My Second Greatest Moment as a Coach
by Steve McGill
In my life I’ve had some powerful dreams. I hardly remember most of my dreams, but the ones I do remember have stayed with me throughout my life, and I find myself constantly revisiting them, re-analyzing them, finding new avenues to explore as I grow older and more self-aware. I’ve had dreams where the sun was just a small, wafer-like disc that gently fell from the sky, into my open palm; I’ve had dreams in which trees have danced in the backyard, have spoken to me telepathically; I’ve had dreams in which ancient Egyptian gods have appeared to me and sent me cryptic messages. These dreams fill me with a sense of wonder and awe that makes everyday waking life feel comparatively mundane and empty of spirit.
The only place in waking life where I have felt a magic that matches the magic of my dreams is on the track – as a hurdler back in the day, and now as a coach of hurdlers. Sometimes these moments come during a practice session, when an athlete has a breakthrough when working on a particular aspect of technique. Sometimes they come when just talking hurdles with an athlete or another coach, and the conversation expands beyond just hurdling on the track, but moves to the level of hurdling as a metaphor for life.
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But most often the magical moments come when an athlete of mine comes through in a big way in a major competition. When all the hard work leads to a tangible reward and an overwhelming feeling of accomplishment, that’s about as magical as it gets. Way back in the early days of this website, I wrote an article entitled “My Greatest Moment as a Coach.” In that article, I discussed my relationship with my athlete Cameron Akers, who, in his junior year of high school, went from having never hurdled before to winning the USATF Junior Olympic Regional Championship in a time of 14.23. All this progress took place in a matter of months – from March to July. As I said in that article, I’d never seen an athlete progress so quickly in such a demanding, complex event, and I’d never seen an athlete master the nuances of technique, rhythm, and speed the way Cameron did. In winning that race at Regionals, he defeated some outstanding competition, including future professional Dexter Faulk of Georgia. Throughout that summer, Cameron and I were joined at the hip. I picked him up and drove him to practice every evening, and I drove him back home after practice every night. And when we went to meets out of town, we traveled together and stayed in the same hotel room. Cam was my man.
So if Cameron’s race that year was my greatest moment as a coach, I would say that my second greatest moment as a coach occurred this past July, when my athlete, Falon Spearman, won the 100m hurdles at Junior Olympic Nationals for the 13-14 age group in a personal best time of 13.97. As I discussed in an article last month – “Season of Falon” – I just started coaching Falon this past winter. She was already a very good hurdler when I started with her, so my challenge was to help her reach a championship level. Throughout the year she had been dropping time and growing in confidence. Heading into Nationals, she hadn’t lost a race, so the goal was to win it all.
There were three rounds of the 100m hurdles at Nationals. In the first round, Falon won her heat easily, but her time was a disappointing 14.52, well below her standards. No reason to ring any alarm bells, but there was a girl from Texas who had run a faster prelim time, and we also had to concern ourselves with Falon’s main rival – another girl from North Carolina who had beaten her often last year.
In the semis, Falon ran much faster – 14.03 – and had the fastest seed time heading into the finals. But the other girl from NC had also run under 14.10, and the girl from Texas wasn’t far behind. As I told Falon after the semis, “It’s gonna take a sub-14 to win tomorrow.”
As I mentioned in last month’s article, I didn’t fill Falon’s head with a lot of instruction or motivation. She’s always focused, always prepared, always locked in when it’s time to compete. Prior to the race, while she and my other hurdlers were warming up, I spent some time chatting with the some of the other hurdle coaches who were guiding their athletes’ through their warmup. Also, seeing my longtime friend, former athlete, and fellow camp coordinator Hector Cotto helped to ease my nerves, as he always stays upbeat and has the kind of positive energy that keeps things loose.
After warmups, Hector and I headed to the bleachers to watch the finals. I had filmed my athletes’ semi-finals races on my phone, but Hector offered to do the filming for me this time, knowing I’d be on edge. “I got you Coach,” he said as I gave him the phone. We were standing high up in the bleachers for a good aerial view, about even with the tenth hurdle.
When the gun went off I didn’t yell, I didn’t scream. There was no “Go Falon!” I just stood there and watched and hoped for the best, because once the gun goes off, it’s out of my hands. Falon got out well and took an early lead by a few milliseconds but the other girl from NC kept the pressure on the whole way, touching down off of each hurdle almost in sync with Falon. Not until the ninth hurdle did Falon gain a visible advantage. She came off the tenth hurdle clearly in front, but she leaned for the finish line early and the other NC girl closed the gap a little bit, but not enough. Falon won. When she crossed that finish line in first place, I let out a huge exhale of relief, realizing I hadn’t breathed the entire race. “Whoo!” I yelled while Hector congratulated me. I saw Falon’s parents, down in the front row, clapping and cheering with delight.
It was just an exhilarating feeling. Knowing all the work she had put in, and just seeing the entire puzzle come together into a whole like that, I felt like, this is how it’s supposed to happen when you put in the work and you trust your coach and your coach trusts you and you believe in yourself and you and your coach believe in each other.
I had told her back in March, when we were still doing rhythm drills and shivering in the cold temperatures, that I’d never had more fun coaching than I was having coaching her. “I’ve coached national champions,” I said, “I’ve coached people who’ve gone on to win NCAA championships and run in world championships and Olympic Games and break world records, but I’ve never had more fun coaching than I’ve had coaching you.”
And her parents trusted me. They let me do what I do. They let me work my magic. Sure, they asked questions, but they didn’t try to intrude; they didn’t question my methods. Because of their trust and because of Falon’s exceptional maturity and focus, I was able to coach her on a level usually reserved for high school seniors. I was able to introduce complex concepts, I was able to challenge her with demanding workouts, I was able to pull workouts out of the attic that I hadn’t used in years simply because I hadn’t had anyone advanced enough to do them well enough to reap the appropriate benefits from them.
And then there was the Cameron factor. Anyone who knows me knows that everything I do now is dedicated to his memory – my former athlete who provided me with my greatest moment as a coach, but who died in February 2012, at the age of 28. When he died, I plummeted internally. I felt a disconnect from track and field. I felt like I’d done all there was for me to do in the hurdles. I lost my desire. I lost my love. But although it took me a while to recover, I eventually picked myself up and reinvented myself as a private coach who didn’t coach for a school or for a club.
I decided I was only going to coach athletes who had a drive that mirrored my own. No more coaching kids who are out there just to be out there, taking up space and wasting my time. Then last year I started the Team Steve camps as a way to spread the love beyond the handful of kids I coached regularly, and that has proven to be quite fulfilling as well.
For someone like me, who’s been doing this since the 90’s, it’s not easy staying relevant in a world where all kinds of coaches are popping up with creative ideas and talented athletes. Despite my past successes, I’m always wondering if I’m falling behind, if my coaching methods are becoming outdated, if younger coaches are passing me by. So when Falon crossed that finish line in first place, it was validation that I still have the magic, that I didn’t lose the coach I was before Cameron died, that I didn’t lose the person I was before Cameron died. I resurrected myself. I resurrected my love for the hurdles. And just like I will forever remain close to Cameron, I will forever remain close to Falon. We walked the path together.
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