Cross country season has come to a glorious end. My top runner earned All-American status in the mud and slop of Glendoveer Golf Course, the redwood-landscaped track where the Nike Cross Nationals were held last Saturday. The conditions were old-school cross country, every runner finishing with their singlet spattered and unrecognizable. The racing was intense, and though the simple act of being a spectator meant standing in the downpour, wishing I had the forethought to purchase a more waterproof pair of footwear, I can state beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was no other place in the world I would rather have been.
But as it does every year, the adrenaline whooshes out of the body once that final finish line is crossed. Months of planning and execution are past. Hopes and dreams are realized. In the span of a simple walk from the Glendoveer finish area, across the parking lot, then jaywalking a suburban street to my rental car, I went from elation to dishrag. It is done; a version of this happens after the final cross country meet of every single season.
In the 48 hours since, my emotions have been all over the place — no longer having a reason to drive down to the school each day to coach, no longer having a reason to write the weekly team email, no longer having a reason to write workout plans. This is the silence between seasons — overwhelmed by the highs and lows of what has just passed, but not quite ready to begin planning track season. Now is the time to rest, recharge, and let go. This past season was incredible, a spectacular run of accomplished goals and championships won. The memories are still so near they hang on me like a cloak. But in this gap between seasons the cloak must slowly fall away, leaving me lighter for the track season to come. The memories will always be there, but the underpinning emotions will slowly lose their resonance.
I'm not there yet. A few years ago I tried to muscle through this interlude by pretending my mental fatigue was not real. A wise coach friend demanded — insisted — I take a month off. Best words of advice I ever got. The down time is necessary, like the recovery rest during an interval workout. It's where I get stronger, aware, and eager to learn more. Fifteen years ago I took over a program without a coach and just four returning runners. I was told that all four would be capable of finishing a three-mile cross country race.
Not winning. Finishing.
Over time we got good. A league title. A section title. A state title. Then a few more of all those. Now an All-American. It feels good.
You might be able to feel it just a little in these words I'm writing. The simple act of processing on the page has already begun the detour from burned out to ready to rock. The bar has been raised. Racing at the national level is where I want my runners to be.
It all starts with these next four weeks of restoration. Callie and I are going to take a trip, just get as far away as possible for a week. The new Killing book is almost done, which will be another reason to take a mental breather. At some point I will look forward, not backward. I'll pull out a calendar and start penciling in key meets and workouts. I'll make a reservation for my favorite coaching clinic. I'll buy a new stopwatch to mark the advent of a new season. Then I will know it is time.
But not yet.