Runner's Set... BANG!

As I strolled into my first day of cross-country practice as a seventh grader, I gazed around at my new team. Looking over the crowd of people stretching out and getting loosened up, everyone seemed pretty normal... that is, everyone but a tall, skinny man wearing very small shorts. With a monstrous voice and seemingly too much energy to contain, this man was quite frightening, and I quickly averted my attention elsewhere. 

We gathered in the high school that stood intimidatingly bare. Back in elementary school, the walls were covered with artwork and photographs. Here, there was nothing but brick. As I continued to assess my situation, I jumped a mile high as the scary man screamed into my ear. He introduced himself as “Mr. Pederson” and explained that he would be my coach. I thought to myself, “what have I gotten myself into?”

As I trained with this strange man, I started to get to know him. Before long, the loud yells and odd jumping around became normal, and I eventually stopped noticing it altogether. Over time, I have come to think of him as a close friend and someone who has greatly influenced my life.

When my journey with Pederson started, I, a young junior high runner, had yet to come out of my shell. A small, reserved boy, I was simply trying to find my way in this new sport whilst doing my best not to get trampled. Pederson had no inhibitions, sporting his tiny shorts, long skinny legs and dark sunglasses. His short, dark hair barely fluttered in the wind as he raced around. I rarely even muttered a word during these early days, but I worked hard to improve my abilities. By nature, I always wanted to be the best at anything I committed to. Pederson took notice of this when I won the first race I competed in. 

The next day, my coach pulled me aside and asked me how the race felt. I shyly replied, “It felt good.” Sensing my apprehension, he distracted me by pulling me into a non-running related conversation, something I would later find to be one of his favorite tactics. As we chatted along, I began to feel much more comfortable. Gaining confidence, I continued to improve, even managing to sneak my way onto the varsity lineup as an eighth grader. I grew closer to my coach with every run, and I was beginning to find my place on the cross-country team.

Long enough to brush out of his eyes, Pederson’s hair grew longer as I grew older. Entering my early years of high school, I had become a regular on varsity. All of my previous apprehension was gone, as I was now a veteran member of the team. My team and I pushed ourselves past our limits in order to prepare ourselves to take on our biggest goals. With our dreams so close that we could taste them, Pederson juiced every last ounce of energy he could get out of us. Our bodies breaking down and not being able to take the increased intensity, a divide began to form among the team. It came to a point that I, along with other leaders on the team, were forced to confront our beloved coach. We walked into his office after a particularly strenuous practice, and expressed that we had a difficult conversation to have with him. We explained that at the rate this team was going, by either injury or walking away, we would have no athletes left to run. Coach Pederson looked around at us, obviously hurt. He had never meant to push us to this point; he simply wanted to put us in the best position to succeed. After that day, major changes were made, and a bond was formed between team and coach. Mutual respect from both sides put the team back on track, and we went on to place higher in the section than ever before.

My final years on the cross-country team saw Pederson’s hair grow longer than ever before. With a “man bun” now necessary to control the mop that was his hair, Pederson was his same goofy self that I had grown so close to. A little taller and a lot more confident, I was ready to attack the upcoming season. My junior season saw early success as we were ranked as a top team in the state. This recognition led to excitement among the team and increased intensity in our training. As a captain of the team, my priority was to lead this team to achieve our dreams. We saw our goals becoming more and more likely, and we were ready to reap the rewards of our hard work. 

Our championship run started with the conference championship where, for the first time in 41 years, we won the conference title. Knowing no one could stand in our way, we were prepared to take on the section final. As we stepped up to the line, nerves ran high. A grey, cloudy day with little wind and the faint smell of dew in the air, it was almost like the world stopped to watch this race. This was our opportunity, what we had been training so hard for. Then, where there should have been tears of happiness, tears of sadness and disappointment prevailed. Running my worst race of the year due to illness, I blamed myself. I could not believe what I had done. I looked over at my veteran teammates who had just run their final race, and I gazed down at my underclassmen that looked up to me to come through for the team. I had let them all down. Overwhelmed and unsure of what to do next, I just sat. My coach sat down beside me, knowing I was hurt. He told me to hold my head up and recognize all we were able to achieve. Even during this difficult time, Pederson remained positive and tried to pull our distraught team together. Had he not handled this tough situation the way he did, our team may not have been able to come back with the same strength and effort the next year. 

This event stays with me to this day. Letting down the team that meant so much to me was difficult to overcome, but I credit the support of my teammates and coaches that helped me stand back up. Now with a chip on our shoulders, and revenge on our minds, next season was ours.

The finale of my cross-country career began. Finally a senior, I was in my second year as captain. Now the most experienced member of the team, Coach Pederson looked to me to lead my fellow varsity boys both in practice and on the course. With many goals left unchecked, this was my last year to accomplish them. It was all or nothing. Getting less recognition than last year only fueled us in our training. We were ready to shock the world. 

Eventually, championship season rolled around and it again started with the conference championship. Defeating one of my longtime rivals on one of my most memorable courses, I was happy with the way I ran, and I was happy with the way the team finished. Although we did not defend our title, we ran a strong race and were prepared for the section final the following week. The section finals came around yet again, and the mindset was different. The race was no longer ours to lose, but rather, ours to win. We needed to run, perhaps, our best race of the season, but a state berth was not out of the question. In the very same place, on a day exactly like a year before, it was almost like it was destiny that I would get the chance to rewrite my ending. I was given the opportunity to prove myself on the course that took it all away. 

With the same faint smell of dew in air, we stepped up to the line and gazed out at the starter. As he raised his hand, I heard what had become so normal and so comfortable over the past six year. “Runners set... BANG!” We dashed out onto the course, towards the pain of the five kilometers. I raced along, pushing as hard as I could. I could tell my body was not cooperating as I was suffering from illness yet again. I was not going to let that hold me back this year as I forced every ounce of effort I had left into finishing that race for my team. I ran well in the first of two laps, leading my team, and running near the front of the race. As we made the turn to attack the second lap, I could feel my legs shutting down. It was as if I was trapped within my own body, watching as runners that I consistently beat ran by me. I thought to myself, “I’m not tired, why am I not going faster?” My illness was simply too great to overcome, and all I could do was hold on as long as I could, and finish the race.

As we crossed the line, I knew it was for my last time. My body pushed past its limits, I dropped to the ground. As I slowly came back to myself and looked up towards the grey, cloudy sky, I tried to process all that was happening around me. My dad pushed his way through the crowd towards me and helped me to my feet. I could not help but cry. I could not believe I had run my last race alongside the team I loved so much. I was devastated. All I could think of were the endless hours, and hundreds of miles I put in to accomplish the goal that I had just fallen short of. 

My coach walked over to me and just like our first conversation, he tried to distract me with a non-related running conversation. As I calmed down, I looked up at him and all I could say was, “I'm sorry.” He studied me for a moment, processing what I had just said. He then replied, “You have nothing to be sorry about. You gave it your all out there and left it all on the course. That is all, as a coach, I could ever ask for. Your legacy will live on and we will talk about Kellen Bergs for years to come.” With tears in my eyes again, all I could do was nod.

After six long years, my cross-country career was over. I thought back to all the incredible memories I made with my team. The relationships I formed with my teammates and coaches will last a lifetime. Now a trusted mentor and a close friend, I will always see Coach Pederson as that tall, skinny man wearing very small shorts that I was introduced to on my first day. He instructed me not only how to be a more successful runner, but beyond that, he demonstrated to me how to win honorably, and lose with dignity. He instilled in me the importance of perseverance, determination and hardwork. Most importantly, he taught me that, “in life, when you set a goal, it won’t be easy to attain. It shouldn’t be easy to attain. That is what makes it so special to achieve.” Whether I accomplished my goals or not, Coach Pederson was proud to see that I worked hard for what I wanted.

I will apply the lessons he has taught me over the years to the rest of my life. He has helped sculpt me into the man that I am today, and I am a better person because of him. My cross-country career was an incredible experience, and I will forever be thankful that I was fortunate enough to be a part of such an amazing group of people.

- Kellen Bergs ( @KellenBergs )