Everybody has a Story: You don’t have to win to succeed

From 1960 through 2008, I was involved in track and field. I began as a distance runner in high school, then was a jumper and thrower in college, then a coach in big and small schools, and finally a starter and referee for big and small track meets.

As an athlete, I never won anything, but I improved every year. As a coach, I had some outstanding kids who sometimes won and sometimes set records, some of which still stand.

Track and field is one of the rare competitive sports in which you don’t have to win to succeed. You measure yourself by how you did last time and the time before that. You simply do the best you can, and you are judged by the stopwatch and the tape measure. We can all appreciate the fastest runners, the highest jumpers, the farthest throwers.

Of course, I remember the kids I coached who won medals and set records. But I also remember, maybe even more so, the ones who never took first, second or third place but who never gave up, came to practice every day, did every workout, and ultimately finished their high school track and field careers with personal bests.

Their names are nowhere near the record boards. In some ways, they were the most successful of all, but they’re the only ones who know it.

When I was coaching track and field at a large suburban Bay Area high school in the late 1970s, there was an athlete named Dave. He was a cross-country and distance runner who had only one complete arm. Part of his left arm had not fully developed before he was born. Dave’s brother, Steve, was also on the team. Steve was fully developed and a very good hurdler and jumper — one of the best around.

When Dave ran, he struggled with balance. He was determined, however, to train every day and finish every race. He never won or placed. But he never quit, either.

Dave ran 1-mile and 2-mile races all four years of high school. His main goal was to run the mile in under five minutes before he graduated. We’ve all heard that Roger Bannister cracked the four-minute mile, but cracking a “five-minute mile”? Not so much.

As his senior year progressed, so did Dave, but he couldn’t crack that elusive five-minute mark. Then we came to the last regular meet of the year. For the 1-mile race that day, there were two other runners (one from my school and one from the other) who had run the mile under 4:20 and were likely to qualify to run in the state championships. All the attention went to those two guys when the race began. Nobody was watching Dave.

But Dave wasn’t as far back as he usually was. He was doing well — not in the lead, but not last, either.

The two elite runners ran as expected, both finishing under 4:20. But as the race progressed, word spread that this was likely Dave’s last shot at a personal record. Kids from both teams began to line the track and yell, “C’mon, Dave! Go, Dave! You can do it, Dave!” Even the two elite milers were cheering.

Dave’s time for the first three laps was faster than he had ever run before, and as he started on the last lap, it was clear he had a chance. Word spread faster. Yells got louder. With half a lap to go, Dave was absolutely flying. He wouldn’t be last this time. He passed a runner, then another. He hit the straightaway. Everyone was standing and yelling, “GO! GO! GO!”

Dave crossed the finish line and fell to the ground, exhausted. He looked for his coaches: “Did I do it?”

Yes. Yes, you did. Fundamentally, Dave, you won.

At the end of the year, our school held an athletes’ assembly. There had already been end-of-season award ceremonies for individual sports, yet all those MVPs, captains and most improved were being honored again, one by one, in front of the entire student body. But the last award, “Most Inspirational,” was for one special athlete who never won, never started a game, never appeared in the local newspaper. “Most Inspirational” went to the kid who participated the most, who supported their teammates, who came to every practice, who got there early and stayed late. In a way, it was the highest award given.

It was usually a surprise. Not this year. Not even close.

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