While at Blanchet High School in Seattle, my friends and I wanted nothing more than to repeat as the undefeated state champions. Our coach, Leo Genest, “G-man,” had led his teams to the last three out of four state championships in cross country. He was ultracompetitive, and so were we.
As an incoming senior, I trained hard, running more than 500 miles that summer. My teammates and I followed, to the letter and more, what Mr. Genest had put before each of us in individualized, day by day running calendars. We’d often meet up together for a 12-mile run up the long, steep hills of Magnolia. We were on a mission.
We won our first meets, and then came the Auburn Roller Coaster relays. In this meet, the fifth runners on each team would compete against each other, then fourth, then third, then second, until the best runners of each team raced.
As I did my final preparations for my race, my friend Eric came to me in a panic, “Isn’t this your race?”
I replied, “No, it’s girls JV. My race is next.”
Then we saw boys race by us.
I was horrified. “Eric, what should I do?”
Without waiting for an answer, I ripped off my sweats, sprinted behind a tree, and waited for about five runners to pass (that’s about where I’d be, I figured). I jumped into the race.
Not surprisingly, I ran great. Not only did I miss the first part of the race, but the spike in adrenaline and my self-directed anger gave me wings. I quickly pulled into the lead and ended up crossing the finish line 20 seconds ahead of the competition.
‘We’ll move past this’
My teammates were elated.
But I quickly retreated alone to the school bus in despair and defeat. Stolen glory.
Coach Genest found me. “I’m hearing rumors that you didn’t run the whole race. Is that true?”
I nodded through tears. I braced myself for getting blasted. I had ruined our team’s perfect record. I had single-handedly snapped a year-and-a-half winning streak.
I had let my coach and the whole team down. I alone had ruined our dreams of repeating as undefeated champions.
“Well, thank you for being honest,” Genest said in a soft, kind voice. “We’ll move past this together.”
That’s it. No yelling. No lecture. No recriminations. Following Leo’s lead, the team also didn’t give me what I deserved. I felt forgiven. I was forgiven.
And I was surprised.
The coach’s real mission
But I shouldn’t have been surprised. Leo had a more important mission than going undefeated or winning state. He saw his teaching and coaching as a way of making Christ present to us.
Each morning at daily Mass, Genest rededicated himself to his goal. Each day, he prayed the words of Jesus: “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”
Jesus forgave cheaters so Leo did, too.
Just this year, the alumni from those state championship teams gathered again at Blanchet. We swapped stories about how Genest challenged us way beyond what we thought we could do.
He told us truths we didn’t want to hear. He made us a community of excellence and of lasting friendship.
As one dear friend put it, “I just cannot stop smiling over how much fun I had with all my old Blanchet cross country buddies last night! The first championship era of ’83, ’84, & ’86 was just inducted into the Hall o’ Fame – the first 3 titles that launched a run of 9 state titles in a 38-year period. In truth, from runner #1 to runner #40, it’s all about the friendships burnished through the pain of cross country running! Love all of these guys, love The G-man, our coach, and filled to the brim with gratitude for being a part of this squad and legacy.”
As seniors, we didn’t go undefeated. We didn’t win state, either. But, thanks to Leo, we all won anyway.
Mission accomplished.
Dr. Christopher Kaczor is the honorary professor for the renewal of Catholic intellectual life at the Word on Fire Institute, professor of philosophy at Loyola Marymount University, and a visiting fellow at the de Nicola Center of the University of Notre Dame. This was previously published at www.wordonfire.org.