I was lined up between the “big rock” and the tarmac playground, crouched down in a pseudo-starting pose. My red swishy sweatpants made a staticy sound as I bolted at the start of my first cross country race in 5th grade. We rounded the baseball field for the first of 2 laps and I found myself at the back, my classmates sprinting away. I had no sense of how to race, I was just running as fast as I could. I eventually found myself in the top 3 during the second lap. The long stride of Anthony Petty made it hard to pass as we sprinted down the home straight. I still remember how much my lungs burned in the cold autumn air.

A few years later I find myself at the Illinois State Cross Country Championships as an individual qualifier my junior year. I still wasn’t super serious about my running but I had put in a little more work than the year before and it paid off with a top-40 finish at the state meet. I had a breakthrough the following indoor season after running my first 60 mile week. Things kept progressing through high school and I was looking at colleges to run for the next year. But that’s where I got my first taste of derailment from “the process.”

My senior year I thought I was a lot better than I actually was and had contacted a number of schools looking for scholarship money. I was turned down from most of them, and I was disappointed but thought, “their lose, I’m going to be great some day.” I didn't train as intensely as I probably should have, but I was a young, cocky high school kid. I chased, and chased, and chased, the school record in the 3200m (9:31) when my junior year I ran 9:37. I was so consumed with the record and never got it. I showed up to the line of the state meet completely devoid of competitive fire. There were greener pastures though. After getting to experience the joy of my high school team making the state meet as a team for the 2nd time in 30 years that fall of my senior year, I decided that if I was going to run without scholarship, I was going to go to a team where winning and development were top priority.

Everyone thinks that Division III running is a joke, and at North Central we’d tease that we were winning “baby nationals.” As an incoming freshman I thought I would be a multi-time All-American within the first couple years. That was far from the case, and I learned that quickly. Our workouts were grueling and the only way to survive was to keep going. Thoughts of All-American status were far off dreams when you are getting thrashed on the roads during an 8 mile tempo with 10 teammates ahead of you. You weren’t even going to make the travel roster, let alone reach national stardom. After my sophomore year at North Central is where the process-train got back on track.

I began to worry less about where I stood on the team, or in the conference, and eventually nationally. As a 5th year graduate student, I had amassed years of 90-100 mile weeks, and that spring was where I was going to cash in all of my chips. I had worked hard, gotten my head on straight and was, by this time, one of the best steeplechasers in the country. Fate had other plans following my solo, opening, 9:15 race at Wheaton College; only 5 seconds off of my personal best. I was practice water barrier technique, when I slipped off the top of the hurdle and came crashing down, fracturing the radial head of my elbow. It was devastating. I was told I needed to take time off but I had my goal of being an All-American in the 3000m steeplechase come hell or high water.

I spent two weeks riding a recumbent bike and working the stair master for all she had. I couldn't swing my arm since it was confined to a sling. I was entered in the historic Drake Relays the following week and my coaches asked if I still wanted to try to run. I had circled that race on my calendar and figured it would be a heroic comeback!

It was anything but.

Two weeks of not hurdling led to a skill deficit that saw me eating it on two water jumps. With my tail between my legs I stepped every barrier for the last 2 laps, fearful of falling again. I was embarrassed at running 9:59 (which stands as my slowest race ever in the event), but on the bus ride back I remembered my goals, and worked to move on to the next race.

I slowly gained more confidence over the last 3 weeks before the cutoff for the national qualifying window. On the last day, at the last hour, I qualified by the skin of my teeth for the national meet by 0.14 seconds. However, I was not rattled. I was confident that as long as I could make it into the field I would get the job done. All of the work for the past 3 years would not be wasted, and I would bask in the glow of notoriety.

My teammate Ken Hoffman and I qualified out of the preliminary heat and had a day of rest between the final. I laid in the hotel bed the next day and was almost nervous that I wasn’t nervous. Things were falling my way, and seemingly without much effort. I put in the work, why not me? The next day, I stepped to that line on the very outside of the curve, and readied myself in the cool breeze. The gun cracked and I looked for 8th place, the last All-American spot, and told myself, “everything you got, to stick right here.” Time didn't matter, though I had a close call with the school record of 9:01 last year before an untimely dip in the water pit on the bell lap.

I waited, and waited. Guys were only falling off, no one was passing. I locked in to each barrier. Took a few quick steps, leaped, and was back to running. Methodical precision that took no mental energy because I trusted every drill I did would lead me to success at this point. Almost surprisingly I was on the home stretch, looking up at the clock, and for the first time all season saw a sub-8:00 time. I was giddy with excitement as I realized my legs were feeling fresh and I could sprint, there would be no “just hold on” thinking, only killer instinct. I flew through the back straight and I don’t even remember the last water jump but was teleported to the last barrier. I cleared it, sprinting the life away, coming in 5th place and only 2 seconds from 3rd place. I threw my arms up as I crossed. I was told I was the happiest looking 5th place finisher anyone had seen all day.

So what does this story have to do with “the process” anyway?

As a young athlete you tend to see growth in the sport simply because you are doing more of something that you weren’t familiar with and getting results seemingly without trying. But as we get older, the routines and approaches we take to the sport have heavier and heavier effects on how we perform. If you go to a race just because you feel obligated, in the case of interscholastic athletics this is much more common, it is more often the seasoned runners that come away disappointed or disillusioned with these experiences.

It is important to look at your goals and orient your routine and approach to reflect those goals. Personal success does not come just because you are doing certain workouts. Your success will come from pushing your own limits and embracing your own improvement. When you inevitably fall, you have reason to be back up, to reassess, and to retool training to fit those goals. Keep working on your own process and take every step you can on your own path to reach new heights!