My Origin Story

Growing up “the Coach’s Daughter,” I spent my childhood at the track. The TV, the radio, and the newspaper were always flipped to Sports. I wore two colors, School Colors, and there was always a team looking out for me (no matter how embarrassing it was!). 

Mostly, I grew up with the Coach. He was a storyteller. Weaving them like parables with moral nuggets to discover. The amount of curse words sprinkled in usually depended upon his audience (usually). He was a firm believer in sunscreen, golf on Sundays and family road trips. My dad, the Coach, was loud, loyal and he left a legacy of putting people before performance.

I lost my dad, unexpectedly in 2013. He saw me become a coach. He’d answer my phone calls, help me brainstorm workouts and scenarios, would even show up to meets with his trusty video camera. But I was just a Coach by title.

Grief. That was a race I’d never run before. Yet, somehow I had to show up and be a mom, a wife. I had to show up and be Coach. I had to show up to the track, to the one place where I felt his absence the strongest. That hurdle felt insurmountable. 

But the girls. My team. I cried. We cried. We danced. We laughed. I showed up messy. They hugged me tighter. I had never seen them work harder. Or maybe, I had never noticed how much they cared. How the track to them also felt like home.

They won a State Title that year. Set an All-Time State Record. Maybe that’s poetic. Maybe there’s a moral to be discovered in there somewhere. For me, that season, I learned Coach was no longer just my title. Coach is who I am. It’s a legacy I get to continue. 

So here I am. Not perfect. Still showing up. Honored to be Coach D.