It's About the Memories

This annual rite of spring was a high-level invitational which included three days of spirited competition for high school, college, and “unattached” athletes from up and down the East Coast and sometimes beyond.

For a couple of those days, usually a Friday and Saturday, he and his staff drove a minibus or two of athletes to challenge themselves, most often in relays but sometimes individual events for which they qualified, against much tougher competition than they would face during our regular season. The idea was to expose them to the best-of-the-best and put them in a position to “dig deeper” and outperform the performance list, which was never a hard sell.

With very few exceptions, our kids rose to the occasion and achieved lifetime bests, no small feat so early in a training cycle.

Afterwards, the distance crew (and whoever else chose to join in the fun) would cool down with a recovery run down Duke of Gloucester Street, stop to stretch near the Colonial Capitol Building, then return to the stadium where we would settle into our customary bleacher seats along the back straightaway to soak up the ambiance (and, weather permitting, some rays) and watch the remaining events before heading home when the day was done.

The Williamsburg trip was always a huge adrenalin rush as well as a let-your-hair-down, team-building experience for both athletes and coaches. 

Memories abound.

There were beautiful days, cloudy days, cold days, and rainy days. Regardless, any of those days were outstanding days to run (and coach) track for Collegiate.

We always found a compelling cast of characters. 

There was the stadium announcer, whose booming voice bellowed such dramatic race calls as “Cha-mi-naaaaaade! Up! Top!” which, translated, means the relay team from Chaminade High School in Mineola, NY, was in the lead. There was the college coach with the deep foghorn voice, perched high in the stands at the break point opposite the starting line, enthusiastically shouting “Keeeep coming!” to his runners as they passed.

There were Collegiate’s various relay teams, whose handoffs were a bit more precise and steps a bit quicker and faster because of the challenge of the competition.

There was Trib LaPrade ‘81, pole vaulter par excellence and still Collegiate’s record holder after 40 years, delivering his best against the formidable competition.

There was Ta’ Bingham Frias ’94, now the director of track & field and cross country at James Madison, gliding powerfully yet gracefully over the hurdles as if they weren’t even there.

There was 5-9 David Shannon ’82, a multi-event performer nonpareil, nicking the high jump bar set at 6-10 on the way down as he attempted to raise his school record two inches.

There was that Friday afternoon when the timing system crashed and the running events came to a screeching halt. After several hours and with darkness descending, the organizers combined sections, which created an image at the exchange zone of a mass of humanity exiting the tram at Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport in Atlanta and racing pell mell to catch their connecting flight. That is, if you could actually see. There were no stadium lights at the time. True story.

There was the loud, rhythmic “Whoooop!  Whoooop! Whoooop!” that emitted from the crowd when a relay anchor walked down opponents en route to the lead in the final two to three hundred meters of the race.

One of our traditions was betting on races. No money changed hands, of course. Actually, nothing changed hands. It was all in fun, just a way to pass the time and keep the good-natured banter going. This was the deal. At the end of the first leg of each relay, we’d bet on who would win. As anyone who made that trip will recall, Coach Hickey left us in the dust. While most of us based our predictions on coolness of uniforms or mascot name or the speed of the leadoff runner, he’d done his research (via Track & Field News) or used his own prodigious instincts to make the right call.

There were the stops on the way out of town at some fast-foot joint on Richmond Road – can you believe we actually stopped at fast-food joints? – for dinner and more friendly banter.

And on the ride home, there was Coach Hickey regaling us with stories that kept those of us who were still awake after the long day laughing almost to the point of tears.

The Colonial Relays was about the competition, sure. It provided a barometer for where we were and in what areas we needed to improve as we move through the season which would culminate with championship meets. It was about the satisfaction of seeing the kids achieve goals and understand that the training plan was working.

Mainly, though, it was about the bonding, shared moments, shared dreams, and memories, and in the end, it’s those memories that are the true measure of the athletic experience.
~Weldon Bradshaw