Camillus NY - 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 this summer. 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."
Mud, Miles, Rainbows and Mud
The girls were wrapping up a good week. They had, as we say, "elevated" in their Wednesday league championship, rebounding from a mediocre performance at the Manhattan Invitational just four days before to best three other teams who had previously beaten them in dual meets. They were beginning to discover that, as Matt Fitzgerald stated, "Their advantage lies not in having more to give, but rather in being able to give more of what they have." We sometimes mistakenly refer to these people as over-achievers.
My late brother-in-law once insisted, "There are no dress rehearsals." In our world, that means every mile in cross-country counts. Some are more strategic--and thus potentially more beneficial--than others, but the intent is always to maximize what's in front of you. Put another way, when you're not racing every Saturday, you can get in some terrific Friday workouts. This Friday, I hoped, would be one of those.
Mentally prepared for a 'gear day' of layers and protection against the expected cold rain, the teams instead stood mid-afternoon in brisk sunlight, our back training field aflame with the pastels of autumn. We had talked a little before heading out. I had reminded them of the 'mentalism' of their racing at this point of the season. I shared the quote of Tallulah Bankhead: "There's always going to be pain in life. Suffering's optional." A few heads had nodded to that, so they loaded their water bottles and spikes in the back of the Forester and headed out on their warm-up miles. Gingerly, I had maneuvered the car down the connector trail to our training post for the day, a grassy area below the overgrown benches of the outdoor amphitheater that would serve as the start/finish of their Woods and Outer Loops mile circuit. Just three times around this day, they'd been told, but three times hard. Trail conditions were marginal, and the athletes were at the tough end of three tough days in a row. This would be a good test.
Coach Gangemi arrived as the runners began drills. Laughing, he described how his jeep had almost gone sideways down the connector. I circulated among the runners, congratulating some on their Thursday threshold paces and chatting with others about their goals for the day. What I wanted was for Carly to push the middle repeat and for Kendall to shadow Maria and for Rachel to stay close to Sarah--all those directives driven by an urgency I alone harbored, an urgency evoked by the intuitive sense of a season tilting one way or another, depending on training, motivations and at least a small dash of luck.
After drills, I pointed down to where renegade apple trees had been unloading their annual offerings onto our training trail. "Two stride-outs to the green apples, then two sprints to the red apples," I instructed. A dark wedge of clouds had crept over the western horizon, but no one else was noticing.
The warm-up complete, many donned the spikes I'd recommended and grouped into training squads. "O.K.," I said simply, and David, a group all his own, was off. Everyone had their assignments: go at your weakness. If you are getting out too slowly, find the race in the workout, as Will Freeman suggests, and go out faster on the first interval. If you're soft in the middle, trust your training and push that one. If you tend to fall off the finish or lack a surge-to-kick, start controlling your perception of effort instead of letting it control you. Mind over muscle.
As David powered away, the next group jumped out, then the next until Coach Gangemi and I stood alone, finally able to discern the muffled cheers of the modified runners off on other trails. This was their annual Mud Day, an event that probably bolstered their recruiting more than any invitational victories. At some point, they'd emerge, plastered in mud but with white gleaming smiles. Their parents had been warned to stock towels in their cars. A post hosing-down back at the school would limit the upholstery damage be helpful, but it would be bracing.
While the moddies were lathering themselves in mud, our runners managed to gather some color of their own. No one went down on the first interval mile of the Woods/Outer loop mile circuit, but some returned with mud streaks traced across their calves. Coach Gangemi and I silently noted the order of finishes, making mental notes and monitoring their short recoveries. "You knew going in the legs would be tired," Hunter announced to no one in particular as his group milled around, recovering. Hunter was right. After strong races on Wednesday, with threshold and L.A.T. training yesterday, today's de-facto condition was pre-fatigue. How they reacted to that, mentally and physically, would dictate the value of their afternoon work.
Clouds edged in and stole the lowering sunshine. They set off on #2, some intent on challenging their 'weak in the middle' issues, while others who had already pushed outside their comfort zones by stressing the first mile now resolved to what lay ahead. Everyone, though, was bent to the task, immersed in the work and at least appreciating the 'short and sweet' nature of their day. The groups had strung out by this point, so comings and goings were constant. As the slower groups began the third mile, the clouds crept closer.
Quality-day workout records, if you keep them, are like miniaturized physical and mental profiles, often telling you more about runners than they can tell you themselves. Carly did in fact push the middle, recording her fastest time on the second interval while running the other two strong enough to create an inverted bookend effect and positive thinking for future races. Sean had found something else. A yo-yo racer for much of the season, he went negative with a marked determination that generated a twenty-five second range from first to last. It was the best indicator of growing confidence we'd yet seen. Some, though, were still nibbling at the edges of their potential. The hardest place in a race or workout to take chances, the sports psychologists will point out, is up front where the finish is still a long way off and the mind is feverishly calculating energy expenditures against perceived reserves, usually erring on the side of caution. Maria and Kendall both overthought the first interval, running tentatively, but then they dropped the hammers in #2 and #3 for huge negative tallies. Pat and Tony both won the metronome sweepstakes, running with minuscule one second ranges and demonstrating the pace-power they were looking for. As the last runners circumnavigated their course, the rain came quickly, sending some runners scurrying for available rain gear. But just as quick, the offending cloud slid by, leaving them standing in a sun shower and spying rainbows over the crest of our school hill.
As they grouped and recorded their numbers under the cover of my opened tailgate, the moddies finally appeared and paraded by. They had no modified football or soccer players to circle this day--their annual tradition---so our varsity members stood in, clapping and cheering as they pranced past. Once the procession concluded, and with our runners off on their recovery run, Coach G and I considered routes back up to our back playing field where we'd meet the team for strides. The Connector Trail, chewed up by both of us, was out. I suggested we stay off the soccer fields; tire tracks might draw the ire of higher ups. It was either around and up the far Narnia Trail or attack the steeper Amphitheater Trail above us. I was game, dropping the Forester into low gear and slithering up and over onto School Hill. I gave no thought to Coach Gangemi behind me in his Jeep.
Down on the playing field, I gathered the runners for their strides. No Coach G had arrived, and I at first supposed he went the long way via Narnia. But a team member soon jogged out to me to announce that Coach was stuck above the Amphitheater. Another brought my cell phone from the car and there was the explanatory text message: "Stuck." We quickly completed the strides, and I drove up the hill, parking and walking down to find the jeep off the side of the trail, wheel treads stuffed slick with mud. Coach stood nearby, slightly chagrined. "Maybe I could pull you back onto the trail from below," I concluded after surveying his predicament. I hiked back up to bring my car around. After finding some orange plastic fencing behind the school that would make a good traction pad for the jeep's tires, I cautiously descended the Connector Trail, nearly going sideways myself this time, and then backed my way up the Amphitheater Trail. By this time, a small crowd of runners had assembled trail side. They were finished for the day and could have gone home, but they weren't about to forego the entertainment.
Coach had meanwhile summoned modified Coach Wojtaszek with his truck. He backed cautiously from above, and we concluded the best chance was a pull from him with the plastic fence for traction. They rigged the tow chains while I laid out the fence beneath the front wheels. With our 'spectators' lining the trail and a few pushers on the back of the jeep, Coach W crept forward and tightened the chains. I gave the signal and the wheels spun. To the cheers of our crowd, Coach Gangemi slowly slipped and churned his way upward until reaching firmer footing, out of trouble. Coach W gathered his chains and was off to monitor the last of the moddie runner hose-downs. A runner helped me roll up the mud laden fence mats and toss them in the back of my Forester. Our satisfied crowd slowly dissipated, the day's complimentary spectacle concluded.
"Well, that was something you'll never see at a football practice," one of them decided with a smug smile before heading home.