thoughts on approaching a landmark birthday
One day last fall, Charlie McFall and I were heading west toward Collegiate’s Robins Campus in Goochland County. The windows of his black Ford F-150 were down, our cell phones were uncharacteristically quiet, and for a few uninterrupted minutes during that familiar, four-mile drive, we were talking, as usual, about anything and everything.
“Bradshaw,” said our co-athletic director amidst the banter, “can you believe we’re almost 60 years old?”
Though I’m well aware of my age, graying hair, and creaking hinges, my immediate reaction was “Yikes!!”
Yeah, I’ve played this gig here on North Mooreland Road for a very long time.
Yeah, I have children who are grown, on their own, and older than many of my colleagues.
Yeah, I use senior citizen discounts whenever I can.
Yeah, I know 60 is the new 40.
But 60!
Once we finished our business out at the athletic complex, I began to reflect on that magic number that at one time seemed quite ancient to me.
Where have I been? I asked myself.
Where am I now?
Where am I going in the golden years of my career?
Most important, what have I learned?
The greatest lesson, of course, has been to follow the example of the mentors I’ve worked with every day.
For young Boys School coaches nearly four decades ago, we had Petey Jacobs and Grover Jones to set the tone, and, truth be told, we’d have been hard pressed to find better role models anywhere.
They had different styles, that’s for sure, but they stressed fundamentals and teamwork, set high standards for their protégés, and inspired loyalty that will endure forever
Then there were Mac Pitt, Catharine Flippen, Elizabeth Burke, Julia Williams, Jim Hickey, Helen Tanner, and Bill Reeves. You can’t do any better than those folks either, and the sacred responsibility of my generation is to carry the torch that they entrusted to us and pass it smoothly to the next.
I’ve also learned many other lessons, usually the hard way.
Competitive athletics can bring out the best and worst in us. Winning is important, but it’s what we take from our experiences and apply to life outside the arena that truly matters.
Our real competition is actually with ourselves. One of the many reasons I love track and cross country is that there’s virtually nothing you can do to affect the performance of your opponent. You can only prepare yourself as thoroughly as possible, challenge your limits with every ounce of intensity in your being, and accept the outcome in as humble, gracious, and sportsmanlike manner as possible.
That said, nothing is more satisfying than being part of a cohesive team where the total is greater than the sum of the parts and egos don’t get in the way. When I arrived at Collegiate as a part-time coach in 1968, I learned that the school is not about the individual but that each individual’s role is of utter importance. I hope that premise never changes.
There’s a difference between perfection and excellence. Strive for perfection, and you’ll be disappointed when you don’t attain it. Strive instead for excellence, realize that there are no shortcuts, and never, ever settle for less.
In life as in a foot race, look ahead, keep your eye on the goal, and run through the finish. That doesn’t mean you have to sprint through each day. It doesn’t mean you can’t stop and reminisce. It certainly doesn’t mean you can’t coast sometimes. That’s what weekends and vacations are for, after all.
Don’t complain or make excuses. Doing so is a waste of time and energy and a sure-fire sign of weakness.
Take time to say “Good Morning” especially when the morning seems cold and gloomy.
Step outside your comfort zone and embrace the challenges that doing so brings. Running uphill into a stiff wind on a frigid winter afternoon can be daunting and painful, but it will prepare you well for the true hardships that life will inevitably bring.
One morning soon, I’ll awake, wipe the sleep from my eyes, feel around for my bifocals, shuffle to the mirror, and find a 60-year-old face looking back at me. The age doesn’t seem ancient anymore. It’s just a number, a landmark along the road to wherever I’m heading.
That’s the beauty of it all.
Life is an adventure and a truly joyous one at that, especially if you profit from the lessons you learn along the way and savor the journey with friends and family by your side.
