I Will Always Be One of Coach’s Guys

The most influential men in my life, outside of my father, were my coaches. When I look back now, I see how easily my life could have bent in another direction. It did not. It went this way. And I am grateful.

This morning, I received an email from an old teammate. Our cross-country and track coach at Woodbridge Senior High School, Jim Rodgers, had passed away as a result of injuries from an automobile accident. The news was sudden and hit hard. But after the initial shock settled, what surprised me most was not simply grief — it was clarity.

I began to reflect on the men who shaped my life. What became clear was this: I have been extraordinarily fortunate in the coaches who guided me.

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The Coaches Who Shaped Us

My first coach was a construction worker who coached our Woodbridge Boys Club football team. I played for two seasons, starting when I was 11 years old. I was a tall, skinny kid who got run over more times than I can count. But he taught us to be tough and push through a little pain. As he loved to say, “You gotta’ have the heart and the guts.”

At 11 and 12 years old, that meant surviving drills and getting back up. He loved coaching us, and he invested his energy and passion to make us better young men. Decades later, Coach Tony Berry’s lessons live on in me.

I gave up football for running when I started at Woodbridge Senior High School. As a high school freshman, I entered the culture of Woodbridge Senior High School cross-country created by Coach Jim Rodgers.

More Engine Than Direction

I was thirteen when I began running for Coach. I was bright, but I was not a great student. I heard often that I “didn’t apply myself.”

What I did apply myself to was running.

I could not wait for the school day to end so I could lace up my running shoes and get outside. I loved movement. I loved running. I was kinetic. More engine than direction.

Coach Rodgers never tried to quiet that engine. He tried to tune it.

If we ran an interval too fast, he would get frustrated and demand we stay within the pace he prescribed. At the time, we thought he was holding us back. We were a very competitive group, and we had fire. But he would tell us plainly: he wanted us still running as seniors. He wanted us still running in college. He did not want us burning out at fourteen.

At fourteen, I thought he was slowing me down.
At sixty-seven, I understand he was lengthening the race.

He had a longer plan than we did.

He would call me “Wild Bill,” usually with a tone that mixed affection and mild exasperation. I suspect I gave him both pride and concern. I was not the most polished student. But he did not coach my transcript.

He coached my engine.

The Culture

Great leaders don’t just coach athletes — they build systems that perpetuate themselves.

By the time my class arrived at Woodbridge, Coach Rodgers had already built something special. The culture of the team was firmly in place. The upperclassmen showed the younger runners how things were done — not through speeches, but through example. They set the pace in workouts, encouraged the guys struggling behind them, and quietly reinforced what Coach expected from all of us.

We all understood the expectations long before Coach ever had to say them. The standards of effort, respect, and commitment were simply part of being on the team. If you wore the Woodbridge uniform, you knew what it meant.

That was Coach’s legacy.

He didn’t just coach runners; he built a culture that carried itself forward from one group of athletes to the next.

Something Coach Rodgers used to say during warm-ups was that the most important runner on our team was Randy Raby — the slowest guy on the squad. Randy pushed the next runner, who pushed the next, and all the way up the chain.

That was Coach’s way of reminding us that every runner mattered.

I’ve carried that lesson my entire life.

Lessons That Last

The words of Coach Rodgers that I hear the strongest and are in my ears everyday are:
“Be humble in victory, and proud in defeat.”

I did not fully understand that phrase at the time. I thought it was about sportsmanship. Now I know it was about character.

I was not meant to sit still all day. I was meant to move. My coaches did not see a problem to fix. They saw potential to direct. They gave structure to energy. They gave pacing to fire. They gave belief to effort.

Coaches invested in me long before I deserved it.

Still Running

When Coach Rodgers passed, I realized how much of my adult life reflects what he envisioned. I finished college with a math degree. I became a teacher. I write publicly about education and formation. I think in long arcs now. I pace myself. I value endurance over early glory.

I would like to believe he would be proud.

Perhaps a little surprised.

But proud.

I live near a high school now. When I am out on a run and see the cross-country team logging their afternoon miles, I don’t feel nostalgic.

I feel connected.

I will always be one of Coach’s guys.

And I am still running.