Wednesday, 9/03/08 (b)

The last of the Rose Hill junior varsity runners finished the 5K course around 4:10 p.m. and the two varsity squads started to assemble behind the white, spray-painted line that marked the start and the finish. There were 28 runners in all; Matt's team was outnumbered 3 to 1. Coach Adamson called his team to circle up around him.

"All right, guys. Let's see what we got. Hands in. Cougars on three." Matt encouraged.

"One, two, three, COUGARS ..." they shouted in a discordant jumble.

"Aw. We gotta work on that." Matt mumbled as they returned to the line.

Less than a minute later, the Raiders coach sounded the bullhorn and the race was begun. The course took them into a strand of woods and out of view shortly after the start, before winding back into the open on the other side of the large field that abutted Rose Hill High School. The first runners to emerge from the trees were a pack of four silver and black Raider runners followed by a lone runner wearing the CVHS green and gold. It was Jorge and he looked happier than Matt had ever seen him as he drafted behind the main pack. That group of five hit the one mile mark at 5 minutes and 10 seconds. Behind that cluster of runners, a number of Rose Hill harriers past the mile mark in groups of ones and twos. After about a dozen Raider runners went past, Jake came galloping up with his long, awkward looking strides. He was followed closely by D.J. Matt thought at the last second to write down their times: 6:21 and 6:26.

The Rose Hill coach had by this time crossed back over the field to encourage his lead runners before they went back into the wooded section of the course for their second and final lap. Matt waited it out to encourage Kory (6:52), Joe (7:01), Nick (7:02), and Mark (7:08). Glancing over the field he saw that the lead pack had been trimmed to four and that Jorge was hanging in there, mere strides behind the leaders.

Matt felt a rising excitement he didn't expect as he and the rest of the crowd waited to see what the status of the race would be when the lead runners emerged from the forest.

"Hey, your guy's leading!" the Raiders coach remarked to him excitedly. Up to this point, Matthew had viewed his Rose Hill counterpart with considerable bemusement as this middle-aged man had spent most of the last 45 minutes running back and forth across the field to wildly exhort various members of his team. But now, Matthew was starting to catch the spirit. He ran up a 100 yards or so to catch Jorge sooner.

"That's it, Jorge! That's it! Looking good! Keep it up!" he shouted as Jorge passed, closing with a bellowing "RUN!" as the chasing pack of RHHS runners went by only seconds after.

Matt was torn between waiting for his whole squad, like he did for the first lap, and wanting to get over to the finish line. The Rose Hill coach and the J.V. runners watching the race had already started hustling over there, but Matt waited a bit before deciding he had to see the finish. He sprinted over to the finish line in time to see Jorge pulling away for a victory that the timer clocked in a time of 17:28. The second place finisher crossed the line in 17:37 which triggered a seemingly endless parade of Raider runners.

Matt caught up to Jorge breathlessly bent over but beaming and gave him a high five.

"Where'd that come from, my friend? Wow! You were flying."

They went back to the finish line to cheer on the rest of the squad. Finally, in 13th place came D.J. in a time of 21:12. Jake finished 19th in 22:03, followed fast by a hard-charging Kory in 22:06. Joe, Mark, and Nick were the last to cross the line and all three looked as if they would likely pass out before he could get them back on the bus for the ride home.

Matt congratulated the Raider coach who said he'd call in the score.

"20-35, right?"

"Yep." Matt replied, though he didn't have the faintest idea what that score meant. After having the three slowest runners, losing by only 15 really didn't sound that bad. "Jorge must have earned our 20 points."

The ride back was pretty much a mirror image of the incoming trip. Everyone had recovered from the race. The seniors were in the back; the close-knit junior trio was yelling and laughing at one another; D.J. had his earplugs back in ... the only thing that had changed was that Jorge talked pretty much nonstop to Matt the whole way home to Clover Valley.

First, he recounted the race and how he broke away from the pack around the two-mile mark and how good it felt to finish first. Eventually, he started talking about school and how he'd been to seven schools in his last 10 years but that he really liked Clover Valley and that he'd never been able to be on a team before because he was always working but his mom said this year he could and he'd been running all summer but he didn't think he'd ever win a race and his mom thought he needed to make friends this year but he hadn't really to this point and his favorite class was English but his first favorite part of school was cross-country and he wished that the team could race every day but that he was kinda sore already from the race and that he wished his mom had been at the race but he couldn't wait to tell her about it ...

Matt couldn't really get a word in past a certain point, but he didn't mind. He listened with a widening smile to his young runner let loose with a torrent of thoughts he'd obviously been holding in for a long time.

Wednesday, 9/03/08 (a)

Matt had been looking forward to the Cougars first cross-country meet like he had looked forward to the rare blind dates he'd been set up on in college ... didn't figure to end happily but it would at least be interesting to see what would happen. And as they drove over, he started to catch some of that competitive fever he associated w/ longish rides in a spacious school bus. He just wished it was something he understood better ... he could fire up a squad, but he really didn't think that would help any of the runners on his team who sure appeared to be a dispassionate group.

In the bus over, the squad split up mostly by classes. The seniors (Kory and Mark) sat in the back. The juniors (Jake, Joe, and Nick) clustered in the middle and were the most boisterous on the bus. D.J. sat by himself listening to his iPod in the seat behind Matt. He appeared to be the only one who was in a focused competition mindset. Jorge sat opposite D.J. and stared out the window the whole way. Matt occasionally tried to engage him in a conversation, but it never quite caught fire.

They got to Rose Hill at about ten minutes before four. They were greeted by the Raiders athletic director (Steve Pasch) who took Matt for a quick walk-through of the course while the Cougar runners jogged a warmup. Watching the Rose Hill J.V. runners blaze past him on the two-loop course, it was confirmed for Matt that Clover Valley was in over their head here.

"Ugh. This is going to be the running equivalent of UNC vs. UNC-Pembroke."

Tuesday, 9/02/08

After a long Labor Day weekend spent exploring a nearby State park and after a long-seeming first day back at school, Matt was on his way over to the locker room to join his squad of runners for the warmup over to "T" Park (as the locals called it) when he was flagged down by one of the front office ladies.

"Coach Adamson, you have a call in the office."

In these days of caller-id enabled cell phones, Matt found it disturbing to pick up a phone without any idea of who was calling him or what they wanted to talk about.

"Uh, hello. This is Matt Adamson."

"Oh. Hey Matt. I was trying to reach J.T. but I guess they couldn't find him. This is Steve Pasch, the A.D. over at Rose Hill. You guys are still coming over to race tomorrow, right? I was just calling to see if we were gonna have a JV race. You guys interested?"

"Um. No I don't think so. We only have 7 runners. Just a varsity squad."

"Ah. Sorry to hear that. Down year, huh? Seems like you guys used to have more, no?"

"Yeah. I'm not sure. This is my first year."

"Well would you guys mind if we have a JV race at 3:45, then we'll start the varsity race around 4:15? I figure it'll take you guys 'til about 3:45 to get here, so you'll need time for a warmup anyway. Does that work?"

"Sure. 4:15. That works." Matt replied making a mental note that the runners were supposed to warmup before the race. Seems like that would wear them out, he wondered to himself. "All right. Thanks. We'll see you tomorrow."

As he was hanging up, J.T. lollingly strolled into the office. Matt debriefed him on the conversation and J.T. told him where to find the keys to the school van and the associated signout sheet.

"You coming with us tomorrow to Rose Hill?" Matt inquired catching J.T. somewhat off guard.

"To a dual meet? It's 45 minutes away." Then, fearing he'd been a little too gruff, J.T. added, "Thanks though, not sure anyone's ever asked me to go a regular dual meet before."

Friday, 8/29/08 (b)

Matt saw J.T. only a few hours later up in the press box at the opening game of the Cougar football season. Coach Thorpe, the head CVHS football coach and one of the school's history teachers, had asked Matt if he wouldn't mind being backup videotape operator ... just in case the student assistant charged with the task didn't show. The video assistant did show, as a matter of fact he was there before Matt was, and had the camera set up and working well before kickoff.

The press box was old and cramped like many of the facilities at Clover Valley and given Matt really didn't need to be up there he exited the booth (after a friendly wave to J.T. at the opposite end) and sat down in the stands near a few of the teachers he recognized. Over the first week, he'd met probably half the teachers at the school and it was becoming obvious he was the youngest on the staff by at least five years. That was made further evident when he noticed he was the only one in the loose cluster of teachers who was there without a family. But everyone had been very nice so far, asking him in the hallways how his classes were going and providing encouragement. He'd even had a nice conversation before school yesterday with Sean Perlozzo in which he was treated to a 10 minute seminar on the newspaper business. Toward the end Perlozzo asked him how the cross-country team was going. Matt replied that it was so far, so good. Perlozzo asked him how much speed work they had done thus far and before Matt could answer the former coach assured him however much he was doing it was not enough.

Watching the students crowd around the field's fenced perimeter in swirling tight groups made Matt feel a little old which was a new sensation. The same faces didn't seem that young in the classroom or the school hallways, but out here someone felt out of place and Matt suspected it was him. In his brief tenure in the small town of Clover Valley he'd been keenly cognizant of all the differences between here and his home in suburban Coharie Creek. But for the first time, recognized something here that was exactly the same.
"The same swarms of moths fly around the stadium lights ... you have to strain to hear the field announcer ... 90 percent of the students are paying no attention to the game ... the other 10 percent are over there in the pep section and cheering like Cameron Crazies the entire game ... the band are exiting the bleachers for their halftime show at an absurdly early time (w/ 2:42 left in the first quarter) ... they'll stand on the track for most of the second quarter ... when you can hear the field announcer he's always correcting himself ... 'excuse me that was Carlson on that last tackle' ... the barbecue sandwiches still taste great and you can get a solid dinner for five bucks ... the same elementary school kids have their own Nerf game going in the field just past the end zone ... and the game always seems to be decided by halftime. (CVHS was trailing Willowsburg 20-6.)"

Coming back from the concession stand, Matt saw his two senior runners, Kory and Mark, in one of the dense packs of congregating students. They were too busy trying to impress their female friends to give him much more than a wary wave of acknowledgement, but he did talk briefly with Jake and Nick who were in a large group of friends. After he headed back to his seats and was some distance away, he could pick out Jake's voice saying, "Yeah, Coach Adamson's all right", which made him feel not quite as old as he had before halftime.

Friday, 8/29/08 (a)

As the Clover Valley runners changed in the cramped locker room for the last practice of the week, Coach Adamson waited outside and stretched his calves in preparation for the short warm up run over to Thompson Park. After a week of running, he was starting to feel pretty good about his conditioning and some of the muscle soreness was starting to abate. Lost in his thoughts after his first full week of teaching and with his back to the school's courtyard he was surprised by the sudden arrival of J.T., the school's athletic director.

"Matthew, I have your uniforms. Seven, right? What sizes do you need?"

"Oh. Hey J.T. Yep. Seven. Not sure on sizes. Let's wait until the guys finish changing and we can let them choose."

J.T. grumbled a little at the delay.

"I only have one XL, so only one boy can choose that."

"Fair enough." Matthew replied, not anxious for any sort of conflict as he'd been meaning to talk to J.T. about a more important issue than uniforms for the cross-country team.

"Say J.T. When do you want to talk about the varsity basketball schedule? I'd like to get some early season games against tougher competition to challenge our squad. Might be good to play in a holiday tournament down in the Tri-Cities. Get a few games against top competition and see what we have ..."

J.T. cut him off in mid-sentence, "No. We don't go that far. I'll get you the schedule by the end of September. It'll look a lot like last year. Look I gotta go. Take the sizes you need out of this box and put it front of my office door when you're done." 10 seconds later and J.T. was already out of sight around a corner.

Matt exhaled with a sigh-groan mixture ... "I got a find a way to deal with that guy."

Tuesday, 8/26/08

The Clover Valley cross-country team headed out as a group from school to Thompson Park just before 3 p.m. on another beautiful late summer North Carolina day. Matt's legs had recovered enough to take in the 1 mile warmup, though he'd already conceded to the idea that some days he'd just drive over to the park instead of running there.

Matt had determined from Jake that the team had a 4 mile path through the neighborhoods around Thompson Park that was a fairly common practice routine in years past. After stretching, he sent them off on the run with a minimal amount of encourgement and then leaned up against a park shelter to stretch his own calves. After loosening up, he sat down on a bench and mentally walked through some of the motivational techniques he planned to try with his first basketball team this winter in their early practices.

Somewhere around a half an hour after they set out, he saw the bobbing form of Jake and the little new kid, Jorge, enter back into the park and finish up in the grassy area where they stretched.

Jake exhaled forcefully and frequently after a trip to the nearby water fountain.

"Whoo ... I tried to shake him .... but .... couldn't do it. We .... may have an actual runner on this team."

Matt replied, "Hey. Well done, guys. Looking good."

"I was trying to keep a 7 minute pace ... not sure what ... you were looking for." Jake carried on still somewhat breathlessly.

Seven minutes a mile? What's normal for you guys?"

"That's a pretty good tempo run for me this early in the year. Didn't seem to affect this guy much, though." Jake gestured at Jorge. "Seemed like he could have gone faster if he wanted."

Jorge spoke for the first time all practice. "I didn't know the way back."

Jake laughed. "Hey. Glad I could help. Shoot. I wouldn't have gone so hard if I'd known you weren't going to pass me."

By this time, D.J. and Kory had returned. Another ten minutes passed ... he'd sent the other four back to school for their warmdown ... and he was starting to get worried about the whereabouts of the still-absent Cougars when he saw the last three slowly filter back into the park. Matt quickly did the math and asked the trio:

"What pace were you guys keeping there? 11 minutes?"

"We had to walk some coach." Joe replied with some hesitation.

Matt paused and gave his first ever cross-country coaching piece of instruction with a sly smile.

"Well let's pick it up a bit next time. I like to eat dinner before 8 pm most nights."

Monday, 8/25/08 (b)

At the 2:35 meeting for prospective cross-country runners, two more harriers joined the squad. The "usuals": Kory, Mark, Jake, Nick, and D.J. were all there as well.

There was Joe Shivers, apparently a friend of Jake's who Jake had talked into giving cross-country a second chance after an unpleasant experience with the sport last year. Apparently, Joe had run afoul of Coach Perlozzo early on for "wholly inadequate" effort and had been a subject of unchecked scorn from the coach the rest of the year.

The other new runner was a slight Hispanic boy who introduced himself in a mumble as Jorge Castro. He sat by himself toward the far side of the room and didn't say much. About all that Matt got out of him in their "let's go around and introduce ourselves" session was that he was new to Clover Valley and that he had been running some this summer.

He handed his squad the medical waivers that J.T. had given him and told them they'd be practicing every day after school from 2:45 to 4:15, that their first meet was only 9 days away, and that he'd see them tomorrow. Most of the squad loitered some on the way out of Coach Adamson's classroom, with the exception of Jorge who was gone before Matt put his cross country folder into his briefcase.

Monday, 8/25/08 (a)

Matt's first day of classes at Clover Valley was a blur.

His first period Algebra class had 25 freshman who were as new to this high school experience as he was. He covered the format of the class and other logistical items like how much homework they should expect. It went well. And while this didn't necessarily surprise him, he had somewhat started to expect surprises after his first week on the job. It was a perceptible relief to start his day, week, semester, year, and career off with a solid first class.

Second period Honors Algebra II was homeroom. There was a 6' 6" kid in that class of whom he made a mental note to check on his basketball status. James Keegan was the guy's name and he was the first student who's name Matt learned. "Hey, he looks like a rebounder ...", he thought somewhat guiltily knowing that Algebra was supposed to be his sole focus here. Of the numerous opening-day announcements during homeroom there was the one that Matt had written encouraging would-be cross country runners to come to an meeting immediately after-school for more details.

He had a planning period for number three and Matt thought it was a nice touch that Principal Tierney came by to see how his first day on the job was going.

He was on lunch duty for 4th period which seemed easy enough as that was the seniors time to eat.

For fifth period, he was excited to see D.J. was part of the Honors Algebra II class although the excitement didn't really appear to be reciprocal, at least outwardly during their exchange of "hey"s. Those sophomores were a little more wound up then second period, but just as they had warmed up to their day, so had Matt and he was easily up to the task.

Sixth period was another planning session, although it'd be Economics in the spring.

The day ended with another Algebra I class with another 25 freshman, this one with an abnormal 17 girl / 8 boy split. He had more energy than they did at this point and the class day ended smoothly.

Sunday, 8/24/08

Matt spent the last day before school started by unpacking the last of his boxes, finding a new church to attend in Clover Valley, reviewing his lesson plans for the first week of Algebra classes, calling home to check on Emily and Zeus, and soaking his seriously sore legs in a hot bath.

He'd seen D.J in church with his family but was unable to make eye contact with him before he left. Matt wasn't sure if he liked the idea of numerous student-teacher interactions outside of school, but it was pretty much unavoidable in a small town like Clover Valley.

"Not like I'm going to drive all the way to Troy to do my grocery shopping", he concluded.

After not being able to fall asleep right away when he lay down at 10pm, he dropped out of bed to get his copy of Dean Smith's "The Carolina Way: Leadership Lessons from a Life in Coaching". After about 45 minutes of contentedly reviewing the familiar territory in the well-worn pages, he put it down, awkwardly clicked his bedside lamp off, and quickly nodded off.

Friday, 8/22/08

The second practice, and the last practice before school started, also went fine. Jake, Kory, Mark, and D.J. showed up with Jake reporting that Nick was too sore after Wednesday's practice to make it. Matt had learned from the post-practice conversation on Wednesday that the normal procedure was for the team to dress in the locker rooms after school, then jog over to Thompson Park where they would stretch some before starting their eventual workout and eventually running or walking the one mile back to school as a cool down.

So on Friday morning, they jogged over to Thompson Park as a team. Coach Adamson impressed them with his easy gait over to the park. He and Jake were the only two who were in shape enough to have any conversation on the way over and they set the pace a few steps ahead of D.J and maybe 20 yards ahead of the two senior friends Kory and Mark who were already laboring.

"So Jake, you ever play basketball?"

"Not really coach. I'm tall enough, I guess, but I just never got into it."

"You never played at all? Not even as a kid?"

"Played a few seasons when I was like 9 or 10. I didn't really like all the shouting. Pass it! Shoot it! Get the ball! It wasn't like I was heading to the NBA anyway. I think I made one basket my whole career."

"Is that why you like cross-country? 'Cause it's quieter?"

"Who said I like it?", Jake said with a laugh, before proceeding somewhat hesitantly, "Anyway, Coach Perlozzo yelled at us pretty good last year."

"I can imagine. Don't worry that's not my style. Players play better when they're relaxed and they can focus on what they need to do to succeed."

"Well, I've never really found running relaxing, but I'm willing to give that a shot." Jake said with a grin as they entered into the park.

Matt led them through their stretching before sending them off for an easy lap around the 2 mile park path. All four runners made it around the park, and eventually back to school, without incident. Matt left the practice with tired legs and a good feeling ... happy that at least he knew a handful of Clover Valley students before school started on Monday.

Wednesday, 8/20/08

By the time Wednesday evening rolled around, Matt had contacted three more potential Cougar runners, two of which said they would be there at practice. So, he knew to expect five kids, but other than that he didn't know what to expect. He'd called a friend from college, who he knew had run track in high school, but unfortunately he had been a sprinter and didn't know what the long-distance runners had done.

"All I remember was that they were never around." he proffered quite uselessly.

He thought about getting in touch with Sean Perlozzo but decided the risk outweighed the rewards. Even a google search for "coaching cross country" or "cross country practices" didn't really yield anything fruitful, other than that some high school cross country teams have seriously impressive web pages. He eventually resolved on the ride over that there was no point faking it, he'd just 'fess up to being completely unprepared for this and hope that someone who'd been on the team last year could get the group started in the right direction.

He got to school around 6:40 and paced nervously around his car waiting for other cars to pull into the lot.

"This is crazy. I wasn't this nervous when I had to hit those two foul shots in the conference tournament finals my senior year. Settle down Matty-boy."

Finally, at 6:55, a minivan turned into the school lot and approached where Matt was standing. The driver rolled down the window, and a mom asked out, "What time should I pick him up?"

His mind raced. Hadn't though of this. Thinking back to the hundreds of basketball practices he'd attended, he said as confidently as he could ...

"9:30."

"9:30!?!" echoed back at him simultaneously from both the driver and the boy who had exited the car.

"Won't it be dark by then?" asked the suddenly startled driver mom.

"Um. I'm sorry. I meant 8:30."

"Oh, okay. All right Nick, I'll see you then." she said before pulling away.

The other four runners came in quick succession and Matt couldn't help judge them internally with the eyes of a basketball coach. Only one of them appeared to top 6 feet and that kid (Jake) looked the least athletic of them all. He gathered them in a loose circle, introduced himself, and handed out copies of the year's schedule. Before he could come clean that he knew nothing about cross-country beyond what Wikipedia had taught him, one of the boys (Kory, he thought ... or was this one Mark) asked him:

"Uh, coach ... whaddya want us to do with these while we're running?

Oh, this was spiraling down the hole quickly, Matt thought. And at that moment, instead of sticking to his original plan of full and open confession, his competitive spirit goaded him into giving it a go as a newly-minted, supposed, running expert.

"Good question Mark ..."

"Uh, I'm Kory, coach."

"Right, sorry about that." he said ... gratified that his stalling tactic had bought him another 10-15 seconds to come up with something.

"Yeah, I'm going to hold the schedules while you guys run. I just wanted you guys to get a look at who we're up against this year. It's never too early to start circling dates on the calendar."

"You're not gonna be running with us, coach?"

Now Matt wasn't sure if they were serious or were on to his charade and playing it for their own malicious enjoyment.

"Nope, I want to just observe you guys. See what we have here." Matt answered.

The volley of confused faces at least let Matt know that they hadn't sniffed him out yet.

"Hey, let's just do some stretching and then we'll get started."

"Stretching before a little warm up?" ... it was Nick this time

"Yeah, today only. Then we'll go back to normal next time. We're gonna take it easy tonight."

That was the first thing he'd said all night that was greeted with any semblance of comprehension and happily it was also greeted with relieved smiles and murmurings from the team. Matt led them through some basic stretching ... more arm and shoulder stuff than they were used to ... and then had them warm up a half mile or so by having them jog around the school. He used that time to draft out the rest of the practice which ended up being heading over to the school track and jogging 8 laps (2 miles), then racing a quarter mile, then jogging another 4 laps as a cool down. They were done by 8:15, so he had some time to get their names, what grade they were in, and how many years they'd run cross-country. When they all had been picked up shortly after that, Matt exhaled and laughed to himself that he'd pulled it off ... at least for one practice. He looked down at his team roster, with an embryonic and unexpected sense of pride, and scribbled a few additional notes.

2008 CVHS Cougars XC Roster:

Jacob (Jake) Rogers: Junior, 3rd year of XC: most endurance (?), no sprint speed
Kory Hall: Senior, 3rd year of XC: battler ... won the sprint w/ a ending kick
Nick Vincent: Junior, 2nd year: started walking some ... looks out of shape
Marcus (Mark) Whitton: Senior, 4th year: SLOW but steady, I guess.
Darrell (D.J.) Turner: Sophomore, 1st year: smoothest runner, quiet

Tuesday, 8/19/08

Even a day later, Matt was decidedly unclear on how he'd become the varsity boys cross-country at Clover Valley. The only running he'd ever done in his life was for basketball conditioning and even then it was only a mile at a time.

"How in the world do you coach running? Don't they just run ... and the fastest one wins?" He wondered aloud over breakfast.

J.T. had given him a packet of information on the team in a large accordion folder. The entire contents of the needlessly large folder consisted of two lonely sheets of paper. One had a handwritten list of 11 names with phone numbers and e-mail addresses. Apparently, this was the interest list compiled last Spring. The second sheet had the team's schedule for the season.

Per J.T's instructions he'd tried to get in touch with all 11 last night. At this point, he'd heard back from six, and three of those were no longer interested. He told the other three that the first practice would be Wednesday night at 7pm. None of the kids he talked to sounded any happier than him about the prospects of the first practice.

Gloomily peering over the schedule, as his Cheerios began to soften, he concluded that the only positive element of this surprise assignment was that he'd get to familiarize himself somewhat with the locations of some of the other schools in the Pine Hills Eight conference.

2008 CVHS Cougars Boys Cross Country Schedule

Sept 3rd Away Rose Hill
Sept 6th Away Kickoff Classic @ Troy Central
Sept 10th Away Flagler County
Sept 17th Home Troy Central
Sept 24th Home Troutdale
Sept 27th Away Hickory Creek Invitational
Oct 1st Home South Troy
Oct 8th Away Willowsburg
Oct 15th Away St. Teresa
Oct 22nd Home Bisbee County
Oct 29th Away Pine Hills Conference Championships @ Willowsburg
Nov 6th Away 3-A State Championship @ Culver City

Monday, 8/18/08 (b)

Matt hadn't really been sweating the educational part of his new adventure. (He'd spent about 90% of his time after accepting the job thinking about how to install a zone press for the basketball team to run.) He'd thoroughly enjoyed his student teaching last spring and his advisers had told him, essentially, that he was a natural-born educator. He was able to maintain a controlled, learning-conducive environment while relating to his would-be scholars in a friendly peer-to-peer basis. (He didn't view this a particularly noteworthy characteristic given he was only about five years older than some of them.) Plus, he'd always been good at math. Dominated it. And his load was pretty light. He was teaching Algebra to two 9th grade classes and then Honors Algebra II to two 10th grade classes. Then in the spring he'd be teaching Honors Economics to seniors.

It was because of the Econ class that he was in Sean Perlozzo's classroom with four other teachers on his first afternoon at CVHS. It wasn't entirely clear to him why Economics was grouped in with the English department, but he wasn't looking to make waves on his first day. In fact, he was just glad to be out of Perlozzo's crosshairs to this point. He'd spent the first 20 minutes of the session absolutely blistering the two other English teachers who didn't show up for the meeting and the next ten blistering Principal Tierney for not running a more efficient school. The subsequent 60 minutes were as tedious as any he'd ever spent inside school walls as Perlozzo started listing individual writing assignments that a CVHS student should write from week one of his/her freshman year to the time he/she graduated. Matt was deep in thought about potential under-the-basket in-bounds plays when the sliver of his brain tasked with minimally paying attention issued an alert.

"Matt, I'm sure you're wondering why you are here."

At that moment, an older, heavily-bearded man slowly sauntered into the room causing Perlozzo to stop talking for one of the few times for the last hour and a half.

"Sean. Gotta a call. Said you ... weren't at cross country practice this morning."

"Well J.T., why would I have been there? I'm not coaching cross-country this year."

"Nobody told me that", the older man responded after some thought.

"I told Gene a couple of weeks ago. He was supposed to tell you. I'm too busy now that I'm chair of the English department."

Perlozzo impatiently started to turn his attention back toward the teachers.

"Nobody told me that you weren't coaching."

Perlozzo sighed heavily and rotated back to face J.T. and muttered,

"I think we've covered that."

Meanwhile, the four veteran CVHS teachers who'd been held captive over the past 90 minutes, and who weren't going to let a second chance for escape go by, used the distraction of their jailer as an excuse for an ipso facto adjournment of the meeting.

Perlozzo now traded in his previous condescending tone for one of agitation.

"Arrgh. Can't that old fool Tierney do anything right!" "All right. Let's go see him. But it's a waste of your time and it's definitely a waste of mine, because I'm not coaching this year. You might as well start looking for someone to babysit that mollycoddled squad of so-called runners."

With that Sean Perlozzo stormed past J.T. near the door, with the older man in tow, en route to the principal's office.

And just like that Matt found himself all alone in the classroom. After a few moments reflecting on the sudden squall that had just passed and left only sunny skies in its wake, he got up to return to his classroom. Turning left out of the door, he immediately found his path blocked by the grizzled figure of J.T. Weber.

"Matthew, right? I need to talk to you."

Monday, 8/18/08 (a)

Even though it was only 7:15 am, the low valley fog was already starting to burn off. It looked to be another abnormally warm day in the North Carolina hills. In the Clover Valley H.S. parking lot, two kids chatted aimlessly while a third lingered just outside the conversation.

After about a 45 second pause in their talking, the taller of the two boys said ...

"He did say the 18th, right?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"And the e-mail said 7 am. I know that ..."

The conversation sputtered out again as both boys peered into the direction of the lot's entrance for another 45 seconds. The shorter boy said with a sigh,

"Well Jake, I think Coach Perloser is a no show."

Jake stretched his calves by leaning his 6'4" frame against one of the handicapped parking signs in the lot and responded,

"It's probably good he ain't here. Imagine he'd have us running suicides or some other nonsense and I only ran maybe 100 miles all summer. Well, I can drop you back off at your house and then I can go back to sleep until about noon."

Jake continued.

"Nicky-boy, I gotta say this is a great way to start the season. Just the two of us and no coach."

The mention of the number two called their attention to the third boy in the lot who was fidgeting nervously about 50 yards away. Jake yelled over.

"Hey. Are you here for cross-country?"

Jorge gave a quick nod. This time Nick hollered over.

"Well, we don't know where the coach is, so there's probably not much point in hanging around here. Someone will figure out something I suppose ..."

Jorge didn't really understand what the boy meant, but when they got in their car and left it was pretty clear that his first cross-country practice had not gone as he'd expected. His mom had dropped him off and headed off to work. There was little choice but to run the seven miles home.

Sunday, 8/17/08

When the day came to move out, Matt was caught unaware ... like a good pick from a power forward ... by an undefinable kind of sadness. Through church, despite his best attempts to focus, his mind wandered back to various memories of his days in Coharie Creek. He'd gone away for college, but that was different, he was less than 30 minutes away from home. And while he didn't go back every weekend, especially that first year, it was nice to know that it wasn't too far. The last semester he'd essentially moved back home once his roommate left school after Christmas break.

As he sat around the kitchen table w/ the family, the small talk was somewhat forced. There wasn't much to say. Nobody wanted to see Matt go, but everyone had come to grips with that he was going and that maybe he had to go. It was one of those moments that reminds you that life doesn't come with a pause or rewind button, no matter how badly we might want one. Mostly Emily filled the void with her plans for the upcoming week, her last stretch of summer vacation prior to her junior year at "The Creek", a year she was approaching with much trepidation. Six years ago, Matt didn't have a care in the world other than if he'd make varsity squad that year. Now he was striking out on his own. "Now or never", he thought as he packed his last bag.

They'd mostly filled his small one-bedroom apartment in Clover Valley on Friday. The rest of his stuff was now snugly packed in the back of his 2002 Toyota Echo. The only one not crying was Zeus, their behemoth Neapolitan Mastiff, although his slobbering probably produced the most actual fluid. As he pulled out of the driveway, Zeus gave a rare bark as if to say, "Hey, where are you going?"

Saturday, 8/16/08

J.T. Weber had been athletic director at Clover Valley High School since 1972, the only person there with a longer tenure than Principal Tierney himself. He was from the hills of Mercer County, born and bred as they say. J.T. had a solid working relationship with his boss, but it had never evolved into anything beyond that. For starters, Gene Tierney cared little about the athletic programs at Clover Valley. In his mind, they deserved no more attention than the French club or any other after-school assembly of students. He went to a handful of Yellow Jackets football games a year, but he usually slipped out after the band played at halftime.

More importantly, it was because J.T. did his best to cordon himself off ... not just from Tierney, but from almost everybody. Even though CVHS wasn't that large a school, it wasn't too hard for an experienced athletic director to find out of the way places to spend his days.

If it was hard to find him in the school year, finding him during the summer was next to impossible. A few weeks after a school year ended, he'd be packing up toward the Tennessee border with the minimally necessary camping gear and a few Louis L'Amour novels. He'd set up a camp in some remote spot and spend his days fishing, hiking (less so this summer), and napping (more so this summer). Normally, he'd come back to Clover Valley 10 days before a new school year got underway, but this year there'd been a downpour on his last evening and he felt he needed one more sunset to gird himself for the year ahead.

Friday, 8/15/08

For the first time since starting his routine in early July, he was picking up his pace halfway up the hill that led to Thompson's Park. His stride was long and strong. It felt good. It hadn't always been painful heading up this slope, but it had never felt good. He accelerated further. It was a warm day for the western North Carolina hills, but there was a bit of a breeze and most of his route was shaded, so it was managable. It reminded him of summer at home. Every 10 seconds or so, the breeze would be artifically enhanced by the downwash of a car or truck headed down NC 141 in the Friday afternoon rush hour. Running on the shoulder, Jorge took in both the fumes and the fresh air. He checked his watch as he approached the top of the hill about a mile from home and right at 2 miles from where he had started it.

"10:56!"

It was nearly 30 seconds faster than he done in any of his previous personal time trials. Moreover, he wasn't really even winded. He jogged the last mile with a broad smile and even high-fived a few of the road signs as he cooled down. Eventually coasting to a stop as he wound down the short lane that led from busy NC 141 to his home, he walked the last 100 yards down his family's gravel driveway. With a wipe of shirt bottom to prevent any dripping sweat from hitting the floor, he swept through the back door and hollered out, "Mamá, he hecho mi decisión."

Wednesday, 8/13/08 (c)

Tierney had never felt the need to have department chairs at Clover Valley. Ultimately, he believed that between the curriculum and the individual styles of his teachers, a department chair would have little influence. After the fact he rationalized his decision by concluding that little actual harm could be done ... plus it was late in the summer to be looking for English teachers who would come all the way out to Mercer County. The challenge would be smoothing realtionships with the other English teachers, discreetly letting them know that their participation in this new arrangement was totally voluntary.

As he headed out of the office for a four day weekend, Tierney strongly suspected he had made a mistake. He struggled internally as to whether to chalk it up to simple expediency, or perhaps something more malignant.

His desk phone interrupted that thought.

"Gene? Sean. Didn't think you'd still be there. Thinking about the chairmanship. It's gonna take a lot of my time. A lot of my time. I'm going to have to give up the cross-country gig. At a minimum, I gotta drop that. I'd've called J.T., but who knows where he disappears to this time of year. Sorry about that, but I gotta make sure I don't get burnt out with this chair thing. It's gonna be great, but it's gonna take a lot of time. Good? Good. See ya in a couple weeks Genie."

Dr. Gene Tierney locked up the doors feeling another year older and amazed that the first of the unhappy consequences of his decision was so fast in coming.

"Ahhhhh. I'll call J.T on Monday."

Wednesday, 8/13/08 (b)

Twenty minutes after the scheduled appointment, Sean Perlozzo rushed into the Principal's office and barely pausing for the usual 'how's the summer been small talk', let loose a volley of complaints about the way Clover Valley High School was being run.

Sitting back in his chair, Tierney listened, but he didn't hear anything that he hadn't heard before sometime before in his 27 years running the school. As Tierney edged towards his 60th birthday, he noticed increasing disinterest on the part of others about history ... about past lessons learned. It was as if it hadn't happened in the past 3 years, it hadn't happened at all. In times of reflection at his desk after a particularly tough staff meeting, he'd started to wonder if maybe he was just out of touch and maybe out of place in a new generation.

Creeping doubt aside, he couldn't help but find it galling that this guy who'd come directly from running an independent weekly newspaper was lecturing him on the way to run a school. The meeting to this point had been a monologue. Tierney's mind wandered "Some people simply don't feel like they've had a conversation unless they do 90% of the talking." However, Perlozzo was clearly building up to an ultimatum.

"Listen Gene, we need a department chair to oversee the way we're going about our creative writing. I'm the guy to do it. We need to get the basic principles in place in English 1 and 2. By the time they get to me, they're useless. I spend most of the year undoing the damage that's been done to them as freshmen and sophomores and I'm not going to let that go on another year. Either you make me chair of the English department, or I'm not coming back."

Wednesday, 8/13/08 (a)

As he put down the phone, Principal Tierney observed to an empty office, "He seems like a decent enough guy, but you just can't tell from an application package and a couple of five minute phone calls."

As he entered "Matthew Adamson" into the previously empty spaces for Algebra and Algebra II in the DOE-issued staffing software, he remembered what had initially separated Adamson's application from the rest. It was the fact that all three of his letters of recommendation had mentioned that he was a young man of character. Beyond that ... the cover letter in the application listed a jumbled mess of internships, math coursework, and starry ambitions for Clover Valley's basketball team. And the resume was an even emptier canvas than most kids straight out of college. He knew Adamson wouldn't have been the school board's first choice.

"Ahhh, Lord knows we can't do any worse than the last few hires."

Under increasing pressure from the Board, Tierney had felt forced to fill his vacancies over the past few years with "professionals". The board felt "new blood" was needed to raise test scores up to the level of surrounding counties. Over the last two years, he'd hired the editor of a failed local weekly, a self-employed accountant, and a 20-year Forest Service employee with an interest in plants. Sitting at his desk, he bristled at the notion that the Board defined these people as "professionals" while anybody actually knowledgeable about educating students was placed outside that categorization. Tierney felt that anyone with a halfway-decent education themselves could see the built-in advantages that the surrounding counties had when it came to test scores.

Pushing his chair away from the keyboard and turning to face out the window, Dr. Eugene Tierney worked to calm down.

"This is supposed to be my relaxing time of the year. Shoot, if I can get past this 11 o'clock, the rest of the week should be reasonable enough."

Tuesday, 8/12/08 (b)

He hit the fridge as his Mom looked up from her laptop on the kitchen counter. Between two long gulps of Gatorade, he panted, "I'm going to take the job at Clover Valley."

His mom's shoulders dropped slightly and there was a longish pause while she found the right words to reply.

"If that's what you think is best, Matthew." She paused again, even longer this time. "You know we'll still be here for you."

And with that, it was locked in. Three weeks of internal debate. Three weeks of sleep riven by doubt and restless wonderings. Gone. The burden he'd been carrying seemed to be dropping off him faster than the sweat worked up under the mid-afternoon Carolina sun.

"Thanks Mom."

Decisions generally came easy to Matt Adamson. He had a well-grounded sense of what was right and what was wrong. Ever since he was very young, he was consistently able to assess the paths before him, and using his factory-installed wisdom, determine which route was best for him. And not just for him, for those around him as well. He'd talked some friends off some pretty scary ledges in college. But this decision had presented a haze through which he couldn't see the end. It was a decision between two 'rights'.

"It's like Dean Smith against Ol' Roy in a regional final", he'd determined sometime after 1 a.m. on one of those 21 semi-sleepless nights.

On one bench was his family. Mom, Dad, Emily, and Zeus. The team he'd grown up with. The team that had prepped him for the opportunity he now had. He could stay with them and seemlessly slide into the assistant J.V. coaching job at Coharie Creek, sitting but a few seats up the court from where he'd earned 2nd team all-Metro honors just four years earlier. That was the home team. The higher seed. Always.

On the other bench, pretty much by itself, stood the chance to be head varsity basketball coach at Clover Valley High School.

Tuesday, 8/12/08 (a)

As was usually the case, the routine cleared his mind.

Start with a left-handed layup, then move to the right corner. Swish the 20 footer from just off the driveway. Get the rebound before the second bounce. Head to the left corner, take the pass off the side of the house. Set, jump, release, ... good. Corral the ball and dribble to the top of the key. Face the basket, quick scissor-step dribble between the legs, and drill a slight fadeaway jumper. And only after the previous four steps had been completed to perfection, was the drill ended w/ left-handed layup.

With a wipe of shirt bottom to prevent any dripping sweat from hitting the floor, Matt swept through the back door and hollered out, "Mom, I've made my decision."