Coach McGarity, known for his intense stares, absurd jokes, and motivational words, gathered my teammates and I around in a circle on the field at Lemon Bay High School on the early morning of October 31th, 2015. I heard the shouts of other coaches telling their top seven runners to “Do your strides!” and “Stay warmed up!” I saw runners scurry past me, kicking up the water from the wet grass. Ever since my freshman year of high school, when I joined the cross-country team, Coach McGarity had included me, along with everyone else on the team, so it felt like a family. He acted as though we were all his children. This description may sound odd, but it is only because his selfless character and overwhelming kindness was so apparent in his relationships with every student he encountered.
The previous years leading up to my junior year, running started to stress me out more than it was supposed to. I was consumed with staying a “varsity runner” and not letting anyone pass me in the ranks. This constant worry and stress caused me to start hating running.
This is why once my team and I made it to regionals and were given the opportunity to go to states, I didn’t want to go. If you ask any other runner, they would jump at the opportunity to compete at states. So why was I so pessimistic about this rare opportunity? I had almost reached the top.
I stumbled over the group, already knowing that I wasn’t going to give it my all. I just wanted the season to end already. However, Coach McGarity offered advice that completely changed my outlook on running.
“Okay guys-this is it!” He eyed us each individually, so we would know the severity of the situation.
“I got news for you, each of you has to run your best race ever. It’s going to be a really close race with Labelle. You have to pass as many red as you can!” We all shuffled nervously, and he sensed this, so he stopped and thought. Then he said,
“Each of you has worked hard for this and you deserve this. Whatever happens, I will be tremendously proud of each of you, but you must do this for yourselves. You’re only racing against yourselves. I’ve seen you all run hard for years at practice and I know you guys have the capability, but I can’t make you run hard. And for some of you, you seniors, this could be the last cross-country race of your life. This could be your only chance to ever compete at States. You guys have to do this together, as a team, and make yourself proud when you look back on this moment years from now.”
He looked at us with his puppy dog eyes. He believed in us. We could sense the feel of comradery and togetherness. My friend and I walked away and looked at each other and I immediately felt guilty for planning to do anything less than my best. I had completely changed my attitude and decided I did want to make it to States. Now more than ever. We all took our last-minute sips of water, stretched our legs, and tightened our ponytails. We toed the starting line and our hearts were already beating fast. A stillness emerged from the crowd of girls as the group of 200 hundred runners all eyed the Starter raise the gun.
“BANG!” Feet kicked. Arms pushed. Mouths exhaled. I began to sprint, and attempt keep up with the people in front of me. My lungs ached for air and my legs screamed for me to stop. The first mile I followed the dirt trail into the woods. The second mile I tried to pass people. The third mile I tried to survive. I saw the finish line appear in my line of sight. I saw the clock with my time changing. I saw my teammates and coach cheering me on. The last .1 of a mile I sprinted trying to pass as many people as I could. I knew I wanted to succeed.
I had finally finished. I was on the ground, heavy breathing, with a water cup in my hand. Now we waited for the score to be added up. The top 6 teams would proceed to compete at the State championship. My teammates and I all congregated together and discussed the difficulties of our race. We laughed at the difficulty of the course and congratulated each other on our times. We were all so anxious when Coach McGarity told us to come over to stand by our team in a group. The announcer started at the end of the list and began reading each school’s name. With every name my teammates’ and I began becoming more nervous. Would our school be next? Or would we fall short of top six?
“Number seven...Immokalee High School,” the announcer bellowed. My teammates erupted in cheers. We were top six! We had made it! All of us starting crying. These were tears of excitement and happiness. We held hands in disbelief.
The announcer continued, “number six…Labelle High School.” We cried harder. Not only were we top six in the region, but we had done better than predicted.
“Number five…Lely High School”, the announcer said. That was us! We gathered together for pictures. Our coaches looked at us with proud expressions and grins.
Now that we had made it, I was able to reminisce on the past years of running and realized that most of my favorite memories involved running. Whether it be growing closer to some of my best friends, joking with Coach McGarity, or all of our successes at meets. My high school cross country experience will stay with me for the rest of my life because of my coach’s influence. My cross country experience has taught me that sometimes the most difficult obstacles are the ones that give us the best experiences.
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