Conquering a Shared Challenge

Fiona O'Keeffe

August 6, 2018

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Coach Allan Dunson’s voice booms across the hallways of the Wilbur dorms. “Time to get up!” he shouts. In Rinconada, I can hear his announcement from Trancos. He looks like an NFL linebacker and speaks as if he has a built-in amplification system, but has the heart of a teddy bear. It is 6:30 on a Monday morning, and the Stanford high school running camp is under way. As the kids wearily make their way downstairs, I try to muster all the excitement expected of a camp counselor (before my morning coffee!). No doubt these kids are questioning why they signed up for this early morning pain, or why they let their parents send them here.

It’s my second year working at the camp, and though sleepy myself, I’m excited for the week ahead. The camp staff is populated by a few other college athletes, mainly from Stanford, and around 30 knowledgeable college coaches from around the country. Most of them are in their 20s. It’s simultaneously strange and reassuring to notice that I relate to their lives as much as, maybe more than, the campers’.

Getting to share with these kids what makes me tick--running miles upon miles--in a place that’s become as true a home to me as any is pretty dang special. The slight mishaps along the way and somewhat rudimentary accommodations of the freshman dorms will help bond this group, I hope.

Snapping out of my daydream-y reverie, I start talking with the kids in my check-in group and attempt to gauge their personalities. It’s not an easy task; I would hardly be my best self in their situation: pre-run, pre-caffeine, pre-breakfast, and far from home. The time for catching up is not long, though, as all 200 of us head into Wilbur dining hall.

The kids live a bit like college athletes for a few days--albeit without classes, other adult responsibilities, or bicycles. We walk everywhere on campus, including multiple runs (er, walks) to the bookstore and Jamba Juice each day. During free time, the counselors stand talking, and we know exactly what’s going to happen as soon as a bright-eyed group approaches us. “Will someone walk us to Jamba?” It’s a game of nose-goes to see who takes them. Our feet are a bit weary, but we don’t really mind.

Their enthusiasm for the sport inspires me. Their raw energy and desire to improve themselves is refreshing to me after 3 consecutive seasons of collegiate cross country and track, which can feel high-stakes and serious. They have so many questions, and I realize that I don’t have all the answers. That’s okay, though, because I still have much to learn.

The days pass slowly, filled with constant activity: we rise early, eat breakfast, drive out to run, shower, eat lunch, rest a bit, and then meet again for an afternoon training session. The coaches give talks, the kids ask questions, and a few doze off in the corner of the Band Shak. Yes, we meet for speeches in the Band Shak. I feel like an interloper, and I wonder if any of the campers know that ours is no ordinary marching band.

One afternoon, we take the campers running through campus to the fountains and initiate them in the tradition of fountain-hopping. At each fountain, we give them 1 minute to jump in, prompting a mad rush of 70 skinny high schoolers splashing into the water. We must look truly menacing, weaving our way through campus as a massive, soggy, jogging pack.

The last night, we have a tradition of a high-stakes trivia game held in the oak grove by the track. Jess Riden, the camp director, writes the questions; her command of all things Stanford, track and field, and general knowledge is impressive. Nothing makes a group of runners more excited than a little competition--this is the most animated I’ve seen our group yet. They’re ready. As they pass out the papers, my fellow counselor, Rebecca, and I remind the kids a false start might cause them to be DQ’d.

The 1st round flies by, and our group does surprisingly well. Later on, conflict erupts over identifying a logo, which was for PlayStation. Instead, we put the parent company, Sony, as we misunderstand the question. When Jess reads off the answer as “PlayStation” the kids in our group are incensed. They demand that Rebecca or I rectify the situation, but as we plead our case, we know it’s pointless.

The early confidence fades a bit as we head into the most difficult portion of the competition: distinguishing between track and field stars and their celebrity doppelgangers. Jess has somehow managed to find the most glamorous pictures of athletes you’ll ever see. We miss several questions in this round and the next. Morale slumps.

As they read off the places from bottom to top, we keep waiting to get it over with and hear our team’s name. At least we’re not last! 5th, 4th, 3rd--did we really do this well? They announce us as the winners, and the kids are ecstatic. FREE T-SHIRTS?!

They even ask to take a group picture with Rebecca and I. I’m a bit touched, I have to admit--maybe our group likes us after all. We walk back as a small crew, spirits running high. It’s already around 8:45 by the time we arrive back at Wilbur. The group wants ice cream, and we know of one place at Tressider that serves it tonight (everything else is closed). It closes at 9, so we tell the kids they can run and get money if they really want to go.

In a couple of minutes, we take off at a speed-walk towards Tressider. After running the last 200 meters or so, we arrive at 8:58. Phew! I laugh to myself as I look down at my Birkenstocks--definitely not ideal running shoes. Everyone gets their order and sits together, celebrating our victory with the sweetest of prizes. It is the perfect ending to camp. This is cross country at its finest: bonding over conquering a shared challenge.