Lessons from Track, 1987

I found some old scrapbooks in the shed today, loaded with stuff from high school. It's been over a decade since I've seen some of that stuff, and I was pleased to see that the books were still in pretty good shape. There were some old pics in there that will see the light of day online as soon as I can get a working scanner...those are good for a laugh, to be sure.

One of the pics was my junior year track picture. That brought up one memory that I've been dwelling on today for some reason. I'm not sure why this one has stuck in my head, but it's there nonetheless.

Back in the day, our track team ran a race called, and I kid you not, "The Fat Man Relay." This was a 400 meter relay in which the shotputters and discuss throwers took the track instead of the usual sprinters and distance runners. These guys were some extremely big dudes, and were solid athletes in their own events. In sprints, however…not so much. This was a race that we ran for fun, but even so, the guys ran their guts out when their time came. Well...more or less.

I recall a day when one particular athlete was running the second leg of a practice relay. He was taking it very seriously, as he did every event in which he competed. Unlike the other guys in his lane, he was stalking around his starting point, getting his mind right, and really focusing on the upcoming sprint. The others were goofing around, hanging out, just waiting to be told to get to the line and then when to start their sprint.

This one athlete (I'll call him Ken, though that certainly wasn't his real name) was not considered the brightest in the bunch, nor the most talented. Yet, he was dedicated, hard-working, and loyal...a really good guy. When the gun went off for that practice race, he was ready for action. The first runner thumped and clumped his way around the first turn and handed the baton to Ken, who grabbed it and ran like he was on-friggin'-FIRE. His face was clenched with strain, his big arms were pumping hard, and his massive legs were churning like crazy...and yet, his speed was not exactly what you might expect from such an effort.

The big guys around me started laughing, hooting, and hollering at how SLOW Ken was...and Coach absolutely EXPLODED. He turned around and lashed a backhanded slap at the nearest offenders shoulder, actually backing up the guy. Silence dropped on us like a hammerblow.

"You shut your mouths, all of you! Ken works his ass off every single day!! If any ONE of you worked HALF as hard as he does, you'd be F@&#ING CHAMPIONS, you know that?!" Shaking his head in utter disgust, Coach walked away and left us standing there, in shock.

The guys watched the rest of the run in silence. Later on, I saw a few of the guys quietly thumping Ken on the back and telling him what a good job he did. Nobody made a big deal out of it...just a “Good run, Ken,” here and a “Keep it up, Ken,” there.

Ken was never a shining star on the squad, but no one could put down his work ethic…the guy was in the weight room knocking out reps constantly. It never seemed to occur to him that he might not make it as a pro. No, he just wanted to do the very best he possibly could, each and every day. I always admired that.

In my job, I see folks every day, training hard, working towards their goals, and making progress at varying rates. I never really make a big deal out of the students who have natural ability, but I make special note of the ones who are really working up to their potential, those who are putting forth a constant, determined effort to learn and move forward in their training, in spite of their age, physical condition, etc. Those folks earn my respect, day in and day out.

I also ask myself what I’m doing to make use of my own natural talents and gifts...am I working my ass off every day, like Ken? Or am I chuckling on the sidelines? Some days are better than others, but I think I’ll put in some extra work today. Just in case.