TUPAVIEW: FINAL WORDS ON A LIFE WITH NO REGRETS
Mike Tupa with his mom, Karlene Saunders, while in the U.S. Marine Corps.
Editor’s Note:
Early Monday morning, I found a final, overlooked email from Mike Tupa. Penned on March 29—just nine days before we lost him—it was what would become his last TupaView column. Finding these words felt like receiving one last visit from a man who spent his life honoring others through his writing.
In this piece, Mike reflects on his "worn-out body," a physical cost he traces back to his time as an elite distance runner in the Marine Corps. He describes the "grueling solo running" and the exhilaration of feeling like "well-primed pistons" hitting the ground. Most importantly, he looks back at the injuries and the current confinement of his room and tells us clearly: he accepts the price tag. He wouldn't trade those years of strength for anything, and he refuses to wrap himself in regret.
Despite his world shrinking to a single corner of a room, Mike’s outlook remained boundless. He was happy to be writing, happy to see friends, and deeply at peace. I am publishing this exactly as he left it—a final, beautiful gift to the Bartlesville community he loved so much.
This column and his entire TupaView archive will remain on the site we co-founded nearly two years ago. I also look forward to sharing more of his work in the coming months, including a Fourth of July column celebrating the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence and several unpublished articles from his popular "Top Athletes of the Past 30 Years" series.
— Becky Burch
“The colors of the rainbow
So pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces
Of people going by
I see friends shaking hands
Saying, “How do you do?”
They’re really saying
I love you.”
— Harold Adamson, Jan Savitt, John Watson.
———
“If I had a box just for wishes
And dreams that had never come true
The box would be empty
Except for the memory
Of how they were answered by you.”
— Jim Croce
———
“I like life
Here and now
Life and I made a mutual vow
’Till I die
Life and I
We’ll both try to be better somehow.”
— Leslie Bricusse
__________
By Mike Tupa
March 29, 2026
BARTLESVILLE AREA SPORTS
My world has been reduced mostly to the corner of a lovely room.
I eat most of my meals here, sleep here, write here, read here, watch TV here, visit with friends here, take care of business here, talk on the phone here.
Standing is an agonizing ordeal. But I can still slide my feet side-to-side to transfer to needed accommodations, including a wheelchair.
Pills, shots and measuring vital statistics help define the daily pattern.
As the great songwriter George M. Cohan wrote: “Life is a funny proposition, after all.”
I don’t know what the future holds. For me it is divided simply into one day at a time, making the most of the passing minutes to try to do something worthwhile. During stretches without dizziness and headaches and other distracting pain, I research and make calls and write about local sports for this website.
I want to know when I finally lay down my head, I wrote something or passed on something verbally that added to someone’s happiness, or at least didn’t take away from their peace of mind.
What happened?
I guess some of my body systems slowly wore down, making me vulnerable to certain challenges. I left my apartment on February 5 to go to the emergency room. Since then, it’s been time in the hospital, time in therapy, and more medical care and now time in a care facility.
My chair is my island — but not my prison.
Thanks to incredible caring friends — as well as the staff here — many of my needs and wants have been met. Thanks to Becky Burch — who keeps our website going despite a financial drain on her — I’ve been able to continue to contribute to local sports coverage. Becky and I just want to do our best to highlight the local kids in their athletic efforts, to recognize them for doing something good and positive. We hope to provide parents and grandparents with some kind of scrapbook opportunities by saving articles electronically or printing them out and pasting them in a binder.
As I think about my worn-out body, I reflect back on how strong it was for so long despite the demands I put on it.
I didn’t get a car until I was well past 18, which meant I drove a 10-speed bike 20 miles round-trip, up and down hills and through busy traffic, to my job.
My legs and lungs carried me countless miles as a kid because we didn’t have a car. I had to walk more than a mile each way to junior high every day. I had to deliver a paper route (on a bike) for 30 months.
When I went on my church mission to Northern Italy, I had to climb countless stairs in countless apartment buildings to try to preach the Gospel as I believed (and believe) it.
While in Italy, I suffered a massive right knee injury that resulted in two major open knee surgeries — one in Torino, Italy, the other in Salt Lake City.
At age 25-and-a-half, I went into the Marine Corps. In connection with that, I began a distance running program to help get me in shape for boot camp.
During my four years in the Marines I developed into an excellent distance runner, running anywhere from five-to-11 miles every day (except Sundays). Even after I suffered a knee injury a few months into my Marine Corps service, I continued my grueling solo running regimen.
I became the fastest runner in my company, topping out in my last timed 5K run at 16:50 — an average of 5:35 per mile. My goal was much more ambitious — I wanted to break 15:00. In the year 1984, I ran more than 2,100 miles.
But then I underwent another knee operation for the previous knee injury — the surgeon told me he had never seen such nasty ligament and cartilage damage.
Even after that, I resumed running again, but never at the same level, for the remaining months of my Marine Corps days. I had determined that after I finished my military service, I would continue to run regularly.
And, I kept that promise for a year, even entered a road race. But my miles were limited, due to a full-time job and other things. But I still turned in some big runs. One day, I ran five miles in the morning and in the afternoon ran a mile challenge race with two other individuals at the college track. I came in second at exactly 6:00, if I remember right.
But shortly after that, my right knee pain intensified. A fourth knee operation followed, which effectively ended my distance running days at age 30-and-a-half.
I attempted several times during the next 19 years to resurrect my running program — but my knee or knees just couldn’t let me do it.
As I think back to 40-45 years ago during the prime of my distance running, I recall thinking that perhaps someday all that punishment to my legs and lungs would lead to mobility challenges as I got older.
A lifetime of experience has confirmed that to be true. And I can say with my eyes wide open by experience, I accept the verdict.
But let me add this — I fully accepted as a young man and I accept now the price tag I’ve had to pay.
I wouldn’t trade the ability to run faster than the wind, to put a sense of awe in some of my Marine Corps buddies, to feel the power surging through my legs as they hit the ground like well-primed pistons, to sense my lungs and heart working in perfect sync, my throat gulping the air while looking at the road or path ahead as it stretched out in the late afternoon sun out like an endless ribbon to the horizon.
I accepted the future consequences of wear and tear on my legs, heart and lungs and I won’t wrap myself in regret now.
God has blessed me in so many ways — great health into my early 60s, which is when my physical decline started and continued pretty steadily.
He has let me live the dream of being a sportswriter, of rubbing shoulders occasionally with powerful and famous and yet enjoying most of all reporting on local fresh-faced kids in high school and youth competition, working with incredible coaches that really love their players and the sports, with enjoying the connection with other media warriors such as all my former sportswriters and people like Evan Fahrbach of KWON Radio.
When I was 30 years old, I wondered if I was destined to a lifetime of low-paying jobs and obscurity in terms of my writing ability and potential. At 31-and-a-half, God opened the door for my first full-time newspaper job.
The dream unfolded in an incredible way — and still goes on.
Please don’t pinch me.
I just pray I’ll make good use of my time, whatever it is. For several weeks, my mind and health hasn’t allowed me to cover sports well. Becky has carried a major part of the load.
But, now I feel more relaxed and focused and on top of my situation, I hope to do better with my coverage, although perhaps not quite as productive as before.
My physical world has shrunk down to basically a corner of a lovely room, but my outlook goes far beyond the four walls.
Mike Tupa’s photos and awards on display at his funeral at the Church of Jesus Christ Latter-day Saints in Bartlesville on April 16, 2026.