Coach Randy Jenkins
Thirty years ago, a bunch of rising ninth-grade boys sat in the J.J. Daniell Middle School media center. A man with a pair of infamous mid-80’s polyester coaching shorts, knit shirt and the biggest calves I have ever seen, walked into the room. Coach Randy Jenkins, the Sprayberry High School freshman football coach, looked into our eyes and began to speak:
“You will run 30 minutes on the first day of football practice. ”
You could have heard a pin drop. In our minds, he had just thrown out the impossible. Thirty minutes? He might as well told us we had to go climb Mt. Everest.
But since I wanted to make the team, I started climbing. I trained with weights. I ran many miles on the campus of Kennesaw College. Coach Jenkins’ words rattled in my head as I ran up and down the 3-mile course. June and July passed like the miles under my feet. The big day soon arrived.
I remember it like it was yesterday. It was August, hot and humid. We ran that afternoon on the clover-covered practice field in our Nike running shoes (like the ones Forrest Gump had in his movie.) I ran the 30 minutes. So did everyone else. And we did more than just make the team.
Yearbook page from the season. Coach Jenkins is on the bottom left.
We finished that season undefeated.
Coach Randy Jenkins threw out a challenge to us. And as a team, we rose to it. And I dare say there was no better-conditioned bunch of ninth graders in the State of Georgia.
I thought about Coach Jenkins this morning as I ran my 9.25 miles in the June Mississippi heat. I watched the fishing boats scoot across the Reservoir like water bugs. I ran with a good friend for three miles. I saw a copperhead snake on the trail. I smiled at everyone who ran past me. I had an amazing run to start what is going to be an amazing day of illustrating a book.
I don’t know what kind of challenges life will throw at me. But Coach Jenkins’ taught me something valuable: The key to winning is to be in great shape. When you’re on the field and exhausted, it’s good to have a something left in the tank. It’s a thirty-year-old lesson that’s timeless.
I finished my run, poured the rest of my water over my head, looked toward Georgia and said a word of thanks to an old coach.
