Brian Gard looks like Stanley Kubrick. At the 4A District 5 Championships, the 60-something year old sat on one knee, his black pants digging into the rocky rubber maroon track at Iron Horse Stadium. His blue-cased iPhone 8 was about two inches from his eyes, moving in unison with his head, shifting from left to right as the action turned from a far-off blur to close enough where he’s sure to feel a droplet or two of secondhand sweat.

Any details of the race were lost on Gard, who was more locked in than an air-traffic controller with a full tarmac. Gard’s scraggly white beard hid behind his phone as his son, Shane, won the 800-meter race, his third of four gold medals at the district championships. Brian bolted around the track all day, sprinting around the fence to line up a perfect angle of every race’s start, then speed-walking to the finish line to capture the home stretch. It’s only afterwards, when he sits down, watches his footage and savors his son’s victories, that he learns what happened in a race.

After the meet — in which Shane won the 800, 1600, 3200 and 4x400 — Brian and his buddy Jeff Cundick stand on the stadium’s stairs, reminiscing about the races. Two things stick out. First, these guys look like they just got done hunting. Brian has the appearance of a mountain man with his scruffy beard and camouflage vest perfect for blending into the forest. Cundick is walking around in a blue windbreaker and a camo backpack that people could use to pack meat.

Second, the pair know just enough about Shane’s teammates and competitors to give away that they’ve spent many weekends at races around Southeast Idaho. Their conversations, though, are still filled with childlike wonder — like even they don’t really understand how Shane is doing what he’s doing.

Shane Gard is like a magician. He does wild tricks — pulls a rabbit from his hat, transforms a dollar bill into a Benjamin. Everyone who watched the trick can describe what happened. Explaining how it happened will leave them stumped.

He cruised to a 4A cross country state championship on Halloween and has been even more dominant this track season. Heading into the state championships, Gard has the fastest 4A time in the 800 (1:54.28) and 1600 (4:20.51), anchors the best 4x400 squad in the state and has the second-fastest 3200 time (9:25.82) but beat the two-mile leader – longtime rival Sam Jeppsen of Preston – at the district championships. So far, Gard has competed in 26 events in his senior track campaign. He’s finished first 24 times — which makes many believe the curly-haired, smooth-striding Pocatello star has a good chance to take home four golds at this weekend’s state championship. Last week, Shane signed with the College of Southern Idaho to run, a pit stop his coaches believe will slingshot him to a Division I power in two years.

Brian still remembers one of Shane’s first high school races. It was back in his freshman year, when running seemed like more of a healthy hobby than a means of paying for college. From Boise, Shane called his dad back in Pocatello and told him he just won the freshman race.

“You won the race?” Brian asked, befuddled. “How many kids were in the race?”

“I don’t know,” Shane responded. “They have it online.”

“I thought, well, if he won a race and there were 20 kids, that’s great ... I think there were (268) kids in the race. They all started out and then in the first curve, here comes Shane and the pack is behind him by 20 yards,” Brian said. “Then the next curve, here comes Shane and the pack is behind him by 100 yards … I was amazed.”

From the moment running became competitive for Shane, those closest to him have seen him excel. Yet every race, every win still leaves them giddy. On the steps of Iron Horse Stadium, Jeff and Brian banter about Shane like coworkers around a water cooler, chatting about races they both watched and showing off videos that are almost a whole half-hour old.

Shane’s events are their events — which leaves them a bit nostalgic knowing the end is so close.

****

Brian Gard didn’t mean to become a dog breeder.

He had an unspayed female Yellow Labrador named Joy back in 2002 and went rock climbing with a couple buddies – most of whom had spayed and neutered dogs. But a friend of a friend from Idaho Falls showed up with his English Pointer. Brain made it up the mountain just in time to hear some women shrieking. Two months later, Brian was left with nine puppies and those shrieking women were over at his house petting them.

“There was such a demand for the dogs and people loved them so much – I got high praise for the dogs. I just lucked into some really good dogs and people knew I took great care of them,” Brian said. “I’ve had people drive 15 hours to get dogs from me.”

Over the last 19 years, Brian has sold about 450 puppies from 47 litters. What started as a mistake has transformed into almost a full-time job, one that has Brian’s dog food bill up to $8,000 annually and requires him to walk the litter two to three times a day up the West Bench trails in Pocatello.

That walk has been almost an everyday occurrence for Brian since that first litter back on Nov. 8, 2002. He spews out the date without any thought – it’s 15 days before Shane entered the world, back when he wasn’t much bigger than the nine puppies in his house. It didn’t take long before Shane was referred to as “Mowgli,” after “The Jungle Book” character who was raised by wolves.

“The whole pack (of dogs) goes up on the hill two to three times a day for exercise,” Cundick said. “Brian always brought Shane with him. I’d go on my trail runs up there or bring my grandkids over to see puppies and we’d go up the hill and little Shane would be up there in just a diaper … That little kid was tough. He’d hike those mountains two to three times a day.”

“It did help me build up to become the runner I am today. It helped me get an early start on everything,” Shane said.

Brian Gard is the opposite of a helicopter parent. He wanted Shane to explore, to learn by doing. The best lessons, Brian thought, were taught through exposure. Walking on a trail one time when he was 6, Shane tripped and slid down the hill as if the gravel was ice. His shirt was dirty, his hands bloodied. Instead of crying to his dad or sulking in the dirt, a young Shane rubbed his hands together, let out a whisper of “Ouch, ouch, ouch,” and rejoined the group.

“If you’ve ever watched Star Trek, the Vulcans were trained to not show their emotions because if they let their emotions go, it would just overwhelm them. He reminds me of that,” Brian said. “If he was upset as a little kid, we wouldn’t jump all over him, but I think he was just born active. We did things when he was little.”

Brian bundled little Shane up when he was three months old and had him nearby as he ice-fished. He went sledding for the first time not long after, and cross-country skiing for the first time at 5 years old. At 12, Shane went trail running for the first time along the hills of the West Bench. Cundick, who’s 42 years older, led the way, adamant he’d take it easy on the teenager. Then they reached the first hill and Shane, wearing hiking boots, darted up it like he was scaling a speed bump, running in place for a minute until Cundick could catch up. A year later, Shane decided he was going to run the 35-kilometer (21.7 miles) Scout Mountain Ultra, finishing in the middle of the pack while Brian, hiking it, finished in dead last.

Some think running is all about who’s the fastest. In reality, it’s more a test of mental fortitude, a barometer for those with the greatest pain tolerance. At some point during every race, when your lactic acid builds up and your heart is buzzing and getting a breath is impossible, there’s a moment when you choose to slow down or push harder. Shane Gard has never slowed down.

“We always had confidence in him, and my dad used to say, ‘Gards are tough,’” Brian said. “He’s nice to people and he tries to be polite. But, really, he burns like a hot coal. He’s a very passionate kid and he’s a real tiger. You may not notice that about him, but he has a real fierce competitive edge about him. He’ll go for all he can.”

****

Shane’s floppy brown curls bounced and he nodded coming down the homestretch of the cross country state championship. There was no grand celebration, no real smile, but the victory was a much-needed culmination for Shane.

The 2020 track season — err, the cancellation of the 2020 track season — took a toll on him. COVID snatched that away, flipped the Monopoly board on the dreams and aspirations of a million runners across the country. All their hard work was for what? A preseason race in February?

Gard fell ill during his junior cross country campaign and slipped to a 20th-place state finish that he knew was well below his potential. The ensuing months were spent making sure the same thing didn’t happen in track, where Gard thought he had a real shot at winning a state title last spring.

When that was taken out of his control, he escaped the sport a bit, diving into backpacking and hiking, tranquil activities to clear his mind.

“It just kind of reminded me why I love running,” Gard said. “You put in this hard work and you can see results come out of it.”

In the summer of 2020, with more free time than he may ever have again, all Shane wanted to do was experience the grand adventures he’d heard about. With his dad often at home with a pack of young dogs, Shane reached out to Cundick often, asking his neighbor if he wanted to venture to some far-off place Shane had seen online. The answer is often yes.

They’ve been to the Sierra Nevadas, Death Valley, San Rafael Swell in south-central Utah, the Wind River Mountain Range in Wyoming, the Lost River Range just a few hours northwest of Pocatello, and a handful of other spots.

Just this summer, Cundick and Shane ventured back to an old mining district in the mountains near Cundick’s childhood home in Brigham City, Utah. They hiked near the top of the mountain, to this area that must have been a town built in the 1800s. But Shane being Shane, asked Cundick if he’d ever been to the tippy top of the mountain. “It’s not that far, but I’ve always been exhausted,” Cundick told him. Behind Shane’s desire, Cundick reached the summit that day – which made him almost forget the fact that he ran out of water and started cramping when he reached the car.

“He cuts me no slack,” Cundick said with a chuckle. “But it’s nice to have somebody available at a moment’s notice, and I tend to be one of those people who wants to go on trips too. I feel selfish if I just go do stuff. But if I can take my kids, a grandkid, or if I can take Shane and we can experience it, then it’s worthwhile.”

Perhaps the most worthwhile part of the trips are the car rides, when Cundick exposes Shane to Pink Floyd and Radiohead while the millennial gets the baby boomer to add Bon Iver and Tame Impala to his playlist.

Cruising down the road in Cundick’s olive-colored 2006 Nissan Titan, Shane and Cundick provide the blueprint for idea-sharing in the 21st-century. They are separated by four decades, wouldn’t vote the same in most elections and have extremely different life experiences – especially with Cundick growing up in a small Utah town while Shane’s mom and half-brother immigrated from Colombia – but they hear each other out.

“We talk about a lot of different political stuff,” Shane said. “We can agree on a lot of stuff, but there’s disagreement and we can respect each other’s point of view.”

“We spend a lot of time talking about the differences and similarities between generations relating to cultural value,” Cundick added. “As opposed to the political spin we all are exposed to in the media, politics makes great conversation for us because we are both good listeners and are willing to change our perspectives given the right information.”

After Shane won the cross country championship, Cundick spent more than 40 hours compiling a 23-minute, 52-second video that is close to a montage of Shane’s life. Opera blares at the onset, pictures of wolves and a young Shane intertwine for a few minutes. Then it cuts to drone footage Cundick took of Shane gliding through the West Bench trails, transitioning to footage of what feels like every cross country race Shane has ever run, including the state title. Pink Floyd and Bob Segar belt through a scrapbook’s worth of photos of Shane in picturesque settings. Then the video cuts to black. The final 20 seconds are Shane, free as the wind. He’s riding shotgun in that 2006 Nissan Titan, bobbing his head and making his fist into a microphone as he wails away with a Hall and Oates song recorded more than two decades before he was born.

“Oh yeah,” Shane yells, wagging his two pointer fingers like they’re lasers, “you make a-my dreams come true.”