On our morning walk, my wife asked me if I had ever been a morning person. I thought about it for a moment and said that the summer between my freshman and sophomore year in high school, my Dad and I got up early Monday through Friday. He’d drive, and I’d run about a mile and a half to Community Park, where our home cross-country course was set up as a warm-up. I’d then run about three miles hard for time. It was the only time I could remember actively being a morning person until my wife and I started a morning workout routine.
It got me thinking about my eight years running cross-country in high school and college.
As I was entering my freshman year in high school, my uncles (who played professional baseball and coached baseball and basketball for years) suggested I go out for cross-country to prepare for basketball season. Reluctantly, I showed up for my first high school cross-country practice, not knowing the first thing about competitive running.
That first practice was running on the track until we got bored. I remember Jeff Kyle, our number one runner and Journey enthusiast, complaining loudly, “Run? On the track?!” I had never been sorer in my life afterward. Soaking in the tub and nursing tight quads and broken blisters, I didn’t think this was the right thing for me. However, my Dad encouraged me to keep at it.
I ended up twisting my ankle in my first race and finishing dead last. I was inexperienced and had no idea how to pace myself for three miles. Talking to my Dad after my disastrous first race was not fun. Not because he expected perfection or demanded excellence, I was just embarrassed. Vowing to do better, I steadily worked harder in each practice. I never finished last again.
Toward the end of my freshman campaign, there was a unique all-day meet in Mr. Vernon, Illinois. There wasn’t just one big race. It was set up for all the number 1 runners on each team to race, then the number 2 runners, and so on, with the rest of the team racing at the end. As you might have guessed, I was not in the top five on my varsity cross-country team and expected to run in the “rest of the team” race. However, on this day, I got called up because someone on the team couldn’t make the meet. I had no time to mentally prepare.
Additionally, my family drove down to watch this race. So, my parents and my brother were there to cheer me on. My recollection is that I felt good that day. The course was flat with several trees and a long stretch and turn. I have no idea what my time was, but I did finish in the top 15 of all the number 5 runners. It was the best I’d done all year, and it was the moment I fell I love with high school cross-country.
When basketball try-outs came around, I quickly realized I was not going to make the team. Still, I was in excellent shape. Plus, I’d found a way to participate in high school sports since I was never going to play football or basketball. I liked cross-country, but I wasn’t naturally good at it, so I wanted to get better.
The summer after my freshman year, I worked with my Dad in the mornings. On Sunday, I’d run five or six miles. For fun. I was only a little bit better by the time my sophomore cross-country campaign rolled around in the Fall. I was still among the top three or four runners on the team. However, my times were significantly better, and I earned my Most Improved award that year. Overall, I developed into a decent runner over my high school career.
In college, I decided at the very last moment whether I was going to run cross-country or not. I had seen the open call for student-athletes and walked down to the Student Union. There was Al Rosenberger, Coach Rosy, sitting on one of the couches. He had on an Illinois College baseball hat, a buttoned-down shirt, and jeans. In his late 60s, he was acting like a kid excited about Christmas, unlike what I had envisioned for a college coach. It was just the second year of the program, and they needed athletes to come out, and I fit the bill perfectly.
His sales pitch worked. As a college sophomore, I was the MVP of the team. As a college senior, I was the team captain. I ended up being the first four-year letter-winner in cross-country at Illinois College. I even held the four-mile record for a year.
I’ve had coaches who yelled, mentored, pushed, and couldn’t care less. I’ve seen my Dad coach a bunch of middle school kids in tournament baseball games, and I’ve seen my brother coach up his frosh-soph baseball team and instill a fire in a high school football special teams squad as they played for a state championship.
I’ve been lucky enough to have people in my life who believed in me. My Dad believed in me and took time out of his day to help coach me. Coach Rosy believed in me. I was saddened to hear that Coach passed away in 2002.
Take a moment and thank that parent, coach, mentor, or other people in your life who helped, inspired, or encouraged you. Give them a call. Send them a note. They’ll be glad to hear from you.
Be seeing you.
