The shot put is all about choosing to pick up a round weight you could safely ignore, then bending your will and body, day after day, to send that weight as far as humanly possible.
It is good preparation for life as a union activist.
“I wanted changes, but I couldn’t get to the right people just in my job. When they asked me to be a steward, to be on the negotiating committee, the executive board, I didn’t flinch,” said Topeka, Kan., Local 304 member Valeyta Althouse.
She had, after all, picked up weight on bigger stages than Kansas Gas Service contract negotiations. She competed in the NCAA championships, the World Championships and even the Olympics — and for a time, she threw that weight farther than anyone she competed against.
“That was all a long time ago,” Althouse said with a laugh. “Now when I demonstrate, my body is like: ‘What are you doing? We don’t get in those positions.’”
Three decades ago, Althouse was one of the best in the world.
She won the 1995 NCAA Division I Outdoor Championship as a junior at UCLA and set the meet record, then won the 1996 Indoor Championship, setting the college record with a nearly 62-foot throw. From 1994 to 1996, she was the strongest thrower in the Pacific 10 and won back-to-back-to-back conference championships.
And in 1996 for the centennial Olympic Games, Althouse was on the field wearing the stars and stripes as Muhammad Ali lit the Olympic cauldron.
“The Olympics is one of my proudest moments,” Althouse said. “It is hard to put in words when the shot put comes off the fingertips and everything is just right, and you knew it would be good.”
On that day in 1996, the gold went to German athlete Astrid Kumbernuss. Althouse finished 16th.
“I was never the best of the best,” she said.
It’s the kind of understatement that is only possible when you are one of the best of the best.
“She doesn’t toot her own horn. I had no idea,” said Local 304 Business Manager Chris Ubel.
Her story started decades ago. Althouse was 9, and her older sister, Angela, was on the track team.
“Her coach said, ‘Bring your baby sister,’” she said. “I went, and I liked to win.”
Althouse had been a latchkey kid since kindergarten. Her mom worked in the call center for Kansas Gas Service, and her father, Roy, was in the Army. He rose to command sergeant major, the highest noncommissioned officer rank in an Army unit. When he was deployed, the family moved to Missouri to live with her grandfather, her aunt, and her cousins and sisters.
“There were four adults, seven kids and one bathroom,” she said.
While it may not have been comfortable, it was stable. And as the youngest, she was self-reliant at an early age.
“I was raised to be independent,” she said. “There is a dedicated athlete mindset, and it comes from that time. It’s a military thing. He had to deploy. He sacrificed time with his family, and I understood that these were sacrifices. You make those sacrifices to get the better life. That was also true as an athlete.”
Athletic careers end early, and then the athlete has a new life to begin, usually without a lot of money.
For Althouse, that day came in 1998. She tore the meniscus in her left knee, her launching leg.
“If you can’t get the drive off the left leg, you’re done,” she said. “I was told it will never be the same.”
Meanwhile, her older sisters were having kids. And for all the wonderful things about California and being on a team that was like family, California wasn’t home.
“I’d been sore every day since I was about 9,” she said. “Coming back to them fit like a glove.”
Her mother, Donna, was in Local 304 until she took a management position. So was her sister Dawn Basemore until retirement. Her uncle and several other relatives have also been IBEW members. “The IBEW has been very good to my family,” Althouse said.
“I knew everyone in the Topeka, Salina and Manhattan offices,” she continued. “It was stable. You knew you would have good benefits and working conditions because of the union, and it would sustain me until I could stop working.”
She joined Local 304 working as a service representative in a call center where she could have been on a fast track into management. But it was never for her.
She was asked to be a steward in 2003, and she said yes. She liked the idea that people would be relying on her to defend their rights and protections.
She joined the negotiating committee when asked.
“I asked, ‘Are you sure?’” she said, again laughing. “I didn’t need to be convinced. I just wanted to make sure they know I will fight hard for my rights.”
Althouse was never interested in rising through the corporate ranks, though there were opportunities. From where we she stood, it looked like most of the rewards went to people willing to impose policies that forced workers to choose between their livelihood and what gave their lives meaning.
“Some of my managers ask why I don’t bid on any of their jobs, and I just say, ‘I will always stay on the union side,’” she said.
Her message is pretty straightforward: “You don’t get more out of people but two ways: pay them more or treat them better. In the best of all worlds, you do both.”
Six years ago, she transferred to the meter-reading department. She loves it.
She is responsible for a vast area, and her days are passed driving endless roads, listening to books and podcasts or talking with family and friends.
“After track, I am happy just living my life. You get my time, my effort, my care but not our souls. You don’t get our safety. You don’t get our time with our family,” she said.
