There are moments that etch themselves into the walls of our hearts, as we move along this path of life. One of those moments for me was 1976.
The National Team Cross Country Championships. Van Courtland Park, New York City. The Big Apple.
Van Courtland Park is famous. It’s a battlefield. Not one of war, but one of competition, of dignity, of records and achievements that others strive to surpass. It is a proving ground – often a resounding shout from the rooftops, for high school and college runners that achieve the heights of victory at this location.
In 1976, I was a freshman in high school, and honored to be part of the team from Richmond, VA, that got 4th place that year. So we are in NY, at the national championships. My coach was renowned in VA, and known around the country, for consistently coaching runners that achieve National Rankings. This year, we had two. They were very fast. I happened to sneak in there to be the #3 runner for our team. When they did not run, I was known to win a race or two.
So like I said, we’re in NY, the national championships, and our coach has laid out for all of us who we were to be keeping up with, or beating. They were all on that NY team we had never heard of until this weekend, in the black and white uniforms. Now we’re tasked with sticking with a particular runner. Do our job, and we Win! Uh, coach, there are numerous teams with black and white. No Pressure, right!
It’s freezing in NY, in the middle of December. I hated cold weather. I was terrible in cold weather.
But not this day! The race started, and somehow I was out there in front of our #2 guy (ranked #14 nationally). I was blazing a new path, and made it through the first 1/2-mile in 2:21 (14 yrs old). This was a 1.5-mile race, which I was relatively strong at. The ground, layered in frost, weaved a path for me to follow with the footprints of the runners in front of me.
1-Mile in 4:52. I had never run like this before. My coach came running up on me, seemingly out of nowhere, screaming like a banshee. “Great Job,” he yelled numerous times. I remember thinking how bad his breath smelled. At this point, I was in 12th place, setting my sights on #10 & # 11 about 5 seconds in front of me. I felt like I was just gliding over the ground. This was going to be my greatest day! My Breakthrough!
Then it happened.
My left foot landed in a hole. I hyper-extended my knee and twisted my ankle. At first, I thought I was okay. But, I was not. In less than a minute, I went from 12th – to last. And that is how I finished the race. Dead Last.
As a team, we got 4th. Had I finished even where our coach projected me (top 25), we still would not have won. But we would have gotten 2nd. Had I continued to run the way I was … maybe ?? I was crushed. My team, not so much. Even back then I was driven by numbers and stats. I personally felt like I had let my team down.
A couple of weeks later, my coach found me at a basketball game, and he would not allow me to stew in that self-loathing. He sat there in the bleachers after the game, and tried to give me a pep talk about life, and Abe Lincoln, and something about spaghetti and meatballs. You’re right … I made up the part about the meatballs. To be honest, I don’t remember it all, but I know that he took a 14-yr-old young guy that was struggling with a significant personal loss, and lifted my spirit by focusing on the positive. He reminded me that until that hole, I was 2 seconds in front of our #2, 14th-ranked runner in the country. He pointed me to the positive, and away from the negative. He said something that has stuck with me my whole life. “You were almost the best runner in the country. Almost. Injuries happen. Don’t feel sorry for yourself. Live up to your potential.”
Throughout my adult life, in some of the most difficult situations, I sometimes remember that moment … and recall that he said that looking into my eyes. He believed that, or at least wanted me to believe that.
Four years later, when I was 19 and in the U.S. Air Force, before the internet and email, he was training me to compete in the Inter-Military games. Through the mail. He never abandoned my dream, and supported me years into the future. On the same day that I injured myself in a race, he lost his life to a drunk driver. He was training with his State Championship high school cross country team, and was hit by a drunk driver.
Life … is a beautiful opportunity. God gives us only so many days. This man, my coach and one of my friends from early in my life, turned out to have a positive impact on hundreds of other young men and women. I was not able to make his memorial, but his mother communicated with me. Thousands showed up at his memorial. People just like me. Lives positively impacted by a man that lived by Positive Reinforcement and Encouragement. Okay, Okay – I have too many memories of his baseball-sized wad of keys flying across the room (sometimes at me).
Discipline. Confidence. Hard Work. Dedication. Hard Work (again). Faith. Gratitude. Family.
More than any other human in my lifetime, my coach and mentor, Granger Ancarrow, influenced me to live my life with those values listed above.
And that is what The Piccolo Club is all about.
Always Believe, Never Give Up,
Trip
The Piccolo Club 