That's not to say I wouldn't be ecstatic to do it again.
But the 2009 cross-country season has wrapped, and I'm hanging up my figurative whistle and stopwatch until further notice. Like the end of every track season I've ever been a part of, I'm both high and exhausted.
Out of the entire 12-week season, I felt marginally comfortable in my role for maybe the last three of them.
I reported to my old stomping ground in late August with zero credibility other than the fact that the head coach--a friend and former teammate--invited me on board as an assistant. Luckily for me, his endorsement carries a lot of weight with the team.
I was never an outstanding competitor nor a student of running. For eight-plus years--high school through post-collegiate--I trained under the delusional premise that the objective was to beat myself up as much as possible and then somehow attempt to perform. When I could have been learning the finer points of the sport, I was counting calories. Instead of racing with guts, I filed myself neatly behind all the girls with skinnier arms. Whatever potential I had went out with payphones and mix-tapes.
But in spite of my secret issues, my inspiring, proud, heartwarming, ridiculous, profound, and hilarious memories from my student-athlete days are as innumerable as they are invaluable. It was an experience I'll never not cherish. It was my team.
And as an adult graduate who knew better, I could offer a teammate's support, a big sister's ear, a mother's pride. I could relay the cautionary tale of my stunning example of how not to run college cross country.
For all else, I was an apprentice (with a very patient and exceptional teacher). Within a week, I learned more about the science of running and psychology of coaching than I had gleaned in my entire running career.
And as for things I never would have gained unless agreed to publicly: I overcame my terror of driving a large van full of students, though not without a few brushes that left me undeniably sure there is a God. I learned to project my voice enough to get a large group's attention. Or maybe just enough so that a captain would tell everyone to listen up, but still. I coped with spending a third less time with my family than I can ordinarily tolerate.
Other perks: I was reminded of the bliss beyond finals, dating, coin-op washing machines, and roommates, among other benefits of being 31 with a mortgage. Just by occasionally joining the athletes, I ran myself into the best shape my body has seen since well before having kids. Finally, I'm proud to confirm that no matter the generation, my team has heart. My team is a place where a part of me will always belong.
