I miss the one time in my life when I was on a team and wasn't pressured to perform by anything other than team spirit and a love of the sport. While I was on an NCAA track/cross country scholarship, it just didn't feel the same. After starting the season as the number one runner on my University of Utah cross country team, I was injured and never performed well again that season. I felt worthless since with my scholarship I was essentially getting paid to perform, and I was performing miserably. High school wasn't like that at all. I miss my teammates, even 35 years later. No, I don't "stalk" around my old high school, but high school running is something that I've always missed. You really appreciate those good times, the old memories, and the people you haven't seen in years or even decades. Here's something I recently wrote about high school running as a kind of letter to my teammates of long ago. Some might think it's kind of sappy, but it's how I felt when I wrote it:
To the Guys
Sometimes it takes awhile for a man to realize his mistakes. Thirty-five years, even.
You guys were always there for me, cheering me on, win or lose. Day after day, you laughed and joked and made everything fun and memorable. And what did I do? I made every run a competition. Not just every run, but every single 100, 200, or 400 repeat. Not once did I slow down just a little. I never took it easy. I always had to be first, not just in races, but in everything. I couldn't let you beat me just once. I couldn't let you get close enough to know how it felt to be at the front of the pack instead of always watching my back. I always had to put as much distance between you and me as possible. Always. I reveled in my ability to intimidate, subdue and discourage, not through words, but through constantly beating back every possible challenge. It was me against the world, and the world included you. Sure, we were a team, but did I ever really run like I was part of a team? Did I ever really let my guard down and relax? Did I ever come across as truly sincere when I wished you a good race as you always wished it for me? Or was it more like “all for one” from you, with no “one for all” from me? Well, I'm sorry. I truly am. Better late than never, I hope. I'm sorry for being so aloof and distracted in my own little world at every track and cross country meet. I took it all so seriously. I never relaxed. It was life-or-death for me. I admit it now. I should have stopped more often and just took it all in. I should have enjoyed it more. I should have enjoyed just being part of you guys because you were truly special. It wasn't just about competition, and I should have realized that. I was wrong.
I want you to know a secret, though: I behaved the way I did because I was weak. It was weakness, not strength, that made me afraid to let any of you challenge me, whether in races or workouts. It was weak pride and shameful insecurity. I felt the need to constantly validate my self-worth every time we stepped onto the track or took to the roads. It was fear—yes, fear—that someone besides our mutual competition might even hope to encroach upon what I had. I was selfish, unappreciative, and never the mentor I could have been. I was never the friend I should have been. Remember my senior year of cross country when I won almost every race before I was injured? Remember how I stood watching from the sidelines at the State meet? Was I cheering for you, or was I really just standing there feeling sorry for myself?
Remember the awards banquet after the State meet when everyone voted for M.V.P.? It was a tie between me and Dave, our number two runner. You probably don't know this, but I felt insulted. I felt that I had indisputably won that honor, and that the big purple-and-silver trophy was rightfully mine. And yes, I took it home with me. Am I really supposed to share an M.V.P. trophy? I thought. Then when the little blank metal plate on the trophy fell off, I found my name engraved on the back, like someone had previously chosen me before deciding to put it to a team vote. I didn't realize it then, but there's more to being the “most valuable player” than crossing the finish line before everyone else. There's leadership and camaraderie. There's caring and sharing. There's friendship and mentoring. There's being a truly supportive teammate. I know that now. I'm not making excuses, but please forgive the insecure boy I was for the sake of the man I hope I have become. Each of you now has a place in my heart that you should have had then. Thank you for all the things you were that I never truly appreciated. Thank you for sincerely being there for me, even when I was sincerely absent. Please understand that I love you guys. And after all these years, I still miss you.