…that was a new one today.
I often think of my high school cross country coach, Mr. Miller, as the sweat is dripping and I’m certain that my face is that specific color of red, the one he used to mark the end of practices.
There are few people in your life, apart from your family, that you can credit for being where you are or who you are. Mr. Miller is one of those people. He saved me from myself.
I played volleyball my sophomore year of high school, and while the girls on the team looked harmless to anyone on the outside of the group, they were toxic to a girl who was terrible at standing up for herself, for what she knew to be right.
By the grace of God, I didn’t make the team my junior year. I didn’t know what a gift that was. Mr. Miller did. He found me after cuts were made, the very next day in fact, and said words like these, “I think you should come run cross country.”
I had run before, actually for as far back as I could remember I had been on the track and in the street and on the green grass of the golf courses, so it was an easy sell. It placed me within a group of people that valued me.
Mr. Miller passed away several years ago, right after that time in life where you are labeled a grown up and because of that you consider thanking the people that made sure you survived up until that point. I didn’t get it done. I didn’t get to thank him.
I do think of him often though and am certain he would be mildly amused by the fact that today I actually wanted to run the stairs.
Oh, and I went off the 3 meter platform at the pool today too. I have no idea what that was all about.