Thoughts From Three: April Showers


After the success of Jim Vermeulen's XC Journal in the many falls of Cross Country, we've asked again for him to provide some news and notes once a month. Think of these as the thoughts that cross the mind of your average coach. Up from Section 3, we present you with "Thoughts From Three."


We've had tears mixing with spring rain again. Someone has performed poorly in an early-season event, committed a tactical blunder despite warnings or failed to properly prepare--and then teammates and parents have closed in to console. In those moments, I bite my lip and walk the other way.

It's April, the best of times for many team members where the tough weeks of bad-weather training have either begun to wed endurance with speed or to polish technique. Those athletes are going to be fine.

But it's also April, the worst of times for others who must now understand that, like it or not, there's truth to the old saying that good things don't come cheap. Wishing is not a reputable training technique. In April, for those coming up against the hard truths of a hard sport, I try not to compound their problem by diluting natural consequences with excuses or consolations. In this era, we too often shield athletes from the sting of defeat and so strip much of its value.

But things also grow in April. One of those things is confidence. It's nice to hear an athlete talk about an event like she's finally figured it out, like she owns it. The ones who don't want to talk about competing, who want to react to event performances, good or bad, like water off a duck's back, the ones whose only commitment is to remain uncommitted--they are the ones to worry about.

Should athletes feel bad when they don't perform to potential? Sounds about right to me. I might even go out of my way to encourage that. To paraphrase Winston Churchill: you've got regrets? Good. It means that somewhere, sometime, you tried for something that either proved beyond yourself or was the result of an inadequate effort. No lasting shame in either case. The shame comes if you failed to try--or to try again--for anything significant at all, if you played it safe, if you were too easy on yourself. As Denzel Washington once told a commencement audience: "Ease is a greater threat to progress than hardship."

It's April. The tired racers are lined up against the stadium fence, sucking in oxygen while waiting for their event times. I mosey up to one and, forearms dangled over the fence too, lean in close enough to create a semi-private space. With the next event not yet ready for the official's gun, and with everyone else--coaches, athletes, spectators--pausing in positions and ready to play their parts, I have no other place I need to be. "

You know," I say softly enough not be overheard, "despite what teammates or parents or coaches might be saying to you, when all is said and done, you're the only one who decides if running is something you love, something you want to do. I know you're going through a rough stretch, and I know you don't like the fact that others are running stronger than you right now. But I know a few other things too. I know you are talented. And though I know you suspect others are down on you, I know they're not. You're a good competitor, a good teammate. If you stick it out, if you dig in, you're going to be fine. Enjoy this." Then, as matter of factly as I wandered in, I turn and walk away.

So it's April, and another day brings the temperatures up a tad, just what you're allowed to expect. Spring break is in the rear-view mirror; the athletes are in their final school-year stretch. We have a busy day planned preparing for tough league meets and important invitationals ahead. The athletes finish drills, and my assistant and I start directing groups to their work.

To the athlete who asks to start a new event midway through the competitive season, I say no, improve the events you already have.

To the throwers just before they journey off to the circle for their day's work, I remind them no one has yet achieved a sectional championship standard and this is probably a good time to double-down on practice efforts.

To the distance crew assembled on the infield grass, those stalwarts now glaringly unexcited by the prospect of a combination workout featuring their less-favored threshold training, I pile on the grieving by noting that future performance advancements will be asymptotic. The honeymoon period is about over. In May, it's going to take ever harder work to achieve even smaller gains, all of it necessary to come closer to--but never quite touch--that perfect finish line. None of which will stop the attempts of course, so they ought to buckle up.

And to the athletes returning tan and rested from their spring breaks away from the team, I say nothing at all.