Mama Bird

Memories of coaching XC

I hit the asphalt after a full day of meetings. It was 10 p.m. as my feet went pit-pat on the dark road, my heart fluttering in my chest. 25 kids—adults really—who were under my care. I flapped my elbows, like a mama bird ready to protect her babies, and jogged up a hill. On the downhill, my adrenaline soared with the excitement of the upcoming season. I hit the next mile in under six minutes as I pictured Soup in a race, running behind the lead gator. Will ran a few feet behind him in the chase pack.

My mind flashed to the day before—of the day that had yet to come—where I gave a speech, a pep talk, a final plea.

“Pressure is an illusion,” I said. “From now until the gun goes off, make a movie in your mind that shows you succeeding. In the movie, you get through all of the hard parts. You cover moves. You hold the pace. And you unleash your final kick.” I scanned the team and made eye contact with the ones I knew would test every one of my words. They were the ones who would fly. “You don't imagine the race being easy. If you did that, you would crumble in the real race when it got tough. You imagine Hell, and you imagine going through Hell and coming out on top. See yourself gritting your teeth, pumping your arms. Watch as you pass runner after runner.”

Headlights hit my face and brought me back to reality. I glanced at my watch. Another sub-6 minute mile was run. I knew I should slow down. I wasn't in good enough shape to run one more like that, but my feet struck the ground to the rhythm of my heart. Lovestruck. I was falling in love with the thrill of coaching. A turn approached. After that, I’d arrive at the lake where I planned to have them run mile repeats. My glutes grew heavy, but I continued like an unstoppable metronome. At the beginning of the lake loop, I stopped. I placed my hands over my head. The moon made white ripples in the water. The reflection of the trees looked like sea monsters. I listened to the hoot of an owl and breathed in the humidity. Then I saw them, the boys first, lining up in front of me, waiting on my signal for them to go. Crandall took off the imaginary line last. I yelled at him to stick with the others in an attempt to run his sandbagging tendencies out of him. The girls huddled up behind. They stretched and giggled—Bobbi and Emily especially. They made me feel young—and happy. I was young and happy. I took out my second watch and told the girls to line up. They’d go before the boys finished their first rep. They had class to get to. That's why we were here before dawn with headlamps on our foreheads. Kaleigh ran to the front in a solo effort which was typical. Baylee, Rachel, and Abbie hustled not far behind her, their legs synchronized. Bobbi, the pole vaulter, was there too, but she would soon pass them. Then she’d pass Kaleigh and lead the workout. Hannah, Madeline, and Emily ran the pace they knew they could hold. They wouldn't slow. They wouldn't pick it up.

I thought about how I’d pull the frontrunner aside. How I’d tell her she shouldn't go out so fast. How I’d encourage her to work with her teammates and how her average running time would be better if she started a few seconds slower. But I doubted she would listen. I assumed she wouldn't be leaving the nest.

The owl hooted again, and I turned around to walk back to where I came from—where I ran. Not where I ran from minutes before but where I ran for the team that I now coached. The balls of my feet flapped down with each step. My chest swelled up, and I opened my mouth to yawn. It was time to feed the hungry chicks. Only a few would eat what I gave them. Only a few would fly. How I delighted in watching them fly!