Peterson Out at UCLA

Writing about someone you know is always difficult.  Writing about someone you know who just got let go from their dream job, to which they'd dedicated almost 20 years of their life is infinitely tougher.  And trying to be objective?  Darn near impossible.  I learned that lesson when I received an extreme mix of passionate criticism and praise from readers of my article about Art Venegas's dismissal from UCLA .

Rather than attempt to maintain a veil of objectivity in this article, I'll just say this right now.  This article is a far from objective look at the recent dismissal of Eric Peterson as the UCLA distance coach.  I like Eric.  He's a friend.  So rather than take a side, I thought I'd comment purely on the effect our relationship has had on me, and shed a little light on Eric the Coach, as I knew him.

When I first walked on at UCLA, the men's distance coach was Bob Larsen.  Bob had been coaching for well over 30 years, had seen enormous success throughout his career, and was nearing retirement.  He had been there and seen it all.  In fact, he had it all filed away in his cabinets...every workout he'd ever coached, it seemed.  Prior to starting a workout, he'd pull out some notes from the previous year to give us an indication of what we'd done at that same point last year.  Who knows how many years he could have gone back.  He had a system that worked and he stuck with it.

He was my coach for my first three years.  I now realize that I learned a lot about the physical aspects of distance running during that time.  The importance of mileage, the importance of fast road runs, the importance of rest and the importance of establishing consistency.  I loved everything about being on his team.  When he retired, I was admittedly pretty nervous about having Eric step in as our coach for my last two years. 

Eric was the antithesis of Bob.  Bob floated around quietly, never raising his voice.  (He used a megaphone to call splits in monotone across the track).  Eric stomped around the infield and could be heard shouting splits from Pauley to Sunset Village.  Bob greeted you with a silent hand wave.  Eric was always a firm shake and a "Good morning" that sounded suspiciously like a challenge.  (Sometimes it would just be your name: "Mornin', Coach."  "Bryan.")  In conversations with Bob, you always felt like he appreciated you for who you were.  With Eric, you always felt like he was challenging you to become more than you were.  Finally, Bob obviously loved running.  Eric lived running.

I remember my first athlete-coach conversation with Eric.  It was time for summer vacation and he had just been named the men's coach.  I had plans to travel around Europe with my teammate, Martin.  We'd be backpacking for seven weeks.  I was excited about the trip, but I was also excited about the cross country season ahead, where I thought I could vie for the top spot on the team.  Eric dispensed with idle chit-chat.  He straightaway asked me what my plans for the summer were.  I told him about my trip to Europe, and after I'd explained the logistics, I told him how much I planned to run. 

He cut me off.  "Don't tell me how much you want to run.  Tell me how much you will run."  I hesitated a bit too long.  "What's the absolute minimum you can guarantee?"  After some thought, I downgraded my lofty estimate of 80 miles per week to something like 40, which felt way too low.  I fully expected him to challenge my manhood.  His reply stunned me.  "Good.  40 miles per week then.  Anything more is a bonus."  I asked him how I would be competitive in cross country if I only ran 40 miles per week.  It surely wasn't enough.  He said we'd deal with that later, and that rule number one was to set realistic expectations.  He didn't want me to go over to Europe and ruin my training and my trip with unrealistic goals.

I had a blast in Europe and probably only ran between 45 and 50 miles per week while over there, despite running just about every day.  But instead of feeling like a failure, it felt like I'd accomplished something.  Like I'd surpassed expectations.  Instead of entering camp embarrassed and doubtful, I entered with a surprising amount of confidence.  And it didn't stop there.  Week by week Eric tailored every workout to transform me from the kid who thought of himself as a walk-on with limited expectations to a guy who could mix it up with the best in the country.  He pushed me to two NCAA Cross Country berths and a 3rd place in the Pac-10, all performances I couldn't have fathomed the year before.

The same thing happened with a number of runners.  For a guy who coached stars like Karen Hecox and Lena Nilsson to NCAA championships, many of his biggest successes came from athletes like me.  Athletes who bought into his system, who painstakingly carried out the plan, and who eventually thrived.  Jon Rankin is probably the highest profile athlete that fits this description, but there were many others, including Katerina Kechris, Melissa McBain, Valerie Flores, Tiffany Burgess, Nick Thornton and Austin Ramos.  Not everyone bought in right away, but most who did eventually excelled.

Sure there were some flameouts.  He learned the hard way about recruiting women with suspected eating disorders.  He also had an uncompromising approach that some athletes resisted.  Those two reasons largely explain the failures of Kim Mortenson and Alejandra Barrientos, respectively, two high profile high school stars who never completed their time at UCLA.  Both athletes sabotaged their own careers with poor life choices.  Those outcomes crushed Eric--particularly Barrientos--both for what could have been and what he felt was done to his reputation.   

Am I arguing Eric bears no responsibility for those athletes who struggled and didn't make it?  No, of course not.  Eric was far from perfect.  I've heard enough through the grapevine to know that his program wasn't operating at 100% efficiency the past few years, and that some kind of change was going to be necessary.  With Maynard coming in, a change now makes organizational sense, if only because a head coach can't have any doubts about who he's working with.  If not necessary, the change was certainly justified. 

So perhaps it was time.  Eric will leave a mixed legacy.  Fair or not, his teams will be remembered for a few high profile underachievers and (hopefully) a large number of low profile overachievers.  His women's squads seemed to run exceedingly well for short periods and then fall into obscurity before rising again like a phoenix.  His men seemed to be continually on the cusp of putting it together, a task made difficult by the distance heavy conference and region they compete in, with its Stanfords and Oregons and Washingtons and Arizonas and Portlands and and and... 

But over time, I know the wins and losses and NCAA finishes will disappear from my memory.  Heck, most are already gone.  What I will always remember, however, is the influence Eric had on my life.  Eric saw something in me, and he drew it out.  He pushed me in ways I didn't know how to push myself.  I learned how to be disciplined, I learned how to prepare, and I learned how to compete.  I learned how to marry the mental with the physical.  And to this day I credit much of this to Eric.  

In the end, a coach's job is to make their athletes better.  I can certainly say I was made better for having run under Eric Peterson.

Bryan ran cross country and track and field for UCLA, as well for Japanese ekiden teams while living in Japan. He now pretends to be a runner (mostly on weekends) and a writer (mostly after running). Check out his popular running blog Optimal Training and his distance running lenses at Buraian's Lensography . He welcomes your feedback via comment or email at buraian@lifeofburaian.com

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