us today.

When I saw him with about a half-mile to go, he wasn’t doing as well, but I didn’t think much of it. He had lost a few spots, but still looked to be doing OK all things considered. As I was tending to overheated runners after the finish, some excitable Fairfield girl reported that a Marist runner had collapsed in the woods. I sprinted in and found Fitz sprawled on the ground near the aforementioned 3-mile mark. Heat. The trainers packed him in ice, had him drink water and Gatorade.

He was conscious, sweating but quite disoriented. A trip to the ER was recommended by the medical personnel. On the ambulance ride to St. Vincent’s, Fitz wasn’t alone. Sure, I was there riding shotgun up front as I marveled how big Bridgeport actually is (I had never been to Connecticut’s biggest city). But there was also a less delirious but still heat-damaged runner from Fordham sharing space in the back of the ambulance. When we got the hospital, we also learned that a Sacred Heart runner was there as well. At one point, I turned around and asked how Fitz was doing. The EMT said still not great.

The good news: After two bags of IV fluid, Fitz bounced back quickly. Crisis averted. He was discharged with cheery instructions from the ER nurse: Drink Gatorade like it’s your job. He did, and he is fine now. He was even talking about how much he’s looking forward to running Paul Short on Friday. We’ll see about that, mister. One day at a time this week.

As we waited outside the ER for teammate Kara Lightowler to come fetch us and return us to the team bus and barbecue at Kim Bartlett’s house in Fairfield, something surreal happened. Some random fat kid walked by and silently handed me a refrigerator magnet and calendar that was an advertisement for Nino’s Place, a pizzeria and deli in Bridgeport. It’s a somewhat unusual place to be looking for business, but I guess folks like us hanging out near an ER are a captive, if somewhat dazed and distracted, audience. Why I kept the magnet and put it in my backpack is beyond me. But I did.

Eat at Nino’s Place. After today’s race, we’re just glad that remains an option for Fitz, the next time he happens to be in Bridgeport.