Henry Helps the Kids, and They Help Him Back

Travis Fisher has faith. He doesn’t care what the cynics say. His new coach, Henry Rono, once the world’s greatest distance runner, is worth believing in, he says.

“See him smiling?” Fisher, a Huntington Beach High School freshman, says as Rono rounds the track, several Oiler runners at his side.

“He’s always smiling when he runs. As long as he’s out here with us, he’ll be OK. He won’t go back.”

Won’t go back. Henry Rono knows these words all too well. Simple words, sober promises. Pledges that dissolve in the day’s first drink.

Won’t go back. Ugly, fuzzy days. Depression and detox centers. Bar room brawls. Happy hour buzz.

Won’t go back. Twenty years of drinking, poured and paid for. Tossed back in a shot glass. One more time.

One more time.

For Henry Rono, memories are not easy. Moments you’d think he’d cherish--setting world records, winning national championships--don’t seem that special to him anymore.

Ask him about his alcohol abuse, and Rono, a native of Kenya, answers graciously. He makes little attempt to hide the pain.

If you want to see Rono happy, go to the Huntington Beach track. Watch Rono, a volunteer assistant, work with the kids. His smile is sincere. As is, we are told, his sobriety.

When Huntington Beach Coach Eric (Gumby) Anderson heard Rono wanted to help out this season, he was thrilled. After all, this was a man who, while at Washington State in 1978, set four world records in a three-month period.

Anderson, who coaches the distance events, knew of Rono’s problems with alcohol. He heard the stories--of Rono being in and out of rehab centers, of showing up to races blitzed, of moving from one place to the next searching for a better break.

He heard about Rono’s arrest in 1978 for allegedly bilking banks out of several hundred dollars in a quick-change scheme. Those charges were eventually dropped. Authorities said it was mistaken identity.

Anderson, 24, wasn’t worried. Wasn’t concerned how Rono’s history--or a possible slip in his sobriety--might influence the team.

Why? Anderson overcame a drinking problem himself. As a fifth-grader, he swiped beers from the family’s refrigerator. As a sixth-grader, he was begging for booze from his older friends. And so it went.

By his senior year at Huntington Beach, he was party animal Anderson, a 100-proof goof. One night, he decided to entertain a houseful of party-goers by jumping off a flight of stairs.

He landed--knees first--on the bottom step. The pain was miserable, but the lesson longer lasting. He hasn’t touched alcohol since.

Anderson relates this story to his runners each year. The impression is a permanent one. As is the team’s commitment to a nonalcoholic, no-drugs lifestyle.

At Huntington Beach, a runner’s high comes from team gatherings and Gatorade. Pasta instead of pot. Skeptical? Should be. Rare is the teen today who has yet to take a drink. These Oilers look you straight in the eye, though, offering you their sober pledge.

Team member Trevor Schoonover says, “Eating spaghetti is our party.”

When Anderson told his team about Rono’s imminent arrival, most shrugged. Henry who ? they asked. Anderson was glad to fill them in.

Rono set world records in the 3,000, 5,000 and 10,000 meters and the steeplechase in 1978. He broke the 5,000 record again in ’81. Won five NCAA championships--two track, three cross-country. He’s still regarded as one of the greatest of all time.

Then Anderson let the runners in on the reality: Rono, just out of rehab, wasn’t guaranteed to stay. As the Oilers needed Rono’s help, Rono was needing theirs.

“We heard that stuff, how he might not stay with us because of his drinking,” Fisher said. “But we’re pulling for him. We know he needs to take care of his life before he can take care of his running. We know he can do it.”

To this, Rono says he is grateful. A good portion of the track world gave up on him. Now another generation gives him a chance. To them he is not a fallen hero, but a gentle, well-meaning man seeking another start.

Rono finished his last rehab stay in mid-February. He’d been to many before, but always let himself fall back into thinking he could handle just one drink. He says he realizes now one sip, for him, is as dangerous as a bottle.

“You must train your mind,” Rono says, “that there’s something else worth looking for.”

His outlet was instinctual. He would get back in shape. The 40-and-over masters division would be his diversion.

In February, Rono increased his training. Not three or four miles a day but three or four times a day. Wake up, run, eat, sleep. Again and again and again. One week, he put in 250 miles. It helped his depression, he said. It helped him put the past behind him.

Rono lives in Fountain Valley, in the home of Dave and Margie Reynolds, owners of a local running store. Dave met him when Rono came into the store, wearing running shoes that were worn through the sole and 1 1/2 sizes too small. Rono sleeps on a mattress in the Reynolds’ den. He rides the Reynolds’ bike to Oiler track practices. With his race winnings as his only income, Rono depends on the Reynolds for financial support as well.

Reynolds says he knows Rono has been taken in by well-meaning strangers before, only to start drinking and disappear. Reynolds admits this concerns him. But he also believes Rono, who recently enrolled in a college writing class, is sincere, trying his best to put his life back together.

The Oiler coaching position, non-paying aside from a few free spaghetti dinners, seems to be a benefit. Rono is at ease with the young runners. They listen to him carefully. During workouts, some try to match his stride, emulate his form.

Rono says the one lesson he likes to teach them is that they should never assume they are invincible--either on the track or in life.

“If they are told they are like God,” Rono says, “they must understand they are not.”

With this he smiles. He knows of what he speaks.

Barbie Ludovise’s column appears Wednesday and Sunday. Readers may reach Ludovise by writing her at The Times Orange County Edition, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, 92626 or by calling (714) 966-5847.