TUPAVIEW: Final part of a life's journey

By Mike Tupa

Bartlesville Area Sports Report

Following is the final part of my three-part column on some of my experiences from my eclectic life’s journey that included 32 changes of addresses, 18 different cities, six different states and two foreign countries by the time I turned 40. In fact it was on my 40th birthday that I set out for a 1,900-mile cross country road trip to begin work in Bartlesville — my eighth state and 19th city — and likely my last until I am taken to my final resting place near the rest of my family.

In addition to the geographic whirlwind, I have worn the hat of a church missionary in Italy, an active duty United States Marine, an accomplished distance runner, a pre-law student in college and a sanctioned newspaper sports writer. I’ve known poverty and plenty, a happy complete family and a broken home, great health and serious medical challenges, and a troubling progression of pants sizes, dating and loneliness. The constants have been my family’s love, my faith in God and belief in the church I learned at mother’s knees, my love of sports, the certainty of kind and wonderful people wherever I’ve been, and my poetry and other writings.

Here is a closer look at some of my specific memories.

SURGERY IN ITALY: At age 19 I volunteered to serve a two-year mission in Italy for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Too many happy and challenging experiences to try to summarize. There was something stimulating about living in the old country, riding a bike or walking thousands of miles and climbing countless stairs in order to proselyte. In Rivoli, our missionary apartment was in a house 500-or-more years old and located in the shadow of a huge medieval castle. I even went off the average missionary beaten path — I suffered a significant knee injury (broken medial meniscus, other damage) in Italy and a year later underwent a major knee surgery in a hospital in Turin, Italy. During my month at the hospital I stayed in a six-man room, populated by five Italian nationals and me. Fortunately I had a decent handle on the language and enjoyed interacting with my fellow patients. The scars of the operation remain after nearly 50 years — permanent souvenirs of a special time.

GERIATRIC MARINE: Let’s put it bluntly — my whole life, especially those first 40 years, has been impromptu. Why else would I start college with a plan to get a degree and pre-law and switch mid-stream to journalism? Why else would an overweight 25-and-a-half-year-old with arthritis in his right knee due to two major knee surgeries (after the Italian operation I had to return to the United States for additional surgery), who was less than 25 hours shy of a Bachelor of Arts degree enlist in the U.S. Marine Corps? Part of the reason was patriotism — I wanted to pay more than lip service for my love of the freedoms in the United States. Part was due to Ronald Reagan being the Commander-In-Chief. Part was due to uncertainty about my future. Part was due to hoping to meet new people, especially girls, to broaden my search for the right one. Part was due to the opportunity to be trained in a technical field. Most of it was just a feeling from a higher power — and my mother — this was the right thing for me to do. My boot camp experience is a book in itself. During my remaining near four years of active duty I served in Tennessee, S.C., Hawaii and Iwakuni, Japan. I reached promotion pretty quickly and eventually earned a Good Conduct Medal and finished my time with a Honorable Discharge. 

RUNNING BEAR: Spurred by my Marine Corps delayed (four month) enlistment and a desire to get in shape for boot camp, I began a running regimen. I discovered something wonderful within a couple of days — I had a natural skill for distance running. I can’t explain it. Everything just seemed to fit together — my exceptional lung-air exchange, the strength of my feet and ankles (despite the 5,000-plus miles I would run the next five years I never had a sore foot or ankle or shin. My knees — a much different story), the powerful rhythm I felt throughout my whole frame and the mental and emotional fulfillment. Sure it was hard work at times, sometimes painful and a couple of times while battling through the humidity and heat of summertime Tennessee I wanted to quit. But during those times I told myself that, “I know I’m tired and I want to quit. But I’m going to be out here tomorrow doing the same thing.” And I just kept going. Not one time, after my initial couple of days of running, did I ever stop and rest/walk except for some sporadic knee issues. There’s just too many experiences to go into in detail. I ran on icy streets in Salt Lake City, besides scenic roads and sights in Hawaii, on top of a seawall sheltering the Iwakuni base from ocean waves, on Thanksgivings and July Fourths and Christmases (but I never ran on Sundays because of religious belief), through eight-inch deep puddles during a downpour in Beaufort, South Carolina, around the entire airstrip at Beaufort, up steep hills and in many other circumstances. In 1984 —exactly 40 years ago — I turned in my fastest official time in a 5K — 16:50. At that time I was 28 years old, still dealing with my right knee issues and some ligament damage in my left knee (operated on a year later. The surgeon said it was the nastiest cartilage tear he had ever seen). I continued to run for a year after my Marine Corps discharge. But a fourth knee operation — at age 30 — ended my running days about 37 years ago.

DREAM DELAYED: I was 29 going on 30 when my Marine Corps days ended. I still didn’t know what I wanted to be when I grew up. Actually, I knew I wanted to be a full-time newspaper journalist, preferably sports. But no one wanted me. In order to pay my bills and eat I worked as a near minimum-wage security guard for almost two years. Meanwhile, I continued to send out resumes to newspapers. Most of them didn’t even bother to send rejection letters. One publisher invited me to drive 500 miles one way to interview with him. I did — and a couple of days after I returned home he gave the job to someone else. Meanwhile I refused to quit, seeking every opportunity I could to write — some for my college newspaper and some as a stringer for the local paper — to help my effort. The Utah Runner magazine hired me to cover road races. They paid me in $5 pizza coupons (sometimes $10) for each article. I didn’t even get gas money. Finally my persistence bore fruit. The week prior to Christmas 1987 a small newspaper in Eastern Nevada brought me on board. Believe me, I’ve never taken this dream for granted. Soon it will be 37 years since I got the call from Nevada.

My final request about my life’s journey so far?

Please don’t pinch me. My life has been a durable dream that — on balance — I never want to wake up from.

Mike Tupa plays league softball in the Bartlesville in 1997;