Covid-19. Remember?

It was five years ago this week that we became aware of the virus that would reshape our reality—much like 9-11 brought with it TSA-screening lines at airports back in the 2000s—bringing Zoom into our collective vocabularies and virtual meetings into our work and personal communication practices.

It was also five years ago last Sunday that CRR Bob Bennett, co-founder of the Creek Road Runners, passed away after a long, steady decline with dementia. In five to seven years, he went from longtime local age-group competitor in races to someone who, as the result of suffering of the deterioration of his mind, could neither move or speak very well at all nor remember anything.

But that’s not what this article is about. CRR Mark Deshon, CRR’s other co-founder, reflects upon his good friend and running partner of 20 years and shares these personal remembrances.

Downhills were Bob’s delight. He primarily ran on his toes, which always struck me as not advisable.

In 1980, I competed in a local race on campus with him, though we hadn’t actually met. It was a small field, and I quickly found myself among a group of seven runners at the front and was hoping to stick with it for the remainder of the approximately four-and-a-half-mile race. It was when we turned from West Main Street onto Corbit Street, heading toward north campus, that Bob separated himself from the rest of his challengers, me included. By the time I got to the bottom of that steep hill, I was a good 50 yards behind the leader and eventual winner—Bob Bennett. Humble to the core, he and I met after the race, shared plaudits, and became friends and training partners thereafter.

Bob had a quick wit.

One day, Bob and another young friend and I were on a training run from Newark into nearby Maryland and back. As we were running, with a serious tone he said to us that “running on the roads in Maryland is illegal,” trying to convince us that Maryland had a law prohibiting such. For a moment, my friend and I, who were both a good 15 years younger than Bob, were duped. Then, he just chuckled at our gullibility.

During a time when I suffered bursitis in my ischial tuberosity (the pelvic bone on which one sits), I would sit on an ice bag in the locker room after training runs to treat it. Bob would see me and, in a fake southern drawl, remark that I was “sitting on my ice” (pronouncing the word “ice” like “ass”).

The written and spoken word was part of Bob’s craft. 

Bob was a professor of English at UD and a Shakespeare scholar. Way back, well before the smartphone, he often would write notes to congratulate me on a particular accomplishment or remember me on my birthday. Often he would write lines of poetry, cleverly communicating a sentiment or encouraging me in verse.

The track was always Bob’s favorite. He had run for his beloved UNC Tar Heels [see above photo] and later trained with a group of prominent runners on the West Coast when he was a grad student at Stanford.

Back when the Delaware Field House had its 220-yard indoor track, we would occasionally head there to do interval training and get our speed kicks on the oval. One day, several of us went there to help CRR John Zolper achieve a 10-minute two-mile distance. Into his mid-40s by then, Bob managed to adequately act as John’s rabbit for the entire 16 laps. I couldn’t match that, having to stop for a breather after a five-minute mile and then join in again on the last half mile; even then, I couldn’t quite handle the pace.

In 1992, I had won a Philadelphia radio station giveaway of a subscription (an early forerunner of today’s various streaming options) to non-commercial telecasts of all track-and-field events of that year’s summer Olympics. Bob delighted in coming over to my house to watch literally hours and hours of this type of coverage, which I had recorded on VHS tapes, everything from the hammer throw to the short sprinting events. He particularly liked the excitement of the relays!

Remember Tiananmen Square? 

Bob appreciated the natural beauty of Newark’s nearby park system. During a time when a new bridge over the White Clay Creek was being planned, Bob was part of a coalition of citizens who were surveilling the area for potential environmental violations with regard to pre-construction preparations. One day when it was his turn to check out the site along Hopkins Road, he observed a bulldozer trying to move and clear earth, which had not yet been authorized by the state. In a standoff reminiscent of that Chinese citizen in front of the tank, Bob stood in front of the bulldozer, ordering the operator to cease and desist. We have him and others to thank for helping preserve much of the state parkland we now enjoy.

Bennett touched many a runner in his time and was huge part, indeed the soul, of the now 45-year history of the Creek Road Runners. May he continue to rest, or run, in peace.