27 June 1983 – West Ware Road, Enfield, Massachusetts

Jeff Knox cracked open an eye to look at his alarm clock, the one he hadn’t set the night before. His sleep-fogged brain registered the bright sunlight streaming in around his shade and curtains as he did so.

“8:45” the bright red numbers read. He sighed and burrowed back into his pillow. He allowed himself to wake up more before rolling out of bed, dropping to his floor, and beginning his morning workout routine.

Jeff began doing as many push-ups and sit-ups as his body would allow not long after baseball season started, three months ago. He could now do close to fifty quick repetitions of each before his muscles began to fatigue, and he’d begun to see definition in those muscles. Today he planned to add a more visible piece to his exercise routine.

He hadn’t told anyone at his former school what he’d begun to do, nor how he wanted to change the direction of his life. Since about the Fourth Grade he’d been considered a geek by those in his class. At first, that was due to his slightly awkward social interactions with his classmates. As the years went by, that label stuck due to his increasing academic successes. While he was friendly with people at the public middle school, there wasn’t anyone to whom he would apply the label of a friend. He’d start a new school in the fall, one that would offer him a new chance at making friends. Jeff visited the bathroom after getting dressed and then headed downstairs to the kitchen.

“Morning, Mom,” he said as he entered.

“Hey, Jeff!” Marisa Knox replied from the breakfast nook, smiling at her oldest.

She loved sitting by the windows overlooking their expansive backyard, taking in the scene regardless of the weather or time of year. Great Quabbin Hill dominated that view. She was a native of nearby Pelham and shuddered when she remembered how the towns in this picturesque valley were nearly destroyed to satisfy Boston’s growing thirst for water.

“What do you have planned for your first weekday of vacation?” she asked as Jeff got himself a glass of OJ and a bowl of cereal. In contrast to the region’s public schools, which let out for the summer on Friday the 24th, private Thompkins School let out about a week and a half earlier. Marisa taught Sixth Grade math there.

“I’m going to bike over to the Village and talk to someone at Quabbin Runners about running shoes and how to get started with a running program. I saw a help wanted sign in the window of Bilzarian’s Hardware, so I thought I’d stop in and check that out too, while I’m nearby.”

Marisa raised an eyebrow. “Not giving yourself any time off, are you?”

“I know it looks that way, Mom,” Jeff sighed, “but I’ll be doing my workouts in the morning. That will give me plenty of time during the rest of the day to do stuff unless I wind up with a job at Bilzarian’s. I’ll be trying out for the soccer team when I get to Thompkins, too. They’ve routinely got some of the best sports teams in the state, so I’ve got to be able to hang with the others if I want a chance to play. I’ll need the extra stamina when hockey and baseball roll around, too.”

“Honey,” Marisa said in an understanding voice, “I just want you to be able to enjoy your summer, that’s all.”

“I will, Mom,” Jeff assured her. “Going to Thompkins this fall will give me a new chance to make a first impression. I want to make a good one.”

Marisa smiled at her son. She’d seen his frustration over the last few years as he struggled to overcome the geek label. She prayed that Thompkins would be as good for him as he hoped.

“Are you going to be running on these roads?” she asked.

“No, thanks,” Jeff mumbled around a mouthful of cereal. “At least not until I get more used to running. The roads around here are too narrow for my taste, even though I’ve ridden my bike on them for years. I’ll ride over to Thompkins and run on their track while I’m getting started, as long as it’s not a problem.”

“Problem?” Marisa snorted. “You’ve been in and out of that school your entire life! Almost the entire staff knows you!”

Jeff was going to be a faculty kid at Thompkins where his mother taught, something he wasn’t sure he’d like. While Marisa and her husband Joe had discussed keeping their kids in the public school system until they left for college, it was obvious that Jeff and his younger sister Kara wouldn’t be challenged enough unless they went to a school with academics as rigorous as Thompkins.

He rinsed his cereal bowl and glass and put them in the dishwasher. (“The sink? Is that where they go?” “No, Mom.”) He filled his bike’s water bottle and set out for the Enfield town center. The bike ride from southeastern Enfield – known as Enfield Plains to residents – to Enfield Village as the center was called, was about a two and a half mile ride. People waved as he passed them, including people in their cars. This was something he enjoyed about the valley, the fact that everybody knew everybody, so he tried hard not to be a dirtbag. He’d start high school in the fall so he only had four more years to enjoy it. Even if he went to UMass, just a few towns to the west, he’d still have to move away from the valley he’d called home his whole life.

Never a very populous region, census estimates put the population of the Swift River Valley towns at about twelve thousand people. Zoning laws enacted in the wake of Boston’s attempted land grab were strict. There were no malls, strip or otherwise, allowed in the four valley towns – Dana, Greenwich, Prescott, and Enfield. Neither were they allowed in four others nearby that also wanted to preserve their rural character – Petersham, New Salem, Shutesbury, and Pelham. The towns of Ware and Belchertown solicited the Commonwealth years ago to improve Route 9 through their municipalities, and strip malls abounded along that east-west road.

The valley towns still harbored a strong distrust of state involvement in their region. Not all interactions between the State House and the region’s communities were bad, however. Boston was still quite solicitous to requests from the area thanks to constant reminders of what the state and the Metropolitan District Commission – the water rights agency for Metro Boston – tried to do. One such example was that the Commonwealth approved requests to give more police-like authority to the area’s sheriff departments. This allowed the sheriffs to augment local departments, which were almost a regional police force in and of themselves. The sheriff’s departments mainly ran the jails in Massachusetts.

Entering the Enfield Village district required Jeff to pay more attention to his riding. Traffic, such as traffic was in the valley, was heavier in the center of town. Where East Street joined Main Street, Jeff turned north on Main to follow Routes 21 and 34. The road followed the general route of the Boston and Albany Railroad’s old Athol branch line, which ran beside it. That branch line was now being re-purposed as the B&A Bike Trail. Once in the center proper, Jeff waved to the firefighters working outside their station across Main Street. Many of their kids had been Jeff’s classmates over the years.

He parked his bike in front of the Quabbin Runners storefront and locked it to a post. Entering the former car dealership Jeff recognized Mr. O’Mara, his gym teacher at Enfield Middle School, talking to another man. While the store name said ‘runners,’ Jeff saw a wide selection of equipment for all of the sports played in the area. Family stores abounded in the valley. Large chain stores were noticeably absent. Mr. O’Mara noticed Jeff approaching the dizzying display of running shoes on the back wall of the store.

“Well now!” the older gentleman boomed. “‘Tis a good thing to see such a friendly face!” Sean O’Mara held out his meaty hand and shook with Jeff.

“Hi, Mr. O’Mara. How was the first weekend of your summer?”

“Boyo, I’ve retired from teaching,” the man admitted, drawing a look of shock from Jeff.

“Retired?”

“‘Tis true, I’m sorry ta say. I dinna want a lot of fanfare when I finally decided ta go. I did tell Mr. Davies ahead of time, but I turned in my papers this morning.” Mr. Davies was the middle school’s principal.

“Well, I feel sorry for the kids coming up behind me,” Jeff said sadly. “Your gym class was one of the more fun classes I had at Enfield Middle. What are you going to be doing now?”

“If he makes it through training, he’ll be my newest salesman!” the younger man joked.

“Jeff, the man pretending to be a comedian over here is my oldest son Tim. Tim, this fine young lad is Jeff Knox. He’ll be going to Thompkins next year. His ma teaches math there.” Jeff shook hands with the younger O’Mara.

“Good to meet you, Jeff. Other than the opportunity to trade tall tales with this grumpy old Gus here, what brings you into my store today?” Tim asked.

“I’d like to start running, Mr. O’Mara, but I don’t know what kind of shoe is the best, how much they cost, or how to get started with a program.”

“Then you’ve come to the right place, Jeff! The question isn’t really what shoe is the best, though, it’s what shoe is the best for you?”

“That makes sense.”

“Come over here so I can watch your feet as you run, and figure out what the right answer to that question is. What do you want to train for?”

“Soccer this fall, but if there’s a way to make it work for all three of the sports I play, that’d be great.”

“What do you play?”

“Soccer, hockey in the winter and baseball in the spring. Baseball’s always been my best sport.”

Tim O’Mara nodded as the trio walked to the side of the store where a running area had been set up so store staff could evaluate customers. Tim asked Jeff to run a straight line, barefoot. He watched how Jeff’s feet and ankles reacted when his feet struck the ground. Tim had Jeff repeat the short runs a few times while he pointed out certain things to his father. As they walked back towards the shoes, Tim explained to Jeff what he’d seen during Jeff’s run. They selected a pair of shoes, then Tim asked Jeff to run again.

“Damn, I’m good!” Tim crowed. “First try!”

Tim explained to Jeff how to start running and why, for his sports, he wanted interval training – short bursts of sprinting mixed with jogging. He also agreed with Jeff’s plan to run on the track at Thompkins as much as possible, especially while starting his running program. Jeff discovered the shoes that were the best for him were not all that expensive. Forty dollars later Jeff was on the road to being in even better shape, no pun intended.

He secured his first job at the hardware store across the street. Mr. Bilzarian, Senior, was slowing down and Mr. Bilzarian, Junior, was taking over the day-to-day operation of the store. Young Mr. B. saw that he needed more employees to run the store more efficiently. Hiring Jeff was his first step.

Jeff agreed to work ten a.m. to four p.m., Monday through Thursday, and ten a.m. to two p.m. on Fridays. He’d start the following week as a general stock boy. He’d keep the shelves refilled and organized while earning minimum wage to start, the staggering rate of three dollars and thirty-five cents an hour. He’d also have the opportunity to earn raises based on his job performance. With taxes taken out, he should clear about sixty-five dollars a week. That wouldn’t pay for college, but he could at least start saving towards it.

Jeff rode south through the center and towards Belchertown after leaving Bilzarian’s. He pulled into a service station south of Quabbin Hill Road. The service tech at the desk smiled as he walked in.

“Jeff!” Jerry called in his thick accent. Jerzy (Jerry) Gulbicki was a first-generation immigrant to the United States and was his dad’s lead mechanic.

“How are you doing, Jerry?”

“Good, good. Your dad in bay,” he said as he motioned out to the floor of the shop. “You go see.”

“Thanks, Jerry.”

Jeff stepped carefully through the shop’s work area until he found his dad, nodding at the other mechanics as he went. Four service bays and a good reputation kept his father’s garage very busy.

“Jeff!” his father exclaimed when he turned around. “What brings you by?”

“Hey, Dad. I was over at Quabbin Runners getting some running shoes and I just got a job at Bilzarian’s. Thought I’d see how you were doing today since I didn’t see you this morning.”

Joe Knox’s eyebrows rose. “A job? Geez, don’t be in such a hurry to grow up!” he joked. “How much will you be working?”

Jeff told his father what his schedule would be, his hourly pay rate, and how he saw his schedule impacting his summer. Joe nodded.

“Well, it seems that you have things well planned. Don’t burn yourself out.”

“Don’t worry, Dad. I won’t.”

“Let’s talk about how to save all that money you’ll earn.”

Jeff gulped air as he ran a third lap around the Thompkins track early the next morning. Sweat poured off of him and blood pounded in his ears. He felt a pretty sizable stitch in his side, too. Despite Tim O’Mara’s warning not to be frustrated when he first started the program, he found himself frustrated that he might not make one mile, let alone the two miles he hoped to do. But, he was pushing himself harder than he normally did. Tim O’Mara also warned him that running was much different than cycling. Jeff hadn’t been prepared for how different it would be.

Remembering Tim O’Mara’s words, Jeff kept at it, running when he could, walking when he couldn’t. Jeff pushed himself to put one foot in front of the other, determined not to fail. He ran most of the distance, walked some, and finished the two miles he challenged himself to do. The world record for the outdoor mile would survive another day. He willed himself to walk another half lap to some shade. He collapsed onto the sparse grass under an oak tree.

“Way to stick to it!” he heard a voice call out.

Looking up as he lay on his back, Jeff saw Mr. Peter Romanov, the head soccer coach, approaching with an Enfield police officer he didn’t recognize. They walked over from the parking lot beside the track. Jeff noticed an Enfield police cruiser tucked a few rows back.

“I thought that was you, Jeff,” Mr. Romanov said. Jeff stood up to greet the two men, bent over with his hands on his knees. He waved. “Jeff, this officer is Jack Dwadczik. He just finished his orientation after transferring here from the Cambridge Police Department. Jack, this is Jeff Knox. He’ll be starting here in the fall. His mother’s been a math teacher at Thompkins for several years.”

Straightening up, Jeff dried his hand on a towel and reached out to shake hands. “A pleasure to meet you, Sir. Welcome to the valley.”

“Thanks. Good to meet you too, Jeff,” the young officer replied.

“Will you be trying out for the soccer team in the fall, Jeff?” Mr. Romanov asked.

“Yes, Sir,” Jeff said. “That’s part of why I’m out here. I might get outplayed, but I’ll be damned if I get outrun.”

“That’s the attitude I want to see from my players, Jeff! What position do you play?”

“I enjoy midfield, Sir, despite my current fitness level. I’ve had no problem keeping up with my man so far, but I don’t think we ran as much as your players do at the high school level.”

“You keep working hard this summer. I’d rather have a player with so-so skills who always gives one hundred percent, over a natural-born player who is lazy. Skill, we can work on. Heart, we can’t. I don’t have a problem starting freshmen, either.”

“That kind of work ethic will serve you well later in life too, Jeff,” Officer Dwadczik added. “Would you mind a workout partner in the mornings?”

Jeff blinked. This sounded like the start of an offer to help him out, and he’d only just met the man. “That’d be great, Sir.”

“I’m on the graveyard shift right now, eleven at night to seven in the morning. I can be here by 7:15 most mornings, as long as I don’t get buried in reports from the night shift. Would that work for you?”

“Yes, Sir!” Jeff said quickly. “I usually do my push-ups and sit-ups after waking up. Should I keep doing that?”

“Why don’t you hold off until you get here in the morning?” Jack Dwadczik suggested. “I’m sure you’re doing things right, but I can show you some other types of push-ups, too. What are you doing now?” Jeff explained when he’d started and how many of each he could do. Jack nodded.

“We can start tomorrow if you’d like? I’m on the night shift again tonight, but then I’m off for a few days before I start my shift rotation again. Having a workout partner on a consistent basis will help me out as well.”

“Yes, please,” Jeff replied, nodding. Another thirty minutes of sleep was always welcome. Delaying the start of his workout until 7:15 wouldn’t cut into his day much, even when school started. He would easily make his scheduled shifts at Bilzarian’s, too.

“Good deal. I’ll see you here by 7:15 tomorrow morning. If I’m not here on time, then I’m tied up with something. Start without me. Are you done working out for the day now?”

“Yes, Sir, I am.”

“Coach mentioned that bike over by the parking lot is yours?”

“Yes, Sir, it is.”

“We can load it into the trunk of my cruiser and I can drop you off before I head back to the station, how’s that sound?”

“I won’t turn that down, that’s for sure!”

Jack laughed. “Good enough.”

Jack and Jeff shared a good laugh at Marisa Knox’s reaction to seeing her son climbing out of a police cruiser that first morning. She’d been upset until they let her off the hook, explaining the situation when she appeared to be about to explode.

Jeff joined Jack Dwadczik at the track every morning that summer, regardless of the weather. Jeff soon learned that Jack had been in the Army as a military policeman. Jack introduced Jeff to wide-arm and diamond push-ups and coached better form for his regular push-ups.

After seeing his dedication, Peter Romanov offered suggestions to Jack Dwadczik for drills that Jeff could practice to improve his skills. Coach Romanov wanted to work with Jeff one-on-one over the summer, but that would violate the rules of the Massachusetts Interscholastic Athletic Association. He was required to wait for the official start date for practices.

Nevertheless, the coach saw significant improvement in Jeff’s skills as the boy drilled himself after his conditioning sessions. Jeff’s muscle definition increased and his running reached a consistent three miles a day by the start of soccer tryouts.