The perfect race
Decisions. It was all about decisions.
As the bus pulled out of the parking lot, carrying our track team to the state meet, I wanted a few moments to chat with the busload of young and excited athletes. Not just my distance runners but sprinters and field event contestants alike. On the last day of practice, Cody, a team leader, mentioned how motivating it was to have seen the initials "TBD" beside a listing of championships won by various school teams during this year. "To be decided," he explained, "means that we all need to decide right now that we will win the honor." He was right. Now it was my turn to talk about what it meant to decide.
One after another, my distance runners stepped onto the track to race and stepped off the track with honor. Personal records fell like rain. "I've never felt that way before," senior Cristen gushed. "It was as if I was watching myself run, lap after lap. I didn't want to stop." I watched them pick off runners in front of them on the back stretch, tucking in before the curve. They ran fast and smart, crossing the line and running into their personal record books while scoring points for the team.
Late in the day and with few races left, Trey took to the start line of the 3200 meter run. This junior, full of potential and an insatiable desire to improve, had his eyes set on breaking the magic ten minute mark, just narrowly eclipsed by three short seconds in prior races. He had practiced well, running ever more smoothly, efficiently and faster with each and every day. I could feel it. Today was his day.
The gun sounded and the pack in this top heat started off. Trey was toward the back as he settled into the quick pace. On each back stretch, a lonely piece of real estate, I coached from behind the fence, encouraging him to pick off another runner. I hit the lap button on my watch each time I saw him pass the start line. After half the distance, he was a full three seconds faster than his race goal which is no easy matter. Lap 5, 6, and 7 saw the young, talented runner move up into fourth place. He had this. My own excitement grew with each fluid stride. He passed by for the 8th and final time, quickly gaining on the runner now in third place. The pace was furious and intense. Every muscle, every cell, was fully engaged, his focus piercing. Now, I ran in the opposite direction on the outside of fenced oval to meet him at the finish. He was running the perfect race. The end was sure to be joyous.
A battle ensued down the homestretch of this grueling two-mile run. Neck and neck, shoulder to shoulder, Trey and the third place runner contested the race. Trey pulled ahead, closing in on the finish line. He gained several yards on the other runner, transiently capturing the third spot. But then, he stumbled and my heart went into my throat. Ever so briefly, he straightened, only to have his legs come out from under him. Down he went, hard. The crowd gasped. "Nooooo. . ." I remember yelling to no one in particular. I fought my way through the spectators, trying to get to him. "Out of my way," I screamed. "That's my runner!" Trey struggled to stand but could not. Now, just 10 yards from the finish, he flailed on the track as the runner behind him passed by. Somehow, someway, he found the line as he crawled forward. Then, he collapsed in a molten heap. The time was 10:03. The crowd, watching in suspense, hushed.
Arriving in the next moment, Trey was heaving, trying desperately to find his breath. His face was white, lips blue. He writhed on the ground in agony, his eyes seeming wild and scared. "I was so close. So close," he whispered.
A crowd of other coaches gathered as we turned him onto his back, legs elevated. I knelt beside him, now more of a mother than a coach. "Trey, try to slow your breathing," I softly advised. Hyperventilating was not helping his condition. He looked at me, his eyes communicating deeply, and did as I asked. We perfectly understood each other. He had run deep and long. He had gone to that place where few dare venture. I was glad my own eyes were hidden behind sunglasses. I felt them well with tears of joy and respect as I witnessed this runner push to and beyond his limit with courage and honor.
It was a slow progression to get Trey upright. Gone were the muscle glycogen stores, gone was any reserve. Slowly, the blue tinge around his lips was replaced with pale color in his face. He looked drained, completely empty. The crowd rose in a thunderous ovation when this runner finally took to his feet. I held onto the young man as he began with faltering steps, making our way back toward our team tent. The lengthy applause continued, and rightly so.
Trey is a warrior. A warrior who had entered the battle prepared to act on his decision to achieve a big, bodacious, bold goal. It was his decision to reach deep inside and explore the depths of his soul, the depth of his commitment. He had chosen to ignore the pain, the agony of oxygen-depleted muscles and heaving lungs, to go beyond and into the abyss.
Trey ran a perfect race...including the ending. No other race will be remembered as well, no other athlete respected so fully. On his arm was written a scripture verse but his honor, dignity, and courage clearly confirmed that testimony and strength of will. It was his God who enabled him to venture into the darkness and return to the light.
Thank you, Trey, for an object lesson of enormous magnitude. It will be forever remembered and has sealed my continued commitment and privilege to coach. I wouldn't ever want to miss something like this.
As the bus pulled out of the parking lot, carrying our track team to the state meet, I wanted a few moments to chat with the busload of young and excited athletes. Not just my distance runners but sprinters and field event contestants alike. On the last day of practice, Cody, a team leader, mentioned how motivating it was to have seen the initials "TBD" beside a listing of championships won by various school teams during this year. "To be decided," he explained, "means that we all need to decide right now that we will win the honor." He was right. Now it was my turn to talk about what it meant to decide.
To the exact day and three years prior I had written a piece entitled "Decisions." I scribed, ". . .The point to remember is that we must choose to extend ourselves and then commit to do it even when it is scary, intimidating, or painful. But we must also realize that doing this in our own power will likely fail. Thankfully, God has promised to fully equip us for each task. . . Set goals that will push you beyond your own limits and into God’s limitless realm." (Pace Yourself: 366 Devotions From the Daily Grind, May 20)
As I read the story aloud, the mood was somber, anticipating what may lay ahead. I continued. "You need to embrace the fear. Go deep inside to a place where you have never been, never explored. For it is only there you will optimize the talent God has given you." I concentrated hard not to cry, nearly overcome at the prospect each of the young athletes faced. Would they go to that place? Would they push the line further, hurt a little harder, feel the pure satisfaction of a 100% commitment? Few athletes really know what that means. Only a handful have experienced that rare encounter with the impossible becoming possible. But I never anticipated what the day would bring.
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| Photo by Gabe LaMartina |
One after another, my distance runners stepped onto the track to race and stepped off the track with honor. Personal records fell like rain. "I've never felt that way before," senior Cristen gushed. "It was as if I was watching myself run, lap after lap. I didn't want to stop." I watched them pick off runners in front of them on the back stretch, tucking in before the curve. They ran fast and smart, crossing the line and running into their personal record books while scoring points for the team.
Late in the day and with few races left, Trey took to the start line of the 3200 meter run. This junior, full of potential and an insatiable desire to improve, had his eyes set on breaking the magic ten minute mark, just narrowly eclipsed by three short seconds in prior races. He had practiced well, running ever more smoothly, efficiently and faster with each and every day. I could feel it. Today was his day.
The gun sounded and the pack in this top heat started off. Trey was toward the back as he settled into the quick pace. On each back stretch, a lonely piece of real estate, I coached from behind the fence, encouraging him to pick off another runner. I hit the lap button on my watch each time I saw him pass the start line. After half the distance, he was a full three seconds faster than his race goal which is no easy matter. Lap 5, 6, and 7 saw the young, talented runner move up into fourth place. He had this. My own excitement grew with each fluid stride. He passed by for the 8th and final time, quickly gaining on the runner now in third place. The pace was furious and intense. Every muscle, every cell, was fully engaged, his focus piercing. Now, I ran in the opposite direction on the outside of fenced oval to meet him at the finish. He was running the perfect race. The end was sure to be joyous.
 |
| Photo by Gabe LaMartina |
 |
| Photo by Gabe LaMartina |
Arriving in the next moment, Trey was heaving, trying desperately to find his breath. His face was white, lips blue. He writhed on the ground in agony, his eyes seeming wild and scared. "I was so close. So close," he whispered.
A crowd of other coaches gathered as we turned him onto his back, legs elevated. I knelt beside him, now more of a mother than a coach. "Trey, try to slow your breathing," I softly advised. Hyperventilating was not helping his condition. He looked at me, his eyes communicating deeply, and did as I asked. We perfectly understood each other. He had run deep and long. He had gone to that place where few dare venture. I was glad my own eyes were hidden behind sunglasses. I felt them well with tears of joy and respect as I witnessed this runner push to and beyond his limit with courage and honor.
 |
| Photo by Gabe LaMartina |
 |
| Photo by Gabe LaMartina |
Trey ran a perfect race...including the ending. No other race will be remembered as well, no other athlete respected so fully. On his arm was written a scripture verse but his honor, dignity, and courage clearly confirmed that testimony and strength of will. It was his God who enabled him to venture into the darkness and return to the light.
Thank you, Trey, for an object lesson of enormous magnitude. It will be forever remembered and has sealed my continued commitment and privilege to coach. I wouldn't ever want to miss something like this.
Comments
Of the billions of experiences we all have only a few really stand out, and I am sure this one will remain at the forefront,
thanks for coaching,