Conversations in the Car with Coach

This picture captured the moment I knew my boy was going to be OK in high school. A spontaneous moment with heads bowed before a race, they weren’t praying to win but for strength of body and mind along the way.  My boy had found his tribe—the cross country team, a group of hard-working, high-achievers.  They’ve all learned something most runners eventually learn: the hard work of running translates into real life.  Plugging away at something that doesn’t show immediate results or give instant gratification is hard, but the payoff can be big somewhere down the road (or cross country trail).

The leader of this “tribe” is Coach T.  Quiet and unassuming, he is the unsung hero of this team and decades of other teams who have run long before my boy was even crawling.  He frequently stands at the edge of the race course and quietly encourages his runners as they go by. He gives them advice and suggests subtle tweaks to their form.  They listen because you can see their posture change as they run by.  I’ve thoroughly enjoyed watching him coach my boy, taking his awkward gait to a runner’s form. I find myself wishing Coach could fix my form.  He has been the cross country and track coach since my son’s high school opened.  You can’t go far in this area without running into someone who knows him or knows someone who does.  Kevin Bacon has six degrees of separation, but I’d bet Coach T has TWO degrees of separation.  Coach has an incredible memory.  He remembers a kid’s PR whether it was last season or a season 20 years ago.

Last Spring, at a meet, Coach T collapsed. In the days that followed, he had a stroke. He fought his way back all summer --fighting his way back to coaching the cross country team this fall.  His speech, mobility and cognitive abilities were left intact after the stroke.  That’s pretty amazing.  He does have a complication that prevents him from driving for the time-being. But he isn’t finished coaching.  Parents have been taking turns driving him to factor appointments and to and from practices. He is so grateful for the support.  He jokes that it’s too bad he had to have a stroke to realize how big his support network is. He thanks me profusely (and I’m sure everyone else who helps him) every time I pick him up.  I’m the one who should be thanking him.  It occurred to me yesterday when he was showing me the huge maple tree in his backyard that during all of these car rides, he is telling me his story. Tell me your story.. He has lived in his house since he was 10 years old. They moved here from Ohio, and they brought the maple tree with them to have something from ‘home’ in their yard. That tree takes up a large portion of the backyard now. Tell me your story.

As most of you know, I could talk all day about running.  So can Coach T.  He always asks me about how MY training is going, my current weekly mileage, my long run distance.  I told him I was starting to become tired at this point in the training.  He reminded me that races aren’t won in November, they are won in June and July.  He’s wise—and right.  That reminder made it easier for me to get up this morning and run 9 miles. In a way, my wish to have him coach me, came true.  If I could just get my left leg to not look so wonky on turnover…

I sense Coach T is beginning to wonder how he can keep coaching if he continues to be dependent on us to get him to and from practices and events (and, oh, he is the voice of the football games on Friday nights).  He desperately wants to stick with this group of kids through their senior year.  He sees the potential in them and wants to see it come to fruition.  I don’t know if that’s possible—I really hope it is—but if it isn’t, I know these kids have already learned more from Coach than running.  Things that will stay with them, no matter who their running coach is.  We will keep driving him as long we can. Until the day comes that he decides he can’t coach, I will continue to look forward to hearing more of his story in my car. Tell me your story, Coach.