Yesterday, the Harpeth Valley Athletic Conference Middle School Cross Country Championship races were run at USN's River Campus on a beautiful fall afternoon.
It was the kind of day that makes you happy to live in middle Tennessee. Blue sky, slight wind, temperatures in the high 60's or low 70's. A perfect fall afternoon in Nashville.
I was more nervous than usual leading up to the race and I didn't sleep well Wednesday night. Why? I thought a lot about that and I think it's because I knew how much it would mean to JP to run the table this season and not lose a race. I also knew that it bothered JP to have lost the HVAC championship last year to his teammate, Cade, who outkicked him at the end of the race, also at USN's River Campus.
I didn't want JP to finish second in the HVAC cross country championship two years in a row. I wanted him to run well in the biggest race of the season.
And you know what? That's exactly what he did.
JP ran with the heart of a lion, won the HVAC individual championship, and MBA won the team championship, as well, over USN.
We talked the night before the race and JP acknowledged being a little nervous. I encouraged him to treat the conference championship like any other race and not to put any additional pressure on himself. He nodded his head while we talked so I think he understood me, although it's tough sometimes to tell with JP, because he's a quiet kid.
I bolted out of a mediation at 3:40 p.m. and fought traffic to get to the race, there being no easy way to get to USN's River Campus from deep in the heart of Franklin, where my office is located. I arrived right before the middle school girls' race started, set down my cooler w/JP's after-race water/Gatorade, and walked down to picnic shelter where MBA's team always sets up shop.
I found JP sitting on a picnic table amongst his teammates and, as is our custom, he walked over and we nodded and fist bumped each other.
"Have fun today," I said. "Just another race." He nodded, then I walked back toward the start line, leaving him alone with his prerace thoughts and to share a final few moments with his teammates. They feed off him, I think, and gain confidence in their knowledge that he's their leader. They know he's going to run up front and push himself to the limit in every race. That means something to them, I believe.
JP led from the start, with his USN rival, Jack, five yards or so behind him at the half mile mark. I ran across the parking lot to catch the leaders near the one mile mark. JP had stretched his lead to about 10 yards there and looked good but Jack was still closer to him that I had hoped he would be. Truthfully, Cade's finishing kick on the home stretch in last year's championship race was fresh in my mind so I wanted JP to put some distance between himself and Jack.
Every cross country race has a segment that feels like the dark side of the moon - to me, anyway. It's where the runners are out of sight. Seconds feel like minutes and minutes feel like hours as you wait for a glimpse of the leaders in the distance. At USN's course, it's the back stretch, just after the one mile mark, where you lose sight of the runners.
I trotted around to the back of the tennis courts and walked up to the top of the bleachers, looking out over the course, straining to get a glimpse of the John Deere Gator that drives ahead of the leaders, showing them the way. Finally, I saw it! JP was in the lead, comfortably ahead of Jack, but not in a race ending way, at least not yet.
I climbed down from the bleachers and waited by myself at about the one and a half mile mark, on the last straightaway before the turn that marks the home stretch. Suddenly, I saw the Gator drive out of the trees with JP running close behind it. Then, Jack followed, probably 20 or 30 yards behind JP. JP was running strong and I cheered for him as he passed by me, secure in the knowledge that barring something disastrous happening, he was going to win the conference championship.
I ran over the finish line and waited for JP to round the final turn on the outside of USN's track and head for the finish line. A couple of children scattered off the course as the Gator made the final turn. Then, I saw JP, and realized he was racing himself and the clock, not Jack.
"Push! All the way through" I yelled as he ran by me. Smooth, not struggling, but obviously exerting himself.
He crossed the finish line in 10:37, another PR for him (by 3 seconds) for two miles. I ran to the of the chute and, as is also our custom after a particularly hard race, he put his arm around me and leaned into me, rambling incoherently for a moment or two as he came back to himself. He had taken his shirt off and he asked me to hold it, as we walked away from the group and he drank the water I had brought for him.
For me, that's the moment, the one that I'll remember above all others. To be with JP when he's not back yet, when he's run so hard he can't talk and can't stand on his own, that's the moment. For him to share that moment with me - to rely on me for strength in that moment - that's what being a father, to me is all about. It's when I feel the closest to him, I think.
The moment passed quickly, as it does, as he said, "I'm okay, now." He put his shirt back on and walked back to the finish line to accept congratulations from parents, teammates, and other runners, and to cheer on the other MBA runners as they finished the race.
Afterwards, at the awards ceremony, I watched with price as JP accepted the first place medal and as MBA won the team conference championship. What a season!
JP was 6 - 0 and ran faster every race for the last three races. MBA's middle school cross country team finished the season 6 - 0, too.
The other coaches enlisted me to distract the head coach, Elijah Reynolds, so JP and Abe could pour a celebratory cooler of water on him. I, of course, got soaked in the process, but I didn't care a bit, nor did Coach Reynolds.
Quite a finish to quite a cross country season.
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