There have been a lot more hard days than easy in the past four months. Not bad days necessarily, just hard. I keep telling myself, "this is making you better," "this is making you stronger, more resilient." It feels like I'm coaching myself through the days at times, trying to find that sliver of affirmation in the shadow of a wall that just seems too high to climb. Or, rather, that I'm just too impatient to chip away at.
A mentor of mine said that the greatest, most life affirming missions are like scaling an impossibly tall mountain. You can't do them over night, you can't do them with a single step. Rather it takes days, months, and many many footsteps, slips and bruises before you reach the top. I'm in the heart of my ascent, and what the top entails, or how it is defined, is a mystery I can't yet put my finger on. Is it a DI head coach position at a school that gives a crap about cross country and track (if they exist...), is it a secure job in a town where I think I can begin to start a family, is it a position where both my fiance and I can work at the same school, or is it something completely outside the realm of collegiate coaching? I'm still figuring it out.
These past few months have forced me to evaluate the reason I am doing what I am doing. The reason I wake up each morning, and choose to push forward. The mere ability to CHOOSE this path makes me feel humbled by gratitude, as I know so many other women around the world would dream of having the independence and opportunity I at times find overwhelming.
This week I sat down with my student athletes and had our post-season one on one meetings. I was nervous going into them, as I think any new coach would be. For the past four months I have felt like I have been slowly restoring a broken team. Laying the foundation for a future that will ensure success, but also picking up the pieces that are currently in front of me. As I watched Coach Miltenburg, of Stanford talk to interviewers after his men's team placed second at the national meet, I teared up. "It's been a hard two years," he said. Two years. I've only been here four months. It takes time.
Each young woman sat down on the couch across from me this week and I spent a half an hour listening to them as they recounted their seasons. "I had so much fun," "I feel like I finally know what I need to do to be good," "I feel super motivated," "I can't wait for next year," "I know I'm capable of so much more..." Their statements make me dizzy, and excited, and unashamedly emotional.
The women sitting across from me had changed, evolved, blossomed. It wasn't the fact that ever single one of them set personal records this season. It was that they were more resilient, more willing to reject mediocrity, more inspired and confident in who they are and what they could achieve.
For a brief moment on my ascent I feel like I have reached a ledge. And the view is awesome.
Read more about why coaches coaches are real educators- An Open Letter to My High School Cross Country Coach
A mentor of mine said that the greatest, most life affirming missions are like scaling an impossibly tall mountain. You can't do them over night, you can't do them with a single step. Rather it takes days, months, and many many footsteps, slips and bruises before you reach the top. I'm in the heart of my ascent, and what the top entails, or how it is defined, is a mystery I can't yet put my finger on. Is it a DI head coach position at a school that gives a crap about cross country and track (if they exist...), is it a secure job in a town where I think I can begin to start a family, is it a position where both my fiance and I can work at the same school, or is it something completely outside the realm of collegiate coaching? I'm still figuring it out.
These past few months have forced me to evaluate the reason I am doing what I am doing. The reason I wake up each morning, and choose to push forward. The mere ability to CHOOSE this path makes me feel humbled by gratitude, as I know so many other women around the world would dream of having the independence and opportunity I at times find overwhelming.
This week I sat down with my student athletes and had our post-season one on one meetings. I was nervous going into them, as I think any new coach would be. For the past four months I have felt like I have been slowly restoring a broken team. Laying the foundation for a future that will ensure success, but also picking up the pieces that are currently in front of me. As I watched Coach Miltenburg, of Stanford talk to interviewers after his men's team placed second at the national meet, I teared up. "It's been a hard two years," he said. Two years. I've only been here four months. It takes time.
Each young woman sat down on the couch across from me this week and I spent a half an hour listening to them as they recounted their seasons. "I had so much fun," "I feel like I finally know what I need to do to be good," "I feel super motivated," "I can't wait for next year," "I know I'm capable of so much more..." Their statements make me dizzy, and excited, and unashamedly emotional.
The women sitting across from me had changed, evolved, blossomed. It wasn't the fact that ever single one of them set personal records this season. It was that they were more resilient, more willing to reject mediocrity, more inspired and confident in who they are and what they could achieve.
For a brief moment on my ascent I feel like I have reached a ledge. And the view is awesome.
Read more about why coaches coaches are real educators- An Open Letter to My High School Cross Country Coach