All I wanna do is... *bang* *bang* *bang* *bang*... and *$* and coach 'em up

Long-time friend and wildman Jeff Potter

Zach Johnson’s 1600m run on Saturday at Wheaton North High School during the Falcon Best Four Invite is, simply put, the reason why I love the sport of running. I started writing this expecting to  complaining about my disappointments in athletics, motivated in part by Win Win and also my anticipation of starting up my running this week after a two week hiatus (my longest intentional break in 5 and a half years). Running has been far and away my most defining interest since starting as a freshman in high school (to stay in shape for football, believe it or not) but despite all the ways running has changed my life for the better it has always been more common for me to focus on the many negatives and the failures of my career.

Yet it was this painstakingly shy senior with a bowl cut reminiscent of my underclassmen years who shook me from my pity party. I’ve had the pleasure of being a teammate, spectator, and now, coach of Zach during his stint on the cross-country team. He is one of the hardest-working people I have known, and he takes every achievement with admirable humility, every disappointment with grace unmatched in his peers. The guy has overcome a severe knee injury in addition to overall physical limitations to be a varsity contributor on a talented squad. He is not the fastest or most popular, but Zach is the god-damn business if you ask this guy.

So when Zach came screaming out the gate on Saturday, I thought to myself, ok, a little uncharacteristic of Zach, but I dig it. He came cruising through the 400m mark, and was right on the heels of the leader, and he looked so good that I held back from yelling for him to stay controlled (coach-speak for slow the fuck down). I didn’t think he could keep the pace, but it would probably set him up for a modest personal best, when he would falter. But with his mop of hair flying behind him, he kept the pace, even making a move for the lead with 500m to go, on pace to absolutely crush his previous 4:49 marking.

It was getting late in the race, but any runner or spectator knows that one lap is plenty of time for something to go dreadfully wrong. I have seen plenty of hopefuls tear into the bell lap with a fury, only to stagger down the homestretch for what seems like eternity. And this was Zach MF Johnson, someone who had no business leading this race, much less looking effortless doing it. But good ol’ Z-Johns, utilizing every inch of his wiry, emaciated frame, kicked home with such ferocity that a shiver went through my entire body, and he crossed the finish line in first, with a clocking of 4:33, an unbelievable 16-second personal record.

Sprinting over to my wearied athlete and friend, I shook him, spewing incoherent exclamations, fricatives, and naturally a good amount of saliva. Once he grasped the magnitude of his accomplishment, he- returning to the Zach Johnson we know and love- managed only a sheepish grin. The moment was so pure, so perfect; for the moment every frustration I had ever had with running was forgotten, and I was able to share in the unadulterated ecstasy of the culmination of years of Zach's hard work.  

Suffice to say, I felt that posting my bellyaching over my running career was not an adequate tribute to a sport that can inspire such a satisfying moment. Yet, enjoyable as that moment was, it is understandably just as infrequent. It might be hard to imagine that some people are born to run in a circle better than others, but it is the one inescapable fact pertaining to running. Many coaches and athletes like to believe that it’s all about who works the hardest, who runs the most miles, and who is the toughest. In a vacuum, this is true; between two people of the same talent, barring injuries or illness, the one who runs more, harder, and who is tougher will win. That is hardly breaking news. But we do not live in a vacuum, and injuries and illness exist all to frequently. Instead, it is exceedingly rare that hardest-working, most-dedicated runner crosses the line first. This is especially in high school, where most races come down to God-given talent, and whether or not the coach was smart enough to get out of the kids way and keep them fresh and hungry.

Two prominent examples of talent prevailing are Micah Vandenend and Jeff Thode. Vandenend of Glenbard South High School suffered a stress fracture in his right fibula, missing all of the outdoor season until the sectional meet in 2001, yet unbelievably managed to qualify for the state meet, and went on to place 9^th, and garner All-State honors. The next year during cross-country, Vendenend re-aggravated the same injury, and missed the majority of the season. Coming back to run the necessary meets in the postseason, he proceeded to win both regionals and sectionals, and then shockingly, the 2001 Cross-Country State meet.

Even more surprising was the victor of the 2008 IHSA meet Conant High School’s Jeff Thode. Thode had suffered a collapsed lung midseason, and was assumed to be done for the year. However, he was cleared only two weeks before the state meet to compete. After running well at sectionals, Thode continued on to capture the state title and his win became one of the wildest spectacles ever to transpire on the magical soil of Peoria’s Detwieler Park.

Haters gon’ hate, though, and many would be quick to point out two recent examples that would refute my opinion. York Community High School, owners of 26 IHSA cross-country state champions, is a perennial powerhouse in distance running, and Coach Joe Newton has cemented their status as the most dominant prep program in the nation through good ol’ fashioned high mileage and break-neck intensity (however, during their track season, they are significantly more conservative). Reigning two-time IHSA cross-country champion and USA Junior Triathalon Champion Lukas Verzbikas, considered to be the one of the finest American running prodigies ever, may not run a crazy amount of miles, but he supplements his training with a significant amount of swimming and biking, the sum of which leaves little room for anything else.

I would argue that these two examples are the exceptions that prove the rule. According to Jim Halley of USA Today in a 2008 article, York “regularly carries more than 200 boys runners”, an unfathomable number for high school prep athletics. There are 3A (largest school division in Illinois) teams that struggle to bring the mandatory 5 runners to the line. When you have this many runners, a coach can implement a much more aggressive approach- running a majority of the team through a high-risk, high-reward plan knowing that it will eventually manufacture the necessary five to seven exceptional runners.

This running-the-gauntlet approach is no doubt why York has had the unparalleled prep success on the state and national level. But at what expense?  Kevin Moore, a former trainer for York during the late 90’s, told me that the number of runners that were too injured to compete was upwards of 60 high schoolers throughout the entire season. To put it in perspective, the Wheaton North team on average has between 40-50 runners total on their roster, and is considered a large team. While the varsity crew of runners is basking in their prolific gains, others who have worked just as hard or harder are left on the sidelines, licking their wounds.

Another issue that arises from this training is a lack of development after high school; just ask former York national-caliber runners, Eric and Matt Dettman twins (Oregon), Sean MacNamara (Michigan), Tom Achtien (Illinois) and Jordan Hebert (Illinois) all of who, have struggled to meet the sky-high expectations set by their accolades attained in high school. This particular argument always stirs up a whole lot of shit, so I’ll just leave it at this: some elite high schoolers, while young enough to initially respond to high-intensity training, are ultimately limited in their potential, as too much physical stress was put upon them during their impressionable years.

          And as far as young phenom, Lukas Verzbikas, his mother is a former Lithuanian record holder in the 1500m and 3000m distances, boasting jaw-dropping personal bests of 4:09 and 8:56, respectively. Need I say anymore? (A little perspective, my personal bests, embarrassingly enough, are 4:08 and 8:52) For those of you who still don’t grasp the magnitude of those times, I will just say that the genetics in that kid’s Lithuanian blood are the envy of about every other runner in the country. For this reason, I can’t help but scoff when Rasa Verzbickiene, Lukas’ mother, is quoted as saying “You know, an Olympic gold medal is 95 percent very hard work and 3 percent talent and 2 percent good luck”. I certainly don’t doubt that an unworldly amount of effort and perseverance that goes into achieving these marks, but she is kidding herself in placing talent at a measly 3 percent.

Yet it is these exceptions that become the model for success for the vast majority of programs and athletes, trying to emulate every aspect of these immense programs and talents without heeding their own lack of resources or biological constraints. And yes, this does produce a team here or there, the odd individual runner, but on the whole, it is a devastating approach for these misinformed athletes. Not only does this approach lead to injuries, fatigue, and as a result, athletic disappointment for these runners, but this group also attributes this disappointment to “choking”. Because they are following a get-fast-quick scheme, which they perceive as a training Bible, any failure that occurs is immediately chalked up to their own mental or motivational shortcomings, as they have, in their minds, done everything necessary from the physical perspective. Either that, or they think they must just have to run more and harder; you can see how this flawed strategy could snowball very quickly.

I feel a little silly typing this, because I am one of the worst offenders. I’ve fought tooth and nail with both my high school and college coaches to give me more mileage, to let me run faster workouts, and when they wouldn’t, I would proceed un-sanctioned. I ran 80- to 90-mile weeks my junior and senior years in high school, even 100-mile weeks during the summer prior to my freshman year at Wheaton. It was during these years I had the attitude that my close friend and former coach Jeff Potter (above) describes when asked about his scruffy appearance during his college years: “All I wanted to do was run.”

This may seem like nothing short of insanity for those of you outside the circle of madness that is the running culture, but this sums up the attitude that myself and many other harriers take up during the height of their training. I wanted nothing more than to run well. I didn’t care about my appearance, I didn’t care about socializing, and I certainly didn’t care about school. My desire to succeed transcended every aspect of my life. Every meal I ate was planned according to what was expended during the run before it, and what was required for the run after. I would avoid instances where I would have to be standing or outside for extended periods of time (church, social events, sporting events, the like) and refused to participate in any physical exertion that wasn’t in my explicit training plan.

After years of this attitude (admittedly there were lapses in my steadfastness), I was regressing in the basket in which I had placed all my eggs. I did have races at points during the season that were indicative of my training, but when I had to be at my best, I simply wasn’t. I fell pitifully short of goals and expectations, and even worse, let my teammates down on multiple occasions. And as I previously explained, my first reaction was to heap criticism on my mental preparation and the effort I was putting in. Being that I was so invested in the sport, I considered this “mental weakness” and “laziness” to be major personal flaws.  

And this is all because I was to prideful to take the biological hint, even after each season ended worse than the previous. While I fully realized that I was better off at lower mileage, I refused to accept it because it meant accepting that I had a limited potential, admitting to myself that my ceiling was not that of most of my peers that I ran with in high school. I caused myself a lot of unnecessary injuries and poor races in striving to be the best, instead of being the best that I can be.

But this mentality, however flawed it may be, is still what produces the best runners, the best stories. It is impossible to know the limits of a runner until these limits are sufficiently tested, and that’s where coaching comes in. A coach can come in and look at a runner’s career unemotionally and with previous experience to draw on, and therefore he can formulate an unbiased, professional opinion. I would’ve done well to listen to coaches earlier in my career, but the silver lining is that I’ve learned a lesson that will serve me extremely well in pursuing a career as a coach.

So, thanks to Zach’s race prompting a closer look at my running career, I've gleaned this practical application to my coaching future. I can get all caught up in the sport’s prevalent injustices, but when it comes down to it, I could never be without running. As corny as it sounds, I love the sport for all that it is, and I always will based on this one truth: there is nothing sweeter than partaking in the fruits of labor with my athletes whose literal blood, sweat, and tears stain the track. 

Paul Giamatti FTWW

Having spent a recent spring break in Cherry Hill, NJ, and being a dedicated follower and fanatical defender of MTV’s Jersey Shore, I would consider myself, relative to the general population, an expert on Jersey culture. The rawness to the sounds and sights, both geographically and sociologically, of the east coast fringe absolutely mesmerizes me. And also, a little bit of that Snooki’s booty, that’s pretty damn mesmerizing. So, a film starring Lymph Node fave Paul Giamatti, a little Garden State magic, and a shockingly accurate portrayal of high school athletics? Dirty, dirty Fox Searchlight Pictures, you know me far too well.

Being that Win Win was at the top of T. Sean’s and my list for a good while now, we made the trek Wednesday night to go see it. After putting poor T. Sean through 106 minutes of my stifled giggles (I tried restraining myself, but there was plenty of lol-ing on my part), I immediately knew that my dad would love it. Being a fellow coach at Wheaton North High School, I was sure he would be picturing some of the also-rans on our own team when laughably-inept Stemler (played by David Thompson) graces the silver screen with his wrestling prowess. So, being devoid of any kind of social life, I decided to go that very next night with my pops.

The only aspect of the repeat performance that I did not enjoy was having to fight the urge to quote along with the characters during their more memorable lines (And again, while the effort in the suppression of this desire was there, a few lines may have slipped out. I’m only human). Thankfully, my dad is an understandable man, especially when it comes to my- to put it nicely- idiosyncrasies. And to keep the Rationalizing Wheel of Positive Spin rolling, I also like to think of my behavior as a personal attempt to eradicate the stereotype of African-American moviegoers being obnoxious; I am extremely white, and far worse than even the most insufferable, Apple-Bottomed chatterbox. Solidarity, y’all! One injustice at a time.

As much as I enjoyed the humorous depictions of prep athletes, I’m sure director Thomas McCarthy intentions for this movie were a little deeper under the surface. After reflecting on some of the core themes and aspects of the film, I definitely took away something much more profound than I had during my initial view. Through main protagonist Mike Flaherty’s struggles with the location and the community around him, and the resolution of these struggles, McCarthy shows us how the panacea for our manufactured problems and stress is nothing more than a little humility.

The fact that Win Win takes place during the winter months in “the Armpit of America”, seems evidence enough of the Flaherty’s (Giamatti’s character’s family) struggle versus their surrounding. Yet, McCarthy leaves a breadcrumb trail for us, using various ordinary mishaps to portray our fractured nature- a result of being at constant odds against the elements. In fact, the very opening scene is an example of this: Abby Flaherty, Mike Flaherty’s four-year-old daughter, wakes up to the crash of her stain-glass window ornament being blown to the ground by the frigid winter air. Bleary-eyed, she moseys on over to it, picks it up, and the dialogue is christened by the child’s sharp fricative,  

“Shit!”

It’s not long before we find our next example; as Mike heads out the door to work, his wife Jackie (Amy Ryan) reminds him, in her spot-on screech of a Jersey-Mom accent, that he needs to call someone to take care of the immense, looming Mercer Oak- or what’s left of it- in the front yard. The charred splinters at the top lead us to assume that this towering tree fell victim to a recent storm. Assuring his wife that he can handle it, Mike’s words seem just as hollow as his new wooden adversary.

Minutes later, we follow Mike to a weathered residence, home to his make-shift law firm with Vic (Jeffery Tambor). Going into the basement, he frets with Vic over the terminal state of their boiler, and the six stacks it will take to get a new one. While both of them try to downplay the dire need, the boiler clangs out with startling sonority, an iconoclastic mimicking of church bells.

“We better get the hell out of hear before this thing blows,” Vic suggest as the band-aid solution. As the movie progresses, we find even more problems with the crumbling building, as Mike’s secretary Shelly is quick to point on. The clogged toilet is unable to be unplugged by Mike pathetic attempts with the plunger. Just as crucial is the lack of a functioning copier, but it is Mike’s inability to correct the flawed electronic back-up system that brings him to the end of his figurative rope. These episodes of dilapidation exemplify our embattlement in day-to-day life, as well as firing up the forge in which our protagonist's mettle will be tested.

The dysfunctional undertones also transcends into Mike's interactions with others, and his surprising strong-headed nature is revealed. We see this kind of brashness in the archetypal rebellious teen (Kyle) and over-protective mother (Jackie), but it is much subtler in affable Mike Flaherty. Giamatti’s character (a far cry from the “I am not drinking any FUCKING merlot” Giamatti we saw in Sideways) clearly elicits the most empathy from the audience. We are subjected to his early-morning lumberings in sweat-drenched, ill-fitting sweats, as well as his single-cigarette satiations: he buys a pack at the local gas station, but throws the whole pack away after lighting the first.  Within these first twenty minutes of the film, McCarthy has struck a chord that resonates with the everyday man; he renders us unable to resist the charm of this loveable loser, the short, doughy un-athlete with whom we can all commiserate. 

But it is Mike’s stubbornness that is most humanizing, and as a result, contributes most to McCarthy theme of the necessity of humility. This is primarily visible through his insisting on trying to fix the aforementioned nuisances by himself. With the tree, he tells his wife they don’t need a professional. With Vic, he says they don’t need a new boiler. With Shelly he assures her that he can fix the toilet, and that they can make do with a busted copier. We all recognize this paternal, drive-off-a-cliff-before-asking-directions behavior that stems from a man’s primal role as provider.

However, it is this basic pride, initially harmless, that leads our endearing Papa bear to make the most egregious decision of the movie. Out of a financial desperation which he is keeping secret from his family, he deceives the judicial system, becoming his client's legal guardian, thus garnering a $1500 monthly stipend. Once the status of "guardian" is obtained, he ships his client Leo, against his will, off to Oak Hill Assisted Living, so that won’t have put any effort into caring for him. Further complicating matters, he spins a web of lies to keep the truth of this situation from Kyle, Jackie, Leo, and others.

Amidst swirling litigations, athletic disappointments, and uncertainty both familial and finacial, Mike now realizes that in trying to take control of what he cannot, he has risked losing everything that he cares about. Resolved to remedy the mess that he’s made, he spends the night on Leo's couch, planning to move Leo back home in the morning, and fight in court to keep him there.

The morality of this decision is clear, but the future of Mike and his family is facing unprecedented uncertainty, thanks to the external circumstances and complications brought on by his hubris. What was once a desperate attempt at salvaging his business and family, now threatens to destroy both. But Mike puts aside all concerns, and simply acts on his convictions. And his valiant humility is rewarded; thanks to the moral bankruptcy of his prosecution, he manages to keep his business and family intact. Yet as a consequence for his trickery, he now has to work two jobs and take care of Leo. Despite these hardships, we find Mike admitting at the movie’s close that he is truly content. And it is with this contentment we see that Mike has finally heeded the ring-side advice that he gave Kyle before Sectionals:

“Stay in this, ok? This is your place, this is your place, remember? You control this!”