Being a Part of it All
by Steve McGill
A lot of times, being a coach means being in control, but that’s not where the best moments come from. The best moments come from playing a role in an athlete’s development. The best moments come from diving deep within in order to find the best in yourself, and thereby pushing your athletes to bring out the best in themselves. Sometimes it’s more than okay to admit you don’t have all the answers, and to seek help from other coaches who might know more than you do. The best moments, in short, come from being a part of it all.
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In my younger years as a coach, when I first started to have some success with athletes who were achieving on an all-state and even a national level, it mattered to me that I receive credit for their success. It mattered because I was building a name for myself, developing a reputation as a hurdling guru. On the one hand, it took me a while to realize that my athletes’ successes proved the effectiveness of my coaching methods. But once I did realize it—about six years in—I found myself looking each year for the next great hurdler I could mold into a superstar.
If you had asked me at the time if I was arrogant, I would’ve said no. But looking back, I can see that I was. One season, around 2008, I was coaching a hurdler who was dropping time every meet, moving up the ranks among the best high school hurdlers in the nation. But he ran for my club team, not my school team. Annoyed that the local newspaper was writing a lot of articles about athletes in other sports and other events, I emailed the high school sports editor and suggested he write an article about my athlete. To my pleasure, he did so. But to my surprise, when I read the article, I saw no mention of me or our club team. All the quotes came from the athlete’s school coach, talking about how much the athlete was contributing to the school team. The school coach didn’t know the first thing about the hurdles, so I was more than just a little annoyed. I called the columnist and asked him why he hadn’t interviewed me for the article, since I was the one who had told him about the athlete in the first place. He explained that articles about high school athletes focus on the high school team. “And it’s all about the kids anyway, right?” he added.
Back in those days, I still had dreams of coaching at the professional level, of coaching Olympians and world record holders. I didn’t realize yet that I had no desire to live that kind of lifestyle. I didn’t realize yet that I was chasing after something I didn’t even want. People were already asking me why I didn’t coach collegiately, as athletes I had coached were going on to win NCAA championships and make Olympic teams. I felt resentful of college coaches and professional coaches who were now coaching athletes I had groomed and molded, giving shine to their name while I remained unknown except to underground hurdle heads.
Over the years since then, I’ve come to recognize that moving up the coaching ranks would’ve led to an unhappy me, even if it boosted my career. I’ve come to recognize that I can be great right here right now, doing what I do and being where I am. I am no longer wishing away the life of a fulltime English teacher, hoping to replace it with the life of a fulltime coach. This growth has largely been the result of the athletes themselves—the ones I coach on a regular basis, the ones learning to alternate lead legs in the 300/400 hurdles, the ones trying to get out of the 17’s and into the 16’s in the 100/110 hurdles. Being a part of an athlete’s athletic journey, which inevitably means being a part of their personal journey and their personal evolution, is rewarding beyond measure. When you see a kid grow, being a part of it all is all that matters.
In the past few weeks, I’ve been helping my former athlete Keni Harrison, who was a national champion in high school, went to become an NCAA champion at the University of Kentucky, and has then gone on to have a stellar professional career that has included being a world record holder and an Olympic silver medalist. She was having trouble with her approach to the first hurdle, and sent me some videos, asking me for an evaluation of what I saw. These reps looked exquisitely fast, so it took me a while to see any flaws. After several views, I was able to pinpoint something she might be able to fix.
From there, I had a Zoom call with Keni and her coach, Andreas Behm, the same coach who guided Aries Merritt to a world record in 2012. Andreas not only had no problem with Keni reaching out to me for tips, but he full-blown approved of it, as “whatever is best for Keni,” as he put it, was okay with him. After the Zoom call, I texted Andreas, expressing appreciation for the fact that he allowed me to provide input as Keni seeks to get back to the form that made her one of the top hurdlers in the world for over a decade. She’s still a top-level hurdler, but these younger women are running faster times. A few days later, I FaceTimed with them during one of their practice sessions, teaching them the principles of one of the drills I use with my athletes.
It was a lot of fun, and I am more than willing to keep helping them as needed, as asked. What I enjoy about working with athletes at that level is that it challenges me in ways that I am not challenged when coaching high school kids. With pros there are micro-adjustments that need to be considered, most of which are unnoticeable by the naked eye. With someone like Keni, whose hurdling IQ is through the roof, I can’t rely on my usual observations and advice, but to my pleasant surprise, I find that my go-to cues, like “stay fast, stay forward,” are very helpful even with an elite veteran hurdler like her.
With Keni, with all of the athletes that I have coached over the years, I can look back and say that being a part of it all has been the most fulfilling aspect of what I do. Unlike the younger me, I don’t seek or even need praise, credit, validation. Everything in life, at the end of the day, is about making a contribution in the ways that you’re most fit to do so. A drummer in a band might not be the one who the fans are talking about after a concert, but the performance wouldn’t have been as good as it was if not for the drummer. Some people will recognize that, while some people won’t. What matters, if you’re the drummer, is being a member of the band and playing your instrument to the best of your abilities, and in a way that makes the whole band better.
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