Coach McGarity is one of the most bizarre, yet inspirational people I have ever known. Ever since my freshman year of high school, when I joined the cross-country team, he included me and everyone else on the team. 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 and student-athlete he encountered. I started running in middle school and continued this trend in high school for something to do. I wanted to be a part of a smaller community in such a large school. The previous years leading up to my junior year were filled with mental breakdowns, breakups, toxic friendships, and lots of running. At this point, I wasn’t enjoying what I was doing anymore. Running stressed me out more than it was supposed to, and 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. A “runner” was my identity in high school and I was afraid to lose it.
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 trained for years, competed at dozens of meets, and I had almost reached the top.
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 morning of October 31th, 2015. The following advice he gave us all completely changed my outlook on running.
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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 immediately felt guilty for planning to do anything less than our best. I had completely changed my outlook on running and decided I actually 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 running harder. 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 wanted to succeed and compete at states.
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 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? Would we fall short of top six?
“Number seven…….sdfghjk 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 if excitement and happiness. We held hands in disbelief.
The announcer continued, “number six…..afghdf 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 photo ops and videos. Our coaches looked at us with proud expressions and grins.
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