In the next article in our series on coaches, Aaron Powers shares his memories of Coach J, whose lessons have become part of the writer’s life.
When I was about to enter my freshman year of high school, my 14-year-old mind didn’t quite comprehend how formative the next four years would be, especially for my character and personality. I was mostly reserved, quiet, unassuming, and content to be so. I had participated in both school and club-sponsored sports from a young age, and had had various coaches, including my father and friends’ fathers.
I decided, during the summer between 8th and 9th grade, that I would sign up for the high school cross country team. My older sister had participated a few years prior, and I’d been to quite a few meets. I’d had a decent growth spurt, and my mother said my lanky physique would be suited to distance running.
I remember that first early morning (voluntary) run at our local golf course. It was 6 AM on a July morning, the time chosen because July days in Nebraska get warm and humid very quickly. Our coach, Rick Jeffery, met us with a smile and an enthusiasm most of us probably didn’t share. I think I ran one circuit of the front nine that day, and wondered why I’d thought distance running was a good sport to try.
Coach J, as we called him, was superb at encouraging everyone, from the top varsity runner to the quiet freshman. Both the boys’ and girls’ teams trained together and camaraderie occurred somewhat easily. There were jokes and pranks and Coach would laugh with us most of the time. But we all understood that there was a seriousness to this running business. Pushing one’s physical and mental boundaries were of paramount importance to a distance runner. I was never top dog, nor did I probably want to be, but Coach was proud if you were putting forth the effort to better yourself and improve on your time every race. If you weren’t trying, Coach knew it, and would gently, but firmly, call you out on it. He never backed down from challenging you to be better.
Every pre-race eve, we would meet at Coach’s house for a team spaghetti supper, in order to “carb up” for the next day’s race. It was another chance for the team to bond and get to know each other, and I remember feeling that companionship at the starting line the next day. You lined up in a large group, your teammates next to you, poised to take on the other schools’ teams. The gun would sound and you’d be off. The pack would thin out as some advanced and others fell back. But when you ran alongside a teammate, you gave unspoken encouragement for them to keep pace with you, and they’d return that encouragement.
That’s something I feel has stuck with me in the decade that’s passed since I graduated. Coach J initiated that encouragement and it sunk in to all of us. He never let you get off easy, and always urged for you to push harder, to see how far you could go. Practices were tough and tiring, and at the time, I thought two-a-days were a terrible idea. But as I began to understand how distance running was shaping me as a person, I could appreciate the mental and physical challenges it offered. When I suffered a leg injury my senior year, Coach wouldn’t let me feel sorry for myself, even though he knew that I’d probably run my last high school race. I continued to attend the races and my role as an encourager became even more important.
Cross-country taught me discipline and perseverance. It was a long time before I ran another 5K race, but the lessons Coach J and distance running taught me translated into applicable life practices. When you think you’ve reached the extent of your potential, there’s more to be found. When you’re exhausted and want to quit, that’s when you find the next gear, and – as Coach encouraged us to do at the end of every race – run harder than you have up until that point. It’s then that you would remember that you had the strength and support to finish the race.
Coach J has since retired from teaching and coaching, and has gone on to serve as mayor of my hometown. I’m sure that he continues to lead by encouragement and still challenges others to be better and to strive for higher goals. I can gladly say that my four years having him as a coach were quite formative, and I am who I am because of it.
Photo: Seabamirum/Flickr
Read earlier entries in our series on coaches: