From running log:
Cross country practice. 2 mile warmup, 3 mile workout on the grass and trails behind the high school, and up the hill to the cemetary. We ran to Charlie's grave together as a team. Being there brought on some tears, and motivation. I can do it, we can do it, we must do it. Go!
30 years later:
The typical run on the day before a championship meet would be a lark. Most runners would have been goofing off, laughing and joking and running as slowly as possible. For us, in 1979, it was a bit different. I told the coaches that I would be leading the team on an easy run to the cemetary to visit Charlie's grave. The coaches were smart enough to keep their distance. I gathered the entire boy's team, and spoke briefly about what we were going to be doing, and about Charlie. It was a quiet, somber jog to the cemetary, where we gathered in silence around the grave, over which the grass had begun to grow but the broken soil was still evident. It had only been a few months since the funeral and the burial.
I had prepared a kind of motivational speech to give when we arrived, but in the moment, looking at the watering eyes of my teammates, and feeling my own tears start to flow, I couldn't talk. I felt like the words would only reduce the experience. I was clutching a 3 by 5 notecard, but I crumpled in my fist and just let all of us be in the moment. All of us react to grief in different ways, some embrace the emotions and let them out, others avoid the pain and stay at the periphery, most of us vacillate somewhere between each end of that spectrum.
Finally, after maybe 5 minutes graveside, I said, "There is nothing else to say. Tomorrow is for Charlie." Then I turned and began slowly running back to the high school. The only runner who did fall in with me was Todd Crary, who instead jogged over to another grave. He had other respects to pay. We were all surprised by this, but respected his moment. We didn't think of Todd as a private kind of guy, but he had sadness and loss in his life that none of us really knew about. I stopped the group at the exit of the cemetary, where we stood in silence, stretching gently until Todd re-joined us. Then we ran in silence back to the locker room.
It was a quiet and quick shower for everyone, before we headed our separate ways home. I made eye-contact with each member of our varsity, and we all simply nodded at each other.
Tomorrow was going to be our day. Charlie should have been there with us, but he wasn't ... except in spirit. We would have to win this race without him as a teammate, but with him by our sides anyway.
Cross country practice. 2 mile warmup, 3 mile workout on the grass and trails behind the high school, and up the hill to the cemetary. We ran to Charlie's grave together as a team. Being there brought on some tears, and motivation. I can do it, we can do it, we must do it. Go!
30 years later:
The typical run on the day before a championship meet would be a lark. Most runners would have been goofing off, laughing and joking and running as slowly as possible. For us, in 1979, it was a bit different. I told the coaches that I would be leading the team on an easy run to the cemetary to visit Charlie's grave. The coaches were smart enough to keep their distance. I gathered the entire boy's team, and spoke briefly about what we were going to be doing, and about Charlie. It was a quiet, somber jog to the cemetary, where we gathered in silence around the grave, over which the grass had begun to grow but the broken soil was still evident. It had only been a few months since the funeral and the burial.
I had prepared a kind of motivational speech to give when we arrived, but in the moment, looking at the watering eyes of my teammates, and feeling my own tears start to flow, I couldn't talk. I felt like the words would only reduce the experience. I was clutching a 3 by 5 notecard, but I crumpled in my fist and just let all of us be in the moment. All of us react to grief in different ways, some embrace the emotions and let them out, others avoid the pain and stay at the periphery, most of us vacillate somewhere between each end of that spectrum.
Finally, after maybe 5 minutes graveside, I said, "There is nothing else to say. Tomorrow is for Charlie." Then I turned and began slowly running back to the high school. The only runner who did fall in with me was Todd Crary, who instead jogged over to another grave. He had other respects to pay. We were all surprised by this, but respected his moment. We didn't think of Todd as a private kind of guy, but he had sadness and loss in his life that none of us really knew about. I stopped the group at the exit of the cemetary, where we stood in silence, stretching gently until Todd re-joined us. Then we ran in silence back to the locker room.
It was a quiet and quick shower for everyone, before we headed our separate ways home. I made eye-contact with each member of our varsity, and we all simply nodded at each other.
Tomorrow was going to be our day. Charlie should have been there with us, but he wasn't ... except in spirit. We would have to win this race without him as a teammate, but with him by our sides anyway.
When we got home after practice, we found this article in the Baraboo News Republic:
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