Us-versus-them funneled down to me-versus-me as each athlete readied to fight his or her own personal battle on the course.
Yesterday morning, for the first time in 18 years of District Cross Country races, I ate breakfast. Now before you think that I’ve somehow transcended above the nerves that come on a big race morning, let me set you straight…for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t coaching. The responsibility of overseeing young endurance athletes on a make-or-break day--assigning bibs, tightening spikes, and speaking starting-line words of confidence—wasn’t mine.
My responsibility this time was to rabbit, and in leading the athletes through their most important 5000 meters of the season so far, I gained a fresh perspective.
There is something absolutely universal about an XC competition that I hadn’t noticed before: All coaches pace—striding back and forth, stopwatches rolling, looking beyond the rabbit with anticipation, shouting quick bursts of strategy and instruction—EVERY LAST ONE OF THEM! Parents are similar, too. Granted, some smile, some cheer, some are obviously stressed, but ALL are looking for “that one face” in the herd. And when they see it…whole new level of cheering! I loved rounding a corner to see a wall of fans at “the perfect spot” waiting to shout their encouragement to the athletes battling behind. No matter the team, commonality was evident. Schools’ flags proudly waved, teammates supported one another, and post-race snacks were devoured…lot of snacks!
Amid all of the similarity, one thing stood out as different. As I sat in the gator at the starting line, waiting for the starter to “turn ‘em loose,” I scanned athletes’ faces. Some were confident, some ready, some calm. Others were obviously nervous. And still others tried to appear confident but were clearly fearful. Each was getting ready to take stride on a similar journey, but each from a different perspective. Us-versus-them funneled down to me-versus-me as each athlete readied to fight his or her own personal battle on the course.
Each competitor shouldered a different role, a unique story, a personal fear unlike any other’s.
Interestingly the looks athletes wore at the starting line would be a good indication of how the race would unfold for them: those ready raced with evident confidence; the nervous visibly settled after a couple of minutes to engage effectively; and most of the visibly fearful, well, they seemed to never fully commit or face their fears. Who can blame the fearful? Failing could result in real consequence: giving your all and having to accept that someone is better, or even worse, reaching a point of actual physical breakdown. Both consequences are terribly painful.
I watched an athlete give her absolute ALL on the course yesterday—actually caught her as she collapsed 100 meters from the finish line. She was done. No more in her tank. She couldn’t see, couldn’t speak clearly, she was finished. She went to a physical place where few are brave enough to go—I’m sure she was afraid to try. But she went; she battled herself and went. Unlike the vast majority of the athletes who competed yesterday, she didn’t reach the finish line. But we all sensed it when watching her…RESPECT.
Might that be a life lesson for us all? When my life’s circumstances leave me facing a me-versus-me moment, I will try to take a lesson from the starting line. I’ll be grateful for moments of calm and run with confidence when I’m fortunate to have it; accept that nerves are natural…and temporary, so keep fighting; and recognize my fear of personal failure and FACE IT.
If we decide never to lose THAT mental battle, we might not make the finish line every time, but respect will abound for EVERY LAST ONE OF US!
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