Raffio and Racing

RAFFIO AND RACING

Long-time commuters often develop a kinship of sorts with other commuters—fellow travelers who take the same routes to and from work each day. And so it is with runners, who inherently relate to other runners who compete in our region’s racing circuit, mostly 5K events that produce not just endorphins but also fellowship.

Over many years of road racing, I’ve come to recognize familiar faces at each event, regulars on the annual 5K tour. One such stalwart is Tom Raffio, the estimable CEO of Northeast Delta Dental, who among other things is also an author and a member of the state Board of Education.

A decade or so ago, Tom and I competed in the “Clydesdale” division—for male runners who weigh 190 pounds or more. I usually finished ahead of Tom, as I always took notice of how I measured up against other Clydesdales.

But then Raffio stopped qualifying as a Clydesdale, meaning his weight dropped below 190 pounds. Concurrently, his run times improved and he regularly finished ahead of me. The passing years saw my run times incrementally get worse—but there was never a chance I’d lose my Clydesdale status as Tom did.

I wasn’t happy about this turn of events, and had some private angst about the unfairness of having to carry over 200 pounds around a race course, competing against lithe runners who had much less to carry around.

“Runners who weigh only 150 pounds should have to carry a 50 pound weight, to make it fair,” I once suggested. That proposal went over like a “lead balloon,” so to speak.

Still, my competitive juices still flowed, like at the Angels 5K Road Race in Penacook in May. Coming down the home stretch I could see Tom ahead of me, and I went into a sprint and edged him out at the finish line. (Even Venus Williams occasionally wins a match against Serena!)

I hoped for a similar result at the NHTI 50^th Anniversary 5K on Oct. 3. I kept Raffio in my sights, trying to stay within 20 yards so I could kick it in at the end and steal another victory from the former Clydesdale. But as I kicked it in, Tom did likewise and I couldn’t catch him. I was going to congratulate him but he ran straight from the finish line to the parking lot, where he jumped in his car and sped off.

“He’s got another 5K to go to,” explained a fellow runner. “He’s off to do the Lions 5K in Hopkinton.”

“But he’s already run two races this morning,” said another. “He ran the Girls Inc. race before coming here for the NHTI race!”

Aye carumba! No wonder he wasn’t a Clydesdale anymore. Three 5K races in one morning! A friend of Raffio’s bet that Tom couldn’t do the three morning 5K’s in under 75 minutes, cumulatively. Raffio’s times in the three races were 20:56, 26:20, and 26:10 respectively, for a total of 73:26—which won the bet.

But there was more.

That evening Tom danced the night away at the NHTI 50^th Anniversary Gala and then got up the next morning and ran a 13-mile half marathon from Loudon to Concord. That was his 82^nd race of the year, as he closed in on a goal of 100 road races in 2015.

I saw Tom again at the Granite State Ten-Miler in Concord on Oct.17. I stayed ahead of the 55-year-old CEO for about a half mile but after he passed me I knew I wouldn’t catch him. He finished the race in 81:56. It took me 89:48 to get my 205 pound body to the finish line. But having just turned (gulp) 60, I figured I might finish near the top of the 60+ age category.

Not so. I was only 10^th out of 20 geezers. Raffio’s personal trainer, 68-year-old Tom Walton, finished with a time of 75:51. And as fast as Walton’s time was, it still trailed the 74:30 turned in by my 62-year-old NHTI colleague, Professor Perry Seagroves.

I guess I need to take up dancing.

WRITER RAFFIO

In addition to all the aforementioned, runner Raffio is also writer Raffio, having co-authored a book with Boston Celtic Hall-of-Famer Dave Cowens—THERE ARE NO DO-OVERS.

“Success in business is like success in sports,” said Raffio. “Leadership traits that work in athletics also work in business. I interviewed and researched many people while working on the book—from successful athletes to successful billionaires—and the overarching themes included outworking the competition and taking care of people. And by the way, Dave Cowens was wonderful to work with, a great athlete and a great human being.”

MORE ON COWENS

I once worked as a counselor at the Don Nelson/Tom Sanders Basketball School at N.H. College. Cowens concurrently had his own basketball camp at Regis College, and he challenged the Nelson/Sanders counselors to come down and take on his counselors on the basketball court. A fellow counselor from Concord named Mark Bergeron broke away for a slam dunk and hung briefly on the rim. Cowens grabbed the ball and flung it at Bergeron’s head and yelled “Quit hanging on my rim!” Cowens’ competitive juices were always flowing.

(For the record, our Nelson/Sanders team triumphed and Cowens had to buy beer for the winners. I still have a can of that PBR somewhere, one of my most prized trophies!)

 

 

BASKETBALL, GOLF, AND NANTUCKET

BASKETBALL, GOLF, AND NANTUCKET

 

Sports bring people together.

The Olympic Games unite countries. High school tournaments unite towns. And golf can reunite college alums, friends, and teammates―also affectionately known as “cronies.”

Such a reunion occurred for me during Columbus Day weekend. The common denominator was basketball and the common destination was Nantucket Island, where an old hoop teammate named Billy runs a successful business. The common mission included talking sports, watching sports, and playing golf.

Nantucket’s location in the North Atlantic necessitated a lengthy boat trip. So for me the first leg meant a Thursday trip to Cape Cod and a night with my friend John, another hoop “crony,” in keeping with the weekend theme of connecting with former basketball players.

A crowded Friday ferry trip brought me to the famous island―once a center for the whaling industry, but now a tourist destination for the bourgeoisie. Billy met me at the dock, along with Matt and Storm, who’d arrived earlier. These hoop “cronies” were inconveniently (for Billy) arriving at six different times, so Billy had to remain on call in downtown Nantucket village, where he gave subsequent arrivals tours of his favorite social establishments, where he seemed to know every waitress and bartender―confirming the notion that he was indeed a successful Nantucket businessman.

Eventually we were joined by Darryll, Neil, Richie, and Jeff. Billy then brought us to a wonderful establishment with a friendly, non-pretentious clientele, as well as good food, great libations, and multiple large flat screen televisions to watch the baseball playoffs. One might assume that we all were Red Sox fans, but Jeff was a Yankee fan, Darryl an Orioles fan, and Matt was a free agent. But we all agreed that we wanted the Cubs to beat the Cardinals!

Golf Adventures

Saturday was golf day. In preparation I’d moved my important golf clubs from my big golf bag to my smaller “travel” golf bag. But in so-doing, I‘d forgotten my pitching wedge. Rats!

We adopted a “scramble” format―foursome against foursome. I was with Jeff, Neil, and Richie. I didn’t contribute much to our team effort, perhaps because I was tired from sleeping on a couch at Billy’s house. Also, I didn’t have my wedge.

Finally, in desperation I borrowed Jeff’s wedge and hit an almost perfect approach shot.

“How much do you want for the wedge?” I asked Jeff.

“Not for sale,” he replied.

The golf carts at Nantucket’s pricey Miacomet Golf Course were nothing like I was used to in New Hampshire. They were computerized and had screens that described each hole in detail, how far it was to the pin, regardless of where you were on the course. Unbelievable!

They also warned against driving carts in the rough.

In New Hampshire, I always drive my cart into the rough, because that’s where most of my balls go. But on Nantucket, if you strayed from the approved golf cart areas, your golf cart would automatically stop. It’s true.

I drove my cart into the rough to find my ball and the cart stopped. The computer screen told me I could only go in reverse until I returned to approved golf cart territory. Talk about Big Brother/GPS watching you! We all eventually gave in to the Golf Cart Gods. We had no choice.

MAGIC WEDGE

Miacomet had no water hazards, unlike my home course in Loudon, but there was sand everywhere. I borrowed Jeff’s wedge to get out of a trap and put the ball six feet from the pin. Then on the next hole, a short par 3, I used Jeff’s magic wedge for a tee-shot and hit my shot onto the green, for an eight foot birdie putt.

“How much do you want for the wedge?” I asked Jeff.

“Not for sale,” he replied.

COWBOYS AND PATRIOTS

On Sunday, Billy took us to a downtown sports bar to watch NFL football―four games simultaneously on big flat screens. As he walked into the establishment, a Miller Lite was immediately placed into his hand―Billy being a well-known, successful Nantucket businessman.

New England was playing at Dallas, and the Patriots were obviously the local favorite. But of course, our group had a Cowboys fan. As with Yankee fans, there’s always one in every crowd. Matt rolled up his sleeve to display a Cowboy tattoo, and then he shared that he had a son named Troy (as in Troy Aikman). He predicted a Cowboy win.

But the history was soon written―New England 30, Dallas 6.

BACK TO N.H.

The ferry boat ride back to Hyannis was not as crowded as it was on the trip over. Maybe some folks just decided to stay in Nantucket. (There are worse places to be!)

The long drive from the Cape back to Loudon was uneventful, and as much as I enjoyed the frenzied sports weekend on Nantucket, I was happy to be back in the more familiar Granite State. It was late when I got home and I just fell into bed.

I unpacked the next morning, and as I returned my golf clubs from my travel bag to my regular bag, I saw that I had the magic wedge! I must have inadvertently put it into my bag instead of Jeff’s on the 18^th hole.

It was an honest mistake!

“Crony honor!”