The bookend of summer is upon us. Happy August. The Olympics are in full swing in Tokyo, and over the past few days track and field events have begun to take center stage. As always, it is enjoyable to watch the plethora of other events that athletes have dedicated their lives to perfecting, but for me, track and field is the favorite.

For the most part, I find Facebook to be a useful tool to keep up on all the goings on in the lives of family and friends near and far, and as I watch the fleet of foot fly around the track in Tokyo, I am reminded of a post made by a friend back in May.

My friend, and my former high school track coach, Ray Sayler, announced his retirement from coaching Burke Central track and cross-country, and I would like to thank him for all he has done over the many…many…many years for many…many…many young athletes.

Each of the athletes we see competing at any level did not get to where they are on their own. Behind each of them is a bleacher full of supporting characters that have played a part in their story. Parents, friends, family, teammates, and coaches.

Ray was my coach. He taught me the value of setting lofty goals and not wavering from the pursuit of those goals. He taught me that the attainment of the goals I set was secondary in importance to the effort I put into the pursuit of it. Attainment is nice, but the effort, the dedication, the process…that’s where one learns a bit about themselves.

As Robert Pirsig wrote in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, “To live life only for some future goal is shallow. It’s the sides of the mountain that sustain life, not the top.”

Thank you Ray for dedicating so much of your time to those of us on the side of our mountain, often not knowing where the top was our could be. Thank you for seeing what we could not see in ourselves and nudging us towards being better. Better athletes, but more importantly, better people.

One of Ray’s coaching techniques that I carry with me to this day is his willingness to listen to young people explain what they want to do, and while knowing full well that they are going to fail miserably attempting what they want to do, but allowing them to proceed.

On more than one occasion, I was that young person explaining to Ray my ill-conceived plan. One master plan that is as fresh in my mind today as it was in 1991 is, “I hate the 400 meter dash, I think I should run the 800.” Without pause, Ray said, “Okay, you can run the 800 at the next track meet in Stanley.”

Ray said, “All you have to do is run a 56 second first lap, and a 66 second second lap and you’ll qualify for the State Track Meet.” I thought, “That sounds much more leisurely and enjoyable than the 400.” As Ray fully knew, I thought wrong. So it goes.

As I made my first lap the timekeeper yelled out “56”, right on track. About 100 meters later, someone invisible, but very large, jumped on my back. Ray, as he always did, sprinted across the infield with clipboard in hand, trotted backwards at a speed I was having a hard time matching running forward, and yelled, “Run!” I weakly responded, “I am.”

The second lap was not a 66. I crossed the finish line, wobbled to our team camp and slipped into a coma. When I regained consciousness, I looked up to see Ray standing over me…smirking…“You want to run the 800 again?” Lesson learned.

Thank you Ray…for your time, effort, and dedication.