Our town backs up to the local mountains. Some cities have houses facing the sea. We have Mother Saddleback staring at our backyards. Fire ravaged the steep areas on the very edges of Rancho Santa Margarita a few months ago, burning all the way to the summit and up the slopes of the valley on the other side for miles. Last Wednesday Santa Ana winds roared through the pass connecting our town with cities on the other side of Saddleback.
I don't really put a lot of preparation into this space. I like to riff. But yesterday morning I had one of those breakthrough awarenesses that seems tailor-made for blogging. It is this: one of life's great pleasures is being the first to break the toilet paper seal in a newly cleaned porta-pottie on race day. So righteous. So pure. Then to step out into the first moments of a pale morning sunrise and see runners arriving to compete. Washing my hands at one of those portable outdoor soap dispensaries, then wandering off in search of a food truck for a breakfast burrito.
I mean, does it get any better than that?
I'm gambling on the October Surprise.
Every cross country season has two parts: regular season (first nine weeks) and postseason (final three weeks, leading to the State Championship). I've had a pretty good run these past twenty years, making the postseason almost every time with both the boys and girls squads. I love being in Fresno the Saturday after Thanksgiving. The atmosphere is electric, the racing is intense, and I get to see all my coaching buddies. Standing atop the podium is also pretty excellent.
Up at 4:40 this morning. Cross country practice scheduled for 6 in Huntington Beach, a solid 30 minute drive, so I needed the early start. Sadie wanted to go out, so I let her into the backyard and looked up into the southern sky, searching for an old friend.
There he was. Orion and his belt is missing during summer but reappears in the early morning just in time for cross country season. I'll track its march across the sky into late-November and the end of the season, the warrior constellation a timeless reminder that this is autumn.
My two weeks of solitude are over. Arrived back from Mammoth High Altitude Training Camp (I used to call it a "high altitude leadership seminar" for those kids looking for something high-falutin to put on their college resume) Saturday. Door to door from the condo to our front door in just under five hours.
My stopwatch died the other day. Ultrak 495. Matte black. Capable of recording 100 lap splits. I've been using an Ultrak for about fifteen years. To my mind, the best stopwatch on the market….t is a comforting talisman, my fingers clicking start-stop-reset without my conscious mind noting. It is my grown-up version of Linus's blanket, a security totem that soothes in ways I am not prepared to publicly examine. On race day, when staring at a final result, the watch gives me a small endorphin rush.
The California State Track Meet is being held this weekend in Fresno. I am not there. Qualifying for state is tough, with five straight weeks of do-or-die meets. Despite having the best coaching season of my career, none of my runners got through. Split seconds made the difference. That's track and I'm not complaining. Records were set, personal bests were improved, the runners are all excited about the future.
