Two Views Of Austin

Our favorite columnists visted Austin Texas and came back with these accounts.

Austin: The View From The Big Hill
By Kristi Buckham

A few days ago I boarded a plane to embark on a weekend adventure. Fastened securely in my seat, I left Kalamazoo a vibrant twenty-something ready to take on Texas. By the end of the trip I felt 100 years older, and must have looked it because a man at the airport offered me a wheelchair. I had just run the Austin Half Marathon.

I’ve never been coined an overly emotional person. When I was younger my family thought there was something wrong with me because I didn’t cry during the movie “Ghost” and “Old Yeller” was just a dog. Call it cold-heartedness or just the ability to separate fact from fiction at a young age. Either way, I’ve learned that throughout the years, nothing has made me feel more human than running. It’s my emotional kryptonite.

I learned I had a soft spot for running during my freshman year of college. I was cheering on my younger sister at a cross-country meet when the words of encouragement couldn’t get past the big lump in my throat. There’s something about the heart and determination required to run long distances that tugs at my own heartstrings.

The race in Austin was my first half marathon and my first truly emotional run. Having just recovered from a stomach virus and a few weeks of less than ideal training, I had no one to blame and no one to support but myself. But I felt great—channeling the energy from local bands and crowds along the course…until Mile 11.

Mile 11 started like a nice neighborhood stroll. I turned a bend and got a breathtaking view of the city of Austin—and the butt-kicking hill I would have to run to get there. At the base of the incline I looked furious, not only because I thought I read somewhere that the course was remarkably flat, but also because I had refused to allow myself to walk. Halfway up the hill my face softened and I began to whimper—the pain set in. Near the top the rest of me softened, my face contorted and I started to cry.

Maybe I cried because my legs and lungs felt like fire. Or maybe I cried because there was one man cheering on runners near the top of the hill. He leaned over the curb and shook his fist at me—he sternly told me that I could do this. He may as well have shown me a glowing piece of green kryptonite, because at that moment, atop a hill in Texas, I thought of my dad, my great encourager. I thought of Kalamazoo and the great legacy my family had built—and how my grandpa would be proud if I just persevered. I took a few deep breaths, wiped the tears away and picked up the pace.

In the heart of downtown Austin thousands of people lined the streets, cheering on the runners as they finished. I took off my headphones and absorbed their energy like the ultimate pat on the back. A woman shouted my name over a loud speaker as I crossed the finish and I punched the air in excitement. I overcame an array of obstacles, perhaps my biggest challenge being self-doubt.

My weekend adventure involved the Texas countryside, the electric Austin nightlife, a delicious hometown barbecue and a little jog up a big hill. I didn’t qualify for Boston, but I found true victory in Austin.




Austin: The View From the Side of the Road
By Blaine Lam

Unlike Kristi (see Austin: The View from the Top of the Hill), I was not filled with youthful angst, apprehension and anticipation when I headed for Austin. No mountains to climb, let alone hills to run. No real sense of adventure.

What I brought to Austin was not much more than that feeling you get when you know your work is going undone at home. But it was going to be fun to watch son Brett run his second marathon and also get a glimpse of Kristi and Alicia out there running the half.

A bum knee had dashed my hopes of taking on the half-marathon myself, so the consolation was cheering for Brett, Kristi and Alicia while visiting with Texas friends. So I packed up my laptop and iphone and set a goal “to learn a thing or two about community development.”

So, as a somewhat detached, dispassionate observer, I did what I often do when visiting other communities -- first and foremost, ask my favorite question: “What do they know that we don’t?"

Interestingly, we flew into nearby San Antonio, where I traveled 30 years ago to pose the same question, bringing back information about the Riverwalk before writing the Arcadia Creek Plan for downtown Kalamazoo.

Austin’s one hot town by almost any measure. Economic development and quality of life experts always rank it in the top American cities, and the glamor associated with the likes of Lance Armstrong and live music only helps the image.

The town has great restaurants, and to that we can swear. Amenities aside, though, I was looking for something transferable from a community development point of view. Well, it only took a visit to Lady Bird Lake on a Thursday afternoon to get the answer to my question.

The Austin Answer is this: “Public pathways promote recreation.” Simple concept, and not one we’re unfamiliar with in Kalamazoo County, but holy cow, this 10-foot wide hike and bike loop is something to behold, primarily because how popular it is. The lesson is that you almost can't do too much to help walkers, runners and bikers if you want people to enjoy the outdoors and get some exercise.

Lady Bird Johnson, back in the early 70s, did more than provide token or tacit approval for this trail, which was ostensibly a beautification project-- inasmuch as road races were a rarity and jogging was hardly in fashion. She opened her own pocketbook and those of her friends.

The Texas weather -- 70s in February -- hasn’t hurt the popularity of the trail, nor does the popularity of running of running itself. But looking at what may have been thousands of people out on that 10-mile-long loop around Lady Bird Lake, one had to wonder where they would have been getting their exercise that afternoon if not on the trail.

As organizers of the Kalamazoo Klassic, this area’s first road race, the Kalamazoo Track Club donated proceeds from that even the first few years to the Kal-Haven Trail. Peeps, no doubt, to the City of Portage, for its work on the Bicentennial Trail, and a hearty “bravo” and “go get ‘em” to the people raising money for the Kalamazoo River Valley Trailway, which opened up between 10th Street to downtown last September.

Watching the Austin Marathon and Half-Marathon, there was little doubt in my mind where many of those 14,000 people got in shape for the event. Like Kristi, I choke up when I see people running.

But, unlike Kristi, I cried when Old Yeller died.