From the summer of 1981 until November 2007 when I moved to Korea, I was among the most regular of participants in road races in Austin and the surrounding area. Of the 650-plus races in which I have run, the large majority took place in central Texas. They were not just athletic contests but social gatherings. At those events, I met so many people—good friends, acquaintances and those I saw once and then never again.
Scott Birk was in the middle category; I encountered him often, but just on race days. We would have a handshake and exchange pleasantries before the gun went off, and then a discussion of how the race went when it was all over. I always thought he was a nice guy who seemed well balanced. He was also a superb runner. Scott stood about 6' 3" (190 centimeters), which was quite tall for a person in our sport. He excelled for two reasons: he trained seriously—100 miles a week was not unusual—and he was biomechanically sound. I can recall trailing him in several races and really admiring his form. He was a natural runner in spite of his size.
“PR” is shorthand for personal record, and every runner can tell you his or her PR for various distances. Scott’s PRs were impressive: 4:41 in the mile, 16:50 in the 5K, 35:22 in the 10K and 2:47:48 in the marathon. He won numerous age-group awards in his racing career.
I have used past-tense verbs to describe Scott because he was killed on June 13, 2011. He was running on a street near his home in west Austin when a car hit him. Although the driver stopped to render aid, he died at the scene of the accident. It seems that Scott got complacent and failed to look a second time in crossing a busy, high-speed road. He left behind a wife and three children.
A computer programmer, Scott was a Wisconsin native who graduated from Marquette University in 1985 and got a master’s degree from the University of North Texas two years later. At the time of his death, he was 48. It is the nature of such tragedies that he never had the chance to say goodbye to his loved ones—or vice versa. He had gone out for a Monday morning run from which he would never return.
I am shaken by Scott’s passing because of the similarities in our lives. I, too, have run thousands of miles on city streets. And like he did on that fateful day, I have made foolish decisions about traffic. Who knows how many times I have put myself in harm’s way? Somehow I am still alive and breathing while Scott Birk is gone. Other than writing this piece, I can only mourn his death and try to adhere to what I knew before—that is, be grateful for every moment of every day. Let's live and love while we can. We have no guarantees that tomorrow will come.
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