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."
Head Counts
"Crisp," I told them. "I want today's work to be crisp." I wanted their runs--only some low-intensity general conditioning and steady-state work--to be 'crisp' because they needed it that way. We were only three days out from Sectionals, and the hard work of the week was behind them. For most, who would finish their competitive season on the same VVS course where it began in September, the proverbial hay was in the barn. We just needed it to stay there fresh.
That last hard work had been good work, with decent threshold running and a 2 mile test the previous day to sharpen all the systems. The test times(which were less relevant than the effort levels) had been decent, and several key runners had stepped up their performances. Still, a lethargy seemed to hover over some others, and I harbored a vague sense that, despite the rising drama of a sectional championship, some had quietly begun to count days. There was nothing I could put my finger on. Empty glances, slightly altered body postures, casual comments--all were small suggestive signs that some of the runners might not be so much gathering up for a big push as holding on. It worried me.
Then too, attrition had taken one final swipe at us. Pat's pace had fallen steadily off in the past weeks, but determined to battle Jack and Paul for a spot on our allowed 10-runner sectional roster, he'd soldiered on, that is until a doctor's appointment abruptly ended his season. A stress fracture--caught early thank god. Next, Paul himself showed up with a knee brace, insisting it's O.K., it's O.K. something I've dealt with every season since modified cross-country. It will go away. I just shook my head.
Vinny started coughing. He came in the next afternoon with his diagnosis: bronchitis. On medication and still hacking, he insisted on continuing because he was, well, Vinny. And finally, Jack had to fall out of the threshold work on Monday, pale as a sheet and explaining to me, "I think I'm coming down with something." He certainly was. He returned on Tuesday with slightly more color in his lips and his doctor's verdict: pneumonia. But he was also on meds, and his doctor allowed that he could finish out the season, so he there he was, struggling along and hoping. For sectionals, then, we would likely have athletes racing a tough 5k with bronchitis, a bad knee and pneumonia. And some complain that kids today aren't tough.
The girls were certainly not immune. By early October, our nominal #5 runner--that critical racer--was out. An existing back injury had done Ally in, flaring again and relegating her to cheerleader. That meant Megan had to step up, but instead, in the subsequent meets she seemed to be losing steam. Quickly we found out why: anemia. Given the typical protracted trajectory of medication effects, I gave her the option of either racing our final invitational to end her season or continuing on in a diminished state. She came up to me following the Marathon Invitational, pale and exhausted. "I want to finish," she said. Regardless, Rachel had already notched her way up the depth chart and been awarded a scoring role that, back in August, she probably never expected. But her training got faster. The 4-5 gap began to shrink. The question was simply that typical question of time--or lack thereof.
Sometimes, it's not rocket science, just common sense. Usually, a philosophical attitude is the only reasonable choice when faced with no choice. Both teams were going to end up where they chose to on the VVS course. My expectations were only one part of all that--and probably a small part. So, I spared them most of the rah-rah stuff that actually telegraphs doubt and tried to keep to the tangibles, like having enough extra layers for the raw weather that would greet them on sectionals day. And once they stood on their Saturday start lines, the directives to both teams were kept few and simple: Mentally, keep the race in front of you. When it gets hard, tell yourself what you want, not how you feel. That's easy to say, of course, when you're not out there taking elbows in the woods or being unexpectedly gapped at a critical juncture and facing a moment of doubt. But, leaving them alone to enjoy the struggle and the sport, I headed out on to the course to become a spectator.
After her race, Megan was pale and exhausted again but pleased that, on her own terms, she had finished what she started in August. Hunter just smiled as he displayed the bruise on his left shoulder. Rachel--I couldn't tell what Rachel was thinking, but I hoped it was something about being proud. She'd earned that with an all-time course PR and an almost two minute improvement from her September finish. Both teams, it turns out, did better than some had predicted.
We were on the bus by early afternoon, heading home. Out the window, I watched V's of geese heading south toward their winter arrangements. While the fanfare of our sport moves on, across the state, the vast majority of high school harriers now ponder afternoons without trails and woods and mud. It's a welcome relief for some, but I suspect many will wake Sunday morning with a tinge of regret.
That's a good thing.