Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Season
(with apologies to Wallace Stevens)
I.
Everyone agrees that summer would be, unless
things changed dramatically, what the Maine'ers describe as "a scorcher." We already have some proof of what is to come.
Early July the runners are pushing over track-like trails, sunbaked harrier
thoroughfares that weave through fields of vegetation in varying stages of wilt.
Some trees in the Woods Loop have already adopted that hardened green shade
usually reserved for late August. None of the runners, however, are worrying
much about those harbingers. It's summer. That's enough.
II.
There is no shortage of beauty in
eastern Vermont. For two weeks each
year, my view from a vacation porch spans the Connecticut River valley to the
White Mountains rearing in the distance. I run dirt roads more often than
macadam. From hill-top green meadows, cows with dull eyes watch me pass. Moose
have twice paid our former farm a visit, and if a weather front barges into Mt.
Moosilauki nearby, storm clouds sometimes rip open to release rainbows. But
enough is enough. Coach Gangemi is five and half hours away, cajoling our runners
along their summer miles-and I'm not. Two weeks of splendor is more than enough. I'm ready to get back to what I actually do.
III.
"None of those problems even bother me anymore," a veteran coaching colleague told me years ago. I had related what I thought was a uniquely difficult athlete issue, but Joe was simply shaking his head, allowing a sly smile and telling me, "I always know how they're going to end." So, decades later, when I get the e-mail from the runner who's quitting the team, Joe still impresses me.
IV.
Never mind the team records. Forget the parents who expect the world for their athlete but won't see the world for what it really is. Hands down, what keeps coaches awake most often at night is squandered talent.
V.
Charitable is not a word often associated with coaches. Coaches are known to be motivators, disciplinarians, organizers, maybe even under-appreciated visionaries who regularly spy possibilities on the horizon long before their youthful charges ever catch a glimpse. But charitable can only apply if those others don't, so now I'm trying to decide what should happen after Chris is caught cutting the home course a second time for reasons he won't-or can't-admit. And I already know what the disciplinarian, the standards-bearer, the loyal-to-the-sport guy has to say about that.
VI.
Thank goodness for losing. Coaches and teams who seldom fail run the risk of missing all those interesting questions about what comes next.
VII.
Conceptually, cross-country is a long trail that demands-at the very least--persistence. Practically speaking, if you start early and are still racing late, the sport touches spring, summer and fall. Three seasons. It spans up to six months. Half a year. Half a year is roughly 4% of your average young runner's life-time.
VIII.
"I'm glad you are at least a little nervous," I tell one of my runners on the start line of a big meet. "It's the ones who aren't nervous that worry me."
IX.
From the back field, after monitoring the racers, I return to check the finish area workers, leaving Henri out there to complete the empty loops alone. I'm not worried. Henri will get back; he always does, slow-chugging the distance for as long as it takes, which at the beginning of the season was a considerable amount of time. By these last weeks, though, that considerable amount of time is far less-almost eleven minutes--and both of us share similar ideas about winning.
X.
When first-year runner Kerry declines a final race and notifies me she is done, I don't think she just means finished for the season. I think she means done.
XI
Is it a bird's nest or a squirrel's winter refuge high up there in
that tree, visible now that November has finally opened the view? Sean, with a
too-quick pronouncement, is left to defend the increasingly indefensible. The
girls stand off to one side and watch with bemused silence as the guys, doing
what they've done so well all season, swirl around like a ground nest of
hornets that's just been kicked and vehemently argue one or the other choice.
Two things I know. First, no one is shimmying up that slender ash to render a
final verdict. Second, they can argue as long as they want because we're done
for the day.
XII.
"If you don't mind me asking," I say to Ryan at the team banquet, "why did you change your mind and decide to run indoor track this winter? I heard you are a pretty good basketball player." Ryan's a quiet team member, tall, and of carefully chosen words. He takes a pause, then tells me, "I like being with these guys."
XIII.
Along the Woods Loop, all but the most obstinate trees have shaken off their leaves, laying down a lush golden carpet over which six runners, still pushing the season, pass with hardly a care in the world.