Lessons from the State Meet

It’s Sunday, and it’s back to the “Sunday Story” series. Here’s four stories about coaching at the State Cross Country Meet.

Forty Years

I was a social studies teacher and a Dean of Students during my thirty-six years of teaching.  

But I coached for forty years.  My “primary” coaching was in Track and Field, but I was also the Cross Country Coach for thirty years. And I was an assistant Wrestling coach for a while, and started the middle school Wrestling and Cross Country teams.  So while I was teaching and even after, I was always, always coaching.

We took our sports seriously.  We all put a tremendous amount of effort in it, whether it was on the track, in the woods, or on the mat.  And when we competed, we did everything we could to win.  It was part of the “lessons” of athletics in school; work hard, strive to win, and then accept the outcome with “grace”.  I wanted my teams to be honorable, in defeat and victory.  Some of the best lessons were at the losing end of a hard-fought competition, though they certainly didn’t feel like a “good” lesson at the time.

And sometimes things just went sideways.  Today’s stories are from forty years of kids who did everything they could to be successful.  But that wasn’t always the story.  Here’s four from the State Cross Country Meet.

State Cross Country

From the beginning, getting to the State meet in Cross Country was the ultimate goal.  Out of two hundred plus teams in our division, only sixteen made it to the starting line at State.  And even fewer “individuals” qualified, usually about sixteen or twenty.  Getting there was the game.

And we did – first as individuals, then with a series of teams from 1988 through 1999.  During that time the State Meet was held at Scioto Downs, a harness racing track (now a Racino – horses and slot machines).  The course there started in the infield in front of the grandstand, with maybe 12,000 spectators cheering their teams on.  The first half mile was straight across the field, then a 180 degree turn around that (damn) orange barrel to come back in front of the grandstand again.  Another loop around the field – then out in the grounds around the stables.

The start was crazy.  The pressure of all those fans was something that wasn’t a part of “normal” Cross Country.  We were used to a few vocal parents (“Push Johnny – PUSH”) and coaches (“ARRRMMMS!”) but not thousands in the stands.  Not that there wasn’t enough pressure already at the culminating effort of six months of work.  So when the 1989 team got to the line on that cold November afternoon – we were more than “psyched”.  

Mike’s Tights

Our team captain Mike, had been sick all week.  He was our leader, and not having him compete wasn’t really an option.  The school administrators were more than generous – school attendance rules that week were “flexed” for Mike.  So he was out there, not near his best, but leading our first boys’ team at the State Meet.  

Track and Cross Country have some “peculiar” rules.  The problem is that there is no “minor” penalty; no going to the foul line, or five-yard setback.  If you violate the rules, you are disqualified from the event.  You know that college football rule where a player can get thrown out for an “illegal” hit?  Well it’s like that, except it can be for something like stepping across the wrong line, or wearing the wrong pair of running tights.

So there we were, five minutes before the gun, and the boys start taking off their sweats.  Mike looks a little feverish, but the energy on the line pulsed through him just like everyone else.  But when he pulled off his sweat pants – there it was.  He put on the wrong pair of running tights. His had red trim.

That’s a rule violation – at the time all “visible undergarments” had to be a single solid color.  And here was Mike in front of virtually every official in the state, with black tights (like everyone else on our team) except for the red trim near the top.  If they spotted him – he was disqualified, and so was the rest of the team.

Decision on the Line

As Coach, I had a couple of options.  Make a circle, and have Mike strip the tights off?  But it was below freezing, and he was already sick as a dog.  Find another pair of tights?  But there was no time left, the Starter was already blowing the whistle for the “meeting” before the gun.  So I went with a desperate plan:  hope that all of those old-aged officials (I’m one of them now) would miss the red trim peeking out from below his running shorts.

The gun went off, and the “race to the barrel” at the other end of the infield was on.  I spent the next fifteen minutes dashing from one end of the course to the other, cheering and encouraging, trying to get my guys up into the competition.  But in the back of my mind was the thought: I was going to be “that coach” – the guy who couldn’t get his team dressed right and got disqualified.

Mike ran OK, considering his condition.  And we finished Sixth in the State, pretty respectable, though we wanted better.   I raced to the finish line area, and found a friend who was working there.  I explained – my kid was sick, he needed to get his sweats on right away.   Would he get them to him?  I didn’t mention red trim.  I was hoping that Mike, now completely wiped out by the race, would have enough presence of mind to get the sweats on before an official could notice a no-longer-moving target. 

Mike, with the help of his teammates, managed to get dressed.  There was no fateful call:  “Would the Watkins Coach report to the Head Referee” on the PA System.  The team was disappointed in our finish, but proud of our efforts.  Mike spent a couple of weeks really sick – but he wouldn’t have missed that race for the world.  I wouldn’t have pulled him either.  And we “got away” with it.  But, from then on, I ALWAYS checked uniforms before we put sweats on at the state – and I ALWAYS had a spare one with me – just in case there was ever red trim again.

If You Had to Choose

Carmen was an outstanding runner for her four years at Watkins.  In her freshmen year we had a five-girl team – the minimum amount to score in Cross Country.  Carmen was often the first across the finish line.  Our fifth girl worked hard, but was often the last across the line.  So we were the “beginning” and “the end” of each race.

But we had a strong middle school girls team coming, and we promised Carmen that we would build a great team around her.  And we did – by her junior year of high school we had the chance to make it to the State meet.  But it took some “finagling”.   To get to the state we had to place high enough in the Regional Meet to qualify.  At the Lancaster Regional, our boys had their best chance to make it out, with the top four teams going to state.  But for the girls, four of the toughest teams in the State were running at Lancaster.

We also had the choice of going to the Troy Regional.  Only two teams qualified from there,but the girls were good enough to be in the top two.  The problem, it wouldn’t work out well for the boys. So the coaches had to make a decision:  either we all go to one place and one team wouldn’t qualify, or we split our squad.  And while that was a tactical nightmare – we were one team, used to all being together, all the time. But we had to do what’s right for all of our kids.  We split up.

So Jan took the boys down to Lancaster, along with our fellow track coach Jeff, and Dean and I took the girls to Troy.  For a brief moment, I tried to rent a helicopter to pick me up in Troy and drop me off at Lancaster in time for the boy’s race. It was only $1000, and think of the psych as the Coach buzzes the course and lands nearby.  But the schedule was too tight – it wouldn’t work –   too bad.  

It was early in the days of cell phones – and communication between Jan and I was scattered.  The girls ran an awesome race across the goose-poop covered fields along the Great Miami River in Troy, and came in second to a strong Olentangy team.  We were going to State and we were pumped!!  So I called Jan, let her know, and waited for her return call from the boys in Lancaster.

The girls were running their warm down when I got the garbled call from Jan. All I heard was screaming and yelling – but I figured it out.  Two teams were going to State.  It would be a “learning experience”, we were last in both races at Scioto Downs – but we were ready to go back in make more noise the next year!

Pecking Order

We fulfilled our promise to Carmen.  And she more than fulfilled her commitment to us – leading our team through a remarkable junior season.  And the next year, we were even better prepared, even stronger.  But the week of State, Carmen started feeling bad.  It happens, and it’s not just “pressure” from the meet.  The Championship part of the season requires maximum effort, over and over again.  There’s a real cause of season ending sickness and injury.  The Championships push kids to the limits of their abilities, and makes them vulnerable to illness.  It happened to Mike, and it was happening to Carmen too.  

The week into the state meet we did everything we could to rest her.  But it wasn’t any good, she was sick and getting sicker.  But, along with her parents, we weren’t going to pull her from her Senior State.  She more than earned the right to be there, and we could hope adrenalin might take over when everything else failed.

I remember the look in her eyes on the starting line – sad, frustrated, willing to try, but already knowing it wasn’t there.  She was worried that she’d “let the team down”, but I told her that by being there she made our team better.  The gun went off, and within three-fourths of a mile, we knew Carmen’s race wasn’t to be. 

Then we saw the unanticipated problem.  Our girls’ team, like ducks in a row, were all lined up behind Carmen.  No one ever passed Carmen before in a race, and no matter what she said to them (and she was doing some talking) they didn’t want to go by.  Jan yelled, I yelled, and finally, about the mile mark, they started to pass.  Carmen was in tears, and so were the girls as they went by her, one by one.

We were a family, sometimes dysfunctional, sometimes bickering, but a family.  That’s what our Cross Country teams were always about.  We were all in tears.   It wasn’t the ending any of us wanted, but it proved a more important point.  We loved each other.

Gotta Go

A few years later, we were back at Scioto Downs with the boys.  This team was a little different, with a lot more “edge” to it.  We were there with a plan, looking to come home with hardware.  Our team ritual was to arrive at the meet site, set up our team “camp”, then go and run the course.  If you think about it, race days were long days: a three-mile run to warmup, strides and sprints before the race, a three-mile all-out race effort, then a few miles of warm down run after.  But these were well conditioned kids, and eight or nine miles in a day wasn’t unusual. 

So we arrived at Scioto Downs, and set up our tent.  The kids ran out to buy T-Shirts (we came early to take care of that issue) then met back at the tent to start our warmup loops of the course.  It was a bit of a hassle to get inside the stadium at Scioto Downs, so we started our run outside of the track area, through the quiet areas away from the crowd.

There is an axiom of racing.  Before the race, you will always have to pee.  It doesn’t matter if it’s the 100-meter dash or a 5000-meter cross country race, the energy of “fight-flight” will make you want to go.  So while we were at the far south end of the course, my guys headed into the “high weeds” to take care of the issue.  I didn’t really think much of it, it was Cross Country and this was standard practice.  At our home meet, the Watkins Invitational, there was as farm field right beside the starting line (it’s a housing development now).  Things went a lot smoother when the field was planted in corn.  Troops of boys would wander into the field, and return more relaxed.  When there was soybeans, the lines at the Port-a-Pots were much longer.

Please Report

So we got that issue resolved, and continued our warmup into the stadium.  It was our first pass in front of the grandstand, and we were all commenting about the crowd.  Then I heard the PA Announcement:  “Would the Watkins Coach please report to the announcer to speak to the Sheriff’s Deputy in Charge”.  

I mean, really?  We were going to get nailed for peeing in the high weeds?   That was going to make a great headline in the Pataskala Standard:

“STATE QUALIFYING TEAM PISSES AWAY THEIR CHANCE.” 

 I could hear my School Superintendent now…

So I left the team with my Assistant Coach John to finish their warmup, and headed into the Grandstand to find the announcer.  I was marshalling all of my best “legal” arguments – how could I talk my way out of this one?  I finally found the announcer, and he directed me to a small Sheriff’s office.  Another five minutes of searching the “bowels” of Scioto Downs.  Then I found it, gathered my courage, and knocked on the door.  

“COACH DAHLMAN!!!  I saw your team warming up, and wanted to say HI and GOOD LUCK!!”  It was Eddie.  Eddie had been my number one runner back in 1983 – and now was a Franklin County Deputy.  It was good to see him – and I was tremendously relieved.  We caught up for a bit, then I excused myself to get back to the team.  I stopped at the restroom along the way.

We were fifth in the State that year – a great finish, and a great disappointment.  But I was so proud of our kids – they bought into a dream, and gave everything they had to achieve it.  We fell a little short of our goal – but like any good Cross Country race, the story was more about the entire journey, not just crossing the finish line.  And we had a great journey.

But there was one more lesson learned on that cool day in November of 1999.  I guess you probably know what that one was.

The Sunday Story Series

Riding the Dog  – 1/24/21

Hiking with Jack – 1/31/21

A Track Story – 2/7/21

Ritual – 2/14/21

Voyageur – 2/19/21

A Dog Story – 2/25/21

A Watkins Legend – 3/7/21

Ghosts at Gettysburg – 3/14/21

Lessons from the State Meet – 3/28/21