Coaches

Man, training without a coach pretty much blows.

I had some great coaches over the years, starting with a very encouraging, fun-loving one in Middle School (the aforementioned Jim Morgan), followed by the hardass, rub-some-dirt-on-it Larry Hale in my early high school years. He was succeeded by a laid-back, fit, and very knowledgeable Van Townsend, and I'd have to credit those two guys with forming me as a runner.

Hale was intimidating and demanding. He'd micromanage your workout paces, shouting how many seconds slow or fast you were to pace. If guys on the team seemed unmotivated or non-competitive, he was happy to bust them down to the JV squad. One of my most vivid running memories was of hearing him shouting "TWO SLOW!" on many of my workouts, which always sounded like "TOO SLOW!" It was Hale's defiant my-way-or-the-highway approach to coaching that made me cowboy up and reach my potential. My dad fondly remembers Coach Hale asking me how I improved so much over my freshman year. I don't recall the moment, but apparently I replied, "Coach, you pissed me off."

Not all athletes respond to coaches like that, however--and that's important for any aspiring coaches to know! Townsend was nearly a polar opposite of Coach Hale. He was an encouraging listener, and he believed more in the psychology of running than the mathematics (to illuminate: Hale was a Calculus teacher and Townsend taught English). He wanted our heads to be in the race, saying "Run the first half with your head, the last with your heart."

Both those coaches were competitive as hell, and a guy like me thrived on their challenges and encouragement. I learned how to enjoy running from Morgan, I learned proper running form from Hale, and proper mental prep from Townsend. When I became a coach in 2003, I tried to mesh all the approaches of those high school coaches with the dedication and depth of knowledge about the sport that I acquired from my college coach, Gary Andrew.

I could really use any one of those guys right now. You don't realize how difficult it is to coach yourself until you try. I've even been a coach, for the love of Pete! How can I not motivate and train myself?!?

In retrospect, I learned a whole helluva lot from all four of those coaches. It's amazing how formative an experience one gleans from being coached. That speaks to the role's importance. I hope I was able to influence my athletes in the same beneficial way that my predecessors influenced me. I tried to be as self-aware as possible, so I knew when I was being a take-no-crap hardass, and I knew when I was being supportive and understanding. I didn't want to kill anyone's passion for the sport or discourage them from understanding how much pain they could take in pursuit of personal bests or victory. I'd say the best lesson a running coach can share with his aspiring runners is how to take the pain. More on that later.

Humble Origins

I want to treat this blog as helpful testimony or emotional exorcism rather than verbal masturbation of "the glory days." In that effort, I'll tell my earliest running memory. It's a humbling one.

I became a runner in the way many other youths did (and still do today, I'm sure): to be fit for another sport. I was a soccer addict in my youth, and it was my dad's suggestion that I join the cross country team in the fall so I could be fitter and faster once soccer season rolled around. I was an unremarkable sixth-grader, short and snaggle-toothed as I was. I was even less remarkable--if that were possible--as a runner. When I entered my seventh-grade year at a new school, I thought cross country would be just a fun after-school outlet with my friends.

Somehow things were different at this new school. The sport seemed more important and competitive. Our team's coach, the legendary Baylor Wrestling icon Jim Morgan, made everything fun, but he was a competitor. The day before my first real cross country meet, I felt the pressure to perform. I was petrified that I'd fail, that I'd disappoint my coach, my team, my family, and any girls that might be watching. On meet morning, I remember feeling a cold sweat as I packed my uniform. To this day I recall maybe one other time that I've felt that nervous and apprehensive (my first day as a high school teacher).

That afternoon I did fail. I did disappoint. What happened? My nerves nearly made me sick in the locker room after school, and that gave me the idea that I should just "be" sick. I left my friends to their pre-race prep while I found a phone to call my dad. I told him I felt nauseous and wanted to go home. I thought he'd sympathize and help me feel better about being a coward. I was wrong.

My dad gave me the Disappointment Talk. Surely you know this one; the talk that kills part of your soul because you expected--even wanted --to be yelled at. My dad believed something was psychologically wrong with me, such that he called our school's counselor and made an appointment for me. Ashamed, mortified, broken, I entered her office the next morning and was forced to talk about my anxieties and what made me avoid the race.

That memory makes me feel ashamed to this day, but I think I took the best from it. I've come a long way since then. I'm no shrink, but I'd venture a guess that every competition I've entered since that day has been an effort not to disappoint my father. My parents have always been my greatest advocates and fans, and in some twisted way even my dad's concern that I was a nutjob head case was meant to make me a better man. One thing's been certain: I never again ran away from competition...unless I was in the lead.

Welcome and Acknowledgements

{Sigh} I joined the blogging ranks. I tried to fight the urge, because the activity seemed irrelevant and self-aggrandizing. But the encouragement of a few friends, the example of a few others, and, essentially, the fact that I have too much time on my hands all helped tip the scale. So, welcome!

This blog plays off the title of a 1978 novel by John L. Parker Jr. titled Once a Runner. Unlike the novel's protagonist, who laments and reminisces about having once been a runner, I'm using this blog both as reminiscence and inspiration. My first era of competitive running ended in my collegiate senior year, but I'm now trying to reclaim a semblance of that racing physique and mentality. It's tough as hell. I'm 28, consistently sore, considerably less agile, and far more ornery and unmotivated. I have no coach. I have no team. I have no--well, I never had fans, so that's no change.

Anyway, I'm inspired to do this by two athletes and good friends, who also have blogs of their own(see links at right). Zach Winchester and Molly Nunn are both highly disciplined and self-motivated competitors, with specific goals in mind. Zach wishes to make the 2010 Olympics in the men's triathlon, while Molly wants to make the Olympic trials in the women's 5k. Their blogs chronicle their training and performances, so I encourage you to read and follow their endeavors.

Unlike these two kids, I'm not looking forward. I don't have any definitive goals or lofty expectations, nor do I plan to treat my body as a temple, high-performance machine, or [insert witty analogy here]. No, I'm running now to recall the great memories, friends, coaches, training, heartbreaks, and highs. My life has revolved around running in some way since 7th grade, and I can't divest my life experiences from my running ones. Thus, this blog is mostly for me, but I trust that if you're reading this you'll find a part of yourself in it. I hope you'll find something helpful or inspiring. I also hope you'll find something frustrating or shocking. I'm going to write what I recall and feel, "warts and all," as they say in the Deep South. Feel free to respond, disagree, or denigrate--just know that I reserve the right to burn you down (verbally, mind ye).

And with that, we're off!