Tributes to Our Friend Todd Rowley, to the Running Fixx, and to Impossible Earthly Immortality

By Maury Dean

Of all Long Island’s beloved distant runners over our lifetimes, Huntington and Oyster Bay’s Todd Rowley won the longest road runner obituary in Newsday over the last 50 years, thanks to the excellent and epic Ellen Yan obituary [Feb. 4, 2023]. Ellen Yan’s great tribute says it all, so please Google it to help appreciate what a great guy Todd was. He was an elite runner, a world-class volunteer for GLIRC, a super educator with his own tutoring business, and foremost a family man. His life was shortened to 52 for mysterious arrhythmic reasons, and since I am not a cardiologist, I can only speak because running is deep in my heart, too, and probably yours. When running guru Jim Fixx died at 52 of a roadside heart attack, 30% of runners simply quit running. GLIRC vice-president Paul Fetscher, your wise running friends, and I wish to convince you fellow runners NOT to quit. Todd, too, would likely want you to continue celebrating his roads and passion. Very few superstars get enough quality time—or just TIME— on the planet. Here on lost Long Island roads, we will remember Todd Rowley, whose time on earth (52 years) seems nowhere near enough to finish his pilgrimage. Our excellent Greater Long Island Running Club (GRILC) triathlete and friend Todd Rowley passed away in his running prime, leaving his Oyster Bay parents Pamela and Bertram Rowley, his wife Jill Rowley, his children Nick and Grace, and his brother Chase. Like you and me, Todd was CHASE-ing immortality in his futile quest that reels us all in—remember this impossible mantra? We all toy with the following foolishness, but sooner or later, it breaks us: “If I just run FAST enough, and duke it out with my lungs and the wind and hills, maybe I can live forever.” Well, good luck with that. Most hope for later, not sooner, but we all unravel different skeins of years—and knit our destinies by the people whose lives we touch, as we roam our local roads. Before waxing philosophical about what keeps us all running together, I recall talking to Todd for a half hour at a Super Bowl party at the home of one of my best friends, Smithtown elite runner and GLIRC Footnotes columnist Mike Robles. Todd and I had a lot in common with Creative Writing. Via my ‘70s University of Michigan doctorate, I taught English and Rock and Roll History for nearly 45 years at Suffolk County Community College. Similarly, English-major Todd of Ivied Dartmouth College taught awhile too. Then he then worked with one student at a time for Princeton Review tutoring. Todd liked it so much, that he became a one-man tutorial juggernaut. He found his dream with one-to-one teaching via his wildly successful Todd Rowley Tutoring enterprise. His passing stuns our running community. If you have symptoms, see a real cardiologist. Don’t depend on just advice from me or Runner’s World.

Todd was a gifted runner, swimmer, and biker. His spectacular 13th overall among 419 athletes at last year’s prestigious TOBAY Triathlon in Teddy Roosevelt’s Oyster Bay (AT AGE FIFTY-TWO [maybe 51½]) is a compliment to his lifestyle and tailored schedule: up at 5 to run, swim and bike, then spend the noontime, afternoon, and odd evening tutoring successful students mastering LIFE. Todd’s oneman corporation ranged from easily easing kids’ test and time-management anxieties, to their mastering diverse things from semicolons to quarter-mile repeats, and subsequently succeeding in the race of life. Everyone who knew Todd speaks of his selfless devotion to his friends and GLIRC teammates.

Naturally, we all ask the cosmically sad question: “Why did Todd Rowley have to die so young when he was in seemingly perfect shape?” As a fellow runner and vet of 1,111 local races or so, with some qualifications in Todd’s running speed zone at similar age 52 in 1993 [in running only], I sincerely wish I had answers for all of you. It was more arrythmia than plaque. First off, let me praise each one of you who gets out there to run your 5K race, jousting with three miles through swooping snows and scary gales and frenzied crowds. All of us need a lot of heart to just dress for the race. Or undress. Friendship and team spirit are reasons we have all found the courage to ditch couch-potato sloth, and lifeless ‘leisure.” Maybe we can challenge ourselves to crunch some ‘ tailored swift’ numbers at the local 5K’—or more importantly, run just to see some of our best friends and teammates.. Todd

Rowley’s best races glow splendidly in Coach Ed Melnik’s Glory Days age-group time charts in our recent running book Glory Days. Todd’s 2015 and 2016 13.1-mile half-marathons (1:19:54 and 1:22:55) were 2nd on Long Island in his 45-49 age group. He was third at 44 (M40-44) in 1:21:14. His 36:17 was 3rd 45-49 in 2015 in the 6.2-mile 10K. In 2016, his 18:04 3.1-mile 5K time placed 5th among all Long Island Male 45-49 runners. Yes, Todd was that good. He was also a selfless teammate, a loyal GLIRC volunteer, and a guy who does any kind thing for anybody.

Let me begin with wise words from our new GLIRC Veep, Paul Fetscher of Long Beach, whose February 4-miler I wimped out on due to a Patchogue temp of -0.1 degree below zero. It was our first subzero temp since the day our ex-furnace croaked in 2017 or 2018 or so. In his 1970s-1980s heyday, Paul Fetscher ran a 2:18 or so marathon as a super-speedy lad. Paul also got his smiling successful face on three big and bigger and biggest running magazines: the 20th century’s mainstay mag, Ralph Epifanio’s Islandwide Runner; GLIRC/POBRRC’s Footnotes; and Triple Crown grand prize Runner’s World. Paul (now 77) and I commiserated at the Jan. 2023 Jones Beach Winter Series 5K, where we echoed our fading-speed plight in the upper-echelon age groups of road racing, “I get slower and slower faster and faster..”

When 1980s national running guru Jim Fixx (million-seller-plus Complete Book of Running, 1977] collapsed and died at 52, on a Connecticut roadside, something like 30% of actual running-boom distance runners GAVE UP on RUNNING cold turkey. Fixx was buried at my Aunt Josephine Warde’s Greenwich-area Connecticut Episcopal Church, 10-15 flying-crow miles from Suffolk’s Port Jefferson. You saw that 30% percentage right. GAVE UP! Todd Rowley and Paul Fetscher (see pages 96-100 Glory Days), Mike Robles, Dennis Michel, Bob Clasen, and Joe Tumbarello and I are here to help convince you that quitting running for one isolated tragedy is absolutely NO reason to quit running. Just a bad mistake. Also, forty years of cardiology improvements have revolutionized American health.

. My oldest boyhood friend Marc Steven Lancaster just passed away. I knew him since I was three, and he was best man at my wedding. We were born in the Motor City and raised in smoky alleys of South Detroit, and we jumped off garage roofs. Steve and I cavorted in goof-off shenanigans as lads, just like Oyster Bay’s Todd and brother Chase Rowley in Oyster Bay. The Navy changed boyhood pal ‘Steve’s’ name to his first name Marc. His success trajectory flew: Gibraltar, Michigan to California to Hawaii to Las Vegas. At 52, Marc had a serious heart attack, out of the blue. As a successful hotel builder in Hawaii, Lancaster kicked his cigarette habit that DAY forever, cut back on the beer, then shriveled his steak’s portion size, curtailing most of his egg habit. Via his terrific wife Dianne, Marc saladized, whole-wheated, and lower-fatted his diet, and spectacularly discovered a TREADMILL. His now-NY running pal Maury influenced him to exercise and enjoy it. Marc learned. He and Dianne and the kids had great lives, basically. They even borrowed the name of our excellent Beagle-sized Labtype dog SNARF (1966-1984) for his daughter Laura’s own dog. Steve and Dianne enjoyed nearly three decades together, traveling through his productive retirement, When Marc had a fatal fall in Las Vegas last month, he had made it to 81 years old.

Paul Fetscher did HIS friend Jim Fixx’s long-ago obit and eulogy. I spent years trying to catch Paul when our age groups converged. It took me over 45 years, for I was the kid who couldn’t even buy a varsity letter in high school cross-country—like my pal Ted Haiman, who got shunted into a 2nd-string gym class, and later earned 4th-fastest master in America. He and Joe Cordero form Chapter Six in Glory Days; Haiman ran 15:22 5K and 31:56 10K at age 40. It took me till age 55 to catch up with him— after I was lucky enough to win the Michigan M50-54 5K championship rank, with a 16:53 5K in Ann Arbor, and a wheezy 35:13 10K at age 51½ in Rockville Centre, NY (near GLIRC star Mike Baard who beat my time to win 40-44 zone). I praised Fetscher and Haiman in the running book I wrote with GLIRC Coach Eddie Melnik last year--Glory Days. Newsday’s GLIRC’s age-group speedster John Hanc penned a fine Labor Day 2022 article on it.

Paul mentioned Fixx became a born-again runner after a similar low-energy apprenticeship. Paul says Fixx played out the typical 1950s college scenario—he” played Fairfield County tennis, smoked two packs a day, and ate himself up to 220#.” Fixx was closer to average height than Paul’s 6’3”, 165# elite marathoner frame. Paul: “JIM FIXX was EVERYMAN USA . . . . Among heavily-trained, 100-mile per-week runners, he looked almost pudgy.” Personally, I never met running rockstar Fixx. However, my first running log was my sister-in-law Nina Harris’s present, Fixx’s Complete Runner’s Day-by-Day Log and Calendar 1983. In the small print, the 30% of runners who QUIT running at Fixx’s demise forgot to notice genes—Fixx’s FATHER died of a heart attack at 42, younger than our great M75-79 runner Alan Stein’s father—see story in Glory Days on p. 894, or in the nifty HARD-copy Footnotes you smartly saved from three years ago. Alan’s heartwarming article? “Running Saved My Life.” Young Alan, age 13, survived the horrible death of his father, 47, while caddying for him on a fated green. Many heart doctors lauded Alan for his fitness regimen, corroborating his article title’s lifesaving theory. Sadly, our fallen teammate Todd Rowley did not have similar good fortune on this temporary planet of ours. It took me 27 years to become an orphan, not just 13. Why? My 100-meter dash and golfing star father John Dean died at age 60. When I was 11 and he 44, Dad lost 7/8ths of his stomach. Ulcer operation. He went from 5’7” 165# to 99#, so my sister Blair and I lived for six months with the haunting illusion that our dad might not make it to my twelfth or Blair’s 9th birthday.. Therefore, for two decades now since I hit 60, I realize I’ve been living on ‘bonus points.’

Todd Rowley was a bit like my great friend Lance Hugelmeyer of Ronkonkoma. Champ Lance died at 56, heart attack, just six weeks after winning M55-59 at GLIRC/POBRRC’s A.S.P.I.R.E. 10K in 37:15-–6:15 per mile. Have you ever run the Michael P. Murphy ‘Lone Survivor” June 4-Miler around L.I.s biggest Lake, Lake Ronkonkoma? In the late 1990s it was the LANCE HUGELMEYER Run Around the Lake. His memory was recently usurped for brave American soldier and martyr Murphy of Patchogue. The stark and unbelievable death of 1958 Suffolk County prep mile champ Lance Hugelmeyer [4:30 or so], in his speed-wave prime, dampened the spirits of our Long Island Running Community as much as Todd’s untimely passing ambushes the 2020s running fraternity/sorority. Epifanio’s Islandwide Runner praised Lance and me when we won the Bohemia Track Club Buddy Run 5K: “Two guys with a combined age of 100 years [Lance 52, me 48] won a race of 400 runners.” How? Lance dragged me through the Finish Line under 17:00 for the 5K [OK, OK, it was 16:59).” I gave Lake Ronko’s 4M tribute speech there for about five years, until the fickle finger of fate sent all our times to the lost far-ago dumpster of demon obscurity.

Todd Rowley likely read A.E. Housman’s (1859-1936) Victorian poem, “To an Athlete Dying Young”—

“The time you won your town the race, we cheered you through the market place, Man and boy stood cheering by, and home we brought you shoulder high. Today, the road all runners come , shoulder-high we bring you home, And set you at the threshold down, townsman of a stiller town.” Among its 28 bittersweet lines comes the downcast fifth quatrain: “Now you will not swell the rout, of lads that wore their honors out, Runners whom renown outran, and the name died before the man.” Yep, rep fame died. Runner.lived to 80.

In 2023 terms, “We scramble with our fastest feet, for the gold medal we compete, but years from now who will care, or even remember the joys we share?” Hey, let’s not get bleak here. This means Todd Rowley will be remembered for his noble early exit. If we live longer than our fallen road warriors, we must deal with the sad memory of great lost-and-gone-forever friends. Let’s try to look at these three weird episodes below, neither one related to running distance: Just sprinting on gridirons and diamonds and tree stumps—but each unlike paragraph gets us to our Finish Line here:

First, we take Newsday’s prickly and brilliant cartoonist Stephan Pastis and his weird world Pearls Before Swine, starring ‘Pig,’ ‘Rat.’ ‘Goat,” and other humans and humanoids who drink beer and coffee and philosophize, often climbing this local peak, naked, because they’re animals anyhow, and don’t wear clothes—they often trek upwards, to see this great cartoon guru ‘Wise Ass on the Hill,” a horse/mule/ or ‘ass.’ This time, the porky and indulgent ‘Pig’ ascends no mountain, but just a shorter dead tree stump [2-5-23, Newsday Comics]. It is titled the TREE STUMP O’ Deep Thought You’re Usually Not Capable Of! Pig begins prating and raving on about existence, and believe me, we’ll be back soon to the great Todd Rowley, plus Pittsburgh Steelers’ world-class quarterback and homespun philosopher Terry Bradshaw. PIG says to his questionable audience—“No one knows what we’re doing here. Some have faith that they do, but no one KNOWS. So we are scared, we are alone, and we end, and we don’t know where we go. So we cling to money for comfort, and we chase awards for immortality, and we hide the routine of our days. But then the night. Always the night. Which, when it has you alone, whispers that maybe none of this has any significance. So love everyone you’re with. Because comforting each other on this journey we neither asked for not understand is the best we can do.” Pig then cautiously climbs down from his tree stump, where he seems to be talking to no one at all except himself. One blank comics panel of a stark tree stump comes next, but then Pig says to the stump, “but laugh as much as you can.” The last panel has the dead stump, soaking up his wisdom. And me—not necessarily comforted, but Pig and Pastis unveil a lot of powerful, uncomforting, and unforgettable stuff with their existential sloppy soup, or lurching limbo of Hallowe’en doubt. Fast forward, Piglessly, to the 1970s Super Bowl.

Second example of hero jousting with immortality--superstar-emeritus 1970s Pittsburgh Steelers’ quarterback and NFL sunny-side commentator and philosopher Terry Bradshaw, 74. Sunnyside personality Terry was interviewed on CNN by Fox’s Chris Wallace about his recent double diagnosis of cancer. I guess I like Terry’s smiling and hopeful reaction a lot better than ‘Pig’s.’ Terry asks the docs whether he’s got a good chance to beat it, and the docs say yes. Iconic NFL hero, breezy Bradshaw shepherded four Super Bowl 1970s victories, and also flung the “Immaculate Reception.” It was voted the #1 catch of all time (Google it). Terry fired it wild toward the End Zone. Teammate Franco Harris was the stunned lucky receiver, due to a big bounce off an opposing safety. The would-be interception bounced gloriously back to Pittsburgh (Harris DID pass away this year, too, like my excellent brother-in-law unrelated Rod Harris, 3:25 marathoner, and one-time car racer at Watkins Glen). Faced with eternity, Bradshaw says it’s basically a win-win war he’s battling with his downer diagnosis. And yes, all of us road warriors go to battle every time in a much lesser fashion, when we put on our armor of confidence and camaraderie and Nike racing-flat shoes. And a race number. Bradshaw says first he’s a man of faith and he’s likely to go to heaven anyway, or if he gets more time here on earth, he can hang out with his TV Sunday pals (like us 200,000,000 Super Bowl fans) and talk football. And Life can Party on, until we’re called home, completing our worldly assignment! My own inglorious Wayne State University 1960s football team ‘career’ @ 165# involved a lot of my gung-ho gusto ’Running Back’ activity—I always ‘ran back’ to the un-cool bench and sat there for most of the game watching my friends crashing into each other, obsessing about goal lines.

Third? Or? The clincher commentary? When you race, or volunteer, you help your friends find their successful finish line, so ‘it’s all good!’ Our even-bigger huge superstar quote? “Life is not a spectator sport. If you’re going to spend your WHOLE life in the grandstand just watching what goes on, in my opinion you’re wasting your life.”

Famous Jackie Robinson wisdom. Jackie’s brief lifespan? 1919-1972. Do the math—53. Jackie died of old age at 53, as his gracious wife Rachel lived on, recently achieving 100 years old (7-192022).

YOU and Todd Rowley and Jackie Robinson have taken your lives far beyond those pale indecisive mortals who stay away from the arena—to paraphrase Long Island President Teddy Roosevelt, also of Oyster Bay, like Todd Rowley. Teddy? 1858-1919. Lived just 60, like my dad—Teddy died of a broken heart when pilot son Quentin was shot down in Red Baron skies fighting Germany. It’s not the NUMBER of years, but the quality of those years. Somehow Todd Rowley and Lance Hugelmeyer finished their missions like Jackie and our bully-pulpit President, with a cosmic A+ and an impact far beyond their too-brief years.

Semi-great news. We’re officially back to Todd Rowley, 52, and to you and running reality, despite its pitfalls and adventures. Try this sad-sack logic: anytime you strap on your shoes and your number, you could collapse and die of a heart attack. Everybody knows that, but they bravely run amok anyhow. Now, ALSO please realize that if you sit safely on your cushy couch and watch safe TV, you could also be killed by a rogue meteorite or get stampeded by a horde of rampaging rhinoceroses. In the ugly real world, you could fall down a step or get run over by a garbage truck. So why not LIVE the life you’re offered?

Ellen Van’s Newsday obit mention Todd’s creative-writing recent autobiography. Soon, it’s time to praise a few fellow road warriors with Todd Rowley, great runners who have been granted a reprieve, and are still “dancing on the earth for a short while” [Cat Stevens’ “Wild World” (#11, 1971)]. That’s all any of us get. Neither Jesus, 33, nor Dr. Martin Luther King, 39, were blessed with earthly longevity, but their impact has little to do with beating Methusaleh to the 1000-yearsshuffling-on-earth mark. I like the line on my dad’s 1910-1970 tombstone, from Scottish poet Robert Burns [Dad’s Scottish birthplace was 15 miles from Burns’s]: “If there’s another world, he lives in bliss/If not, he made the best of this.”

Soberly, we are all heart patients, like Todd Rowley, a fine runner and dad and husband and son and father and one-to-one educator—and race volunteer. Like PIG, and TERRY BRADSHAW, Todd knew how to laugh at himself and help others to laugh, as we all grope along our own roads of destiny. Everyone eventually dies of heart failure one way or another. Let’s leave on a positive note about some of Long Island’s greatest runners, and yes, sometimes elite runners like poor Jeff Drenth who push the limits DO get certain dangerous heart arrythmias [Dr. Tim Noakes’s Lore of Running, 2003]. Ugly but true fact—that grubby rock you kicked by the roadside the other day may have been around for 123,456,789 years, but no matter how much plain yogurt and whole-wheat Wheaties and whatever we eat or how far we run, the best we can hope for is 100 years, and no one ever said that his SECOND century was a lot of fun, either. George Burns’s quote (1896-1996, 100, unrelated to Robert Burns, 1759-1796, 37))? “At my age, I don’t even buy green bananas.”

Among my local crew of heroes in the great race to eternity are: Footnotes’ columnist Mike Robles, who nears 65 with speed and courage and a pacemaker, and at 6’2”, weighs less than I do [147#); Bohemia Track Club President Bob Clasen, 65, whose own recent miraculous heart operation lately removed dangerous insidious plaque, and Bob and Mike R are still hammering 5Ks in the 19-to-22minute zone. Or what about Joe Tumbarello and Dennis Michel? At 75 each was still lambasting the magic number 25 minutes in the 5K, as they barreled into their fourth decade of life—despite major heart attacks for each at about age 53. I have a little history of common heart rhythm issues myself when I was 53 or 54, unrelated to plaque (Huntington Hospital) and beyond, when my Mom (19081997) passed away. I consider these super Long Island important masters runners Mike, Bob, Dennis, and Joe above as victors over fear and terror. So please eat your own flippin’ veggies, and we can bless our mutual time in getting to run in and share the same stampede as Todd Rowley. Todd will always be remembered as a champion, as a runner, and a man. Likely, so will YOU, unless you’re a woman, equally as spectacular.

These Long Island running stars, led and followed by Todd Rowley, are just a few of literally HUNDREDS of my all-time road-burning friends and heroes in our running community. You may not know it yet, but all of you may be among that crowd that goes fast and goes LONG, too. Good luck with your running. We’re all here running amok through a combination of Divine Providence, Wheaties, Love, and Hope. Keep on groping and hoping—and be thankful your road was paced with thousands of quality people enjoying your long-distance sport—people like our friend Todd Rowley. Our prayers go out to his wife Jill and their family. And to you, in your own quest, on the road.

TODD ROWLEY: GLIRC TEAMMATE & FRIEND UNEXPECTED PASSING

By Michael Robles USATF-LI

Level 2 Endurance Coach

I have been writing for the GLIRC monthly running magazine since 2010, and this is by far the hardest article I have ever had to write. On Wednesday, January 25 th , our community lost a tremendous athlete–member of GLIRC Racing Team–and even better friend, Todd Rowley. He was not only a kind person and talented teammate of mine, but also an avid member of other sports communities, a tutor, a husband, and a father. This loss is heartbreaking, and I’ve struggled, alongside many others who knew him, to cope with this news. This article is a tribute to a dear friend.

I met Todd for the first time at the April 2009 Doug Wood 5K Trail run in Northport, where he had taken 2 nd place overall that day. We started talking after the race and I immediately liked him. He had a personable smile that warmed you up. Todd was also very smart, yet humble, and would frequently pick your brain for information I remember once directly after a race, he told me that he wanted to run faster. He proceeded to ask me about my workout routine, and we conversed about the workouts he could do to become the runner he wanted to be That was Todd He had already been successful in his running but was still looking to improve

I was a teammate of Todd’s on the GLIRC racing team for almost 15 years. His consistency made him the consummate teammate You could always count on him to have a good race and give 100% of himself every time Over the years on the team, from mile races to half marathons, we ran in about 100 races together. Many times, we were on the same relay together trying to get that win. In that process, I realized how much I had in common with Todd We both loved to run and compete His love for craft beer, which we enjoyed after some races And his love for music (I remember him being so excited about seeing Hall & Oates). Todd wanted to enjoy life to the fullest, and he did. Those were the good times

Over the last few years and with a pandemic dragging on, it has been incredibly difficult connecting with friends. It felt like we lost three years of time–time which could have been spent with loved ones like Todd Fortunately, this year, I was able to reconnect with him I was very fortunate to be volunteering at The Blue Pt Brewery 10 mile run on January 14 th A little bit past the 5 mile mark directing the runners, I was able to see Todd and cheer him on. As he passed me, I yelled “Looking good Todd! Just hang in there! I’ll see you later and we’ll have a beer together ” At the after party, I told him how rough it had been to not have much company over the past few years, and invited him over for a Super Bowl party I hadn’t had one for two years and was quite excited by the idea. “Are you in?” I asked. He then said, “I’m all in ” Little did I know this would be the last words and last time I would see my friend Those words are a fitting example of his spirit

I’m thankful that I was able to see him one last time. I will remember all the good times with him on the GLIRC Racing team, and I know I share this sentiment with many others I have never been as impressed as I was listening to what each family member and relative said about him at the wake The tributes, one after another, about how much he meant to so many people. From his students that he taught, to his friend from high school that he drove hundreds of miles in order for him to express his love to his girlfriend, to the small but kind gestures of starting his wife’s car before she went to work His relentless ability to make sure he attended every event for his kids and nieces. I realize how important he was in many peoples lives and how much he will be missed Todd, you will never be forgotten