The Bonds We Form

by Steve McGill

After my mother died on June 3rd, just a little over two months ago, I stepped away from coaching for about a month, as I spent that time reconnecting with my siblings, and then reconnecting with myself. Even though my athletes were entering their peak competition season, I needed some time away from the sport, as the grief I felt was quite intense, and just jumping back onto the track wouldn’t have made any sense. I wasn’t ready yet. I wasn’t ready yet to be me. I needed some time for me.

[am4show not_have=’g5;’]

[/am4show][am4guest]

[/am4guest][am4show have=’g5;’]

During that time, I wrote a lot, including two fairly lengthy poems honoring my mom, and my memories of her. I posted them on my personal Facebook account, and received many condolences from friends. Most were of the garden variety—so sorry for your loss, our thoughts and prayers are with you, praying for you and your family, etc. Helpful, and kind, but nothing that really lifted me up.

Then, after the noise had died down somewhat, I received a random text message from a former student/athlete of mine named Savannah Cress. Here is a slightly edited version of the text:

McGill.

I’m not sure what to say, but I want to say something. 

“I’m sorry” seems cliche and empty. 

You are living my worst nightmare right now and my heart aches for you. All the stupid, scary stuff in this world, yet the inevitable, natural death of my mom is at the top of the list. 

You always have the right words. I didn’t know your mom, but I know she raised one hell of a son who is a rock for many.  All the times and ways you’ve touched so many people—with words, coaching, comments next to a grade on a paper, with your presence, merely silence and an open door—somewhere in all that, no doubt you’ve passed on her words, lessons, essence.

I admire your ability to make something beautiful from your pain. If you’re not at a point where you’re able to do much else, just keep doing that. 

I miss you. (and I miss 2003.) 

Savannah 

Savannah, as the text indicates, graduated high school in 2003. The fact that she mentioned 2003 in the message indicates that she knew I might not remember her off the top of my head, as we hadn’t kept in touch very much over the years. But the truth is, I didn’t need the reminder. I remembered her well.

Her text helped immensely in pulling me out of the depths of self-pity and loneliness, and in helping me regain some semblance of emotional balance. Since then, we have continued to stay in touch, and one of the things I mentioned to her as we caught up on each other’s lives was that I started up this online magazine six years ago. “I’m always looking for writers,” I added, and asked if she’d be willing to contribute some material for the magazine. She agreed, and wrote the very well-written and informative historically-based article on the women’s 100 meter hurdles that appears in this issue. So, not only have we reconnected, but we’re actually working together, you could say, as I helped her to edit her piece.

When Savannah graduated in 2003, she did not graduate as one of the best hurdlers I had ever coached. The truth is, I don’t think she ever broke 18 seconds in the 100 meter hurdles. I had a great group of hurdlers that year. I had three guys under 15.0 in the 110’s, and three guys under 40.0 in the 300 hurdles. I also had three or four good girls, one of whom finished second at the state meet, if I recall correctly. That was a fun group to coach, as they all worked hard, strove to make each other better, and enjoyed each other’s company on and off the track. 

Savannah was probably the least talented athlete of that whole group.  Yet she always put in the work, always tried her best, and never got down on herself. Though she wasn’t scoring points for the team like the other athletes were, I valued her presence and her spirit as much as anyone else’s on the team.

Savannah serves as a great example as to why I don’t get caught up in coaching the athletes who are the best and the fastest, even though I have coached some of the best and the fastest at the high school level. In hurdling, there is always going to be so much to be gained from the experience, from the journey, that goes so far beyond the medals and the accolades. In her case, when I was going through a very dark time in my life, an athlete I had coached sixteen years ago reached out to me and sent me a heartfelt message. In all those years, she hadn’t lost my number, hadn’t stopped thinking of me, hadn’t forgotten any of the life lessons she had learned during our brief time together on the track. That, to me, is what the hurdles are all about—the bonds we form.

A couple weeks ago, another former athlete, Garrison Rountree, reached out to me after completing a very demanding training program to become a Navy officer. Here is an edited version of the text I received from him:

Hey Coach, how are you? I wanted to let you know that I made it. On Friday, I’ll become a Navy Officer. 

This past 12 weeks has been very demanding. As much as I tried, there’s nothing I could’ve done to prepare for the intensity. They hit you in every area: Academically, physically, and emotionally. 

35% of my class quit the program within the first month; not to mention the folks who have to spend more time in training/got rolled into the next class behind us bc they failed an “evolution.” 

Once again, my background with the hurdles came up big. The ability to adapt, recover, and keep pushing was critical. I thank you for pushing me towards the event and enabling me to learn the many lessons that come along with being a hurdler.

Garrison graduated high school in 2014, tried to walk on at North Carolina State University, but couldn’t make it due to a heavy academic load. So he didn’t run track in college. Like Savannah, he’s another former athlete of mine whose name you’ll never hear as being among the greatest athletes I’ve ever coached. He did run 54-mid in the 400 hurdles, and probably could’ve gone faster had he kept at it, but we’ll never know. And honestly, it doesn’t really matter. What does matter is that he has taken all he learned during his hurdling days and applied it to all aspects of his life. As the text indicates, the lessons he learned while hurdling helped him to endure the grueling process of becoming a Navy officer—a process that many of his peers weren’t able to endure. 

In addition, Garrison has helped me as an assistant at a few of my Team Steve hurdle camps that i started conducting in November of 2017. In fact, almost all of my coaches at those camps are former athletes—Keare Smith, Arthur Njemanze, Garrison, and Hector Cotto. And Hector is the only one among those who made a name for himself as a hurdler beyond high school. All of them agreed to come, saying, “I don’t care about getting paid, Coach. I just want to help you out.” Of course I pay them, but the point is, time and time again, I’m reminded that the relationships are what matter most; the relationships are what endure. 

[/am4show]