The gravel from the Southwind Rail Trail tells a story with each crunch. Beneath the footsteps of Kailey Schinstock lies a staccato tryout trail, one hesitant in nature but stubborn in practice. Marvin Smith’s footsteps are a little more deliberate than his runners. At 73, that’s expected.
Beneath the footsteps of Colby Works lies a rhythmic adventure, one too quick to keep up with but cadenced enough to follow.
One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.
It’s a symphony never off beat, a pace never off kilter.
His wrists are bare, foregoing a watch to record his running rate while instead maintaining a metronomic meter with the crunches below his Asics.
One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two — and — three.
The pause in the path’s pattern lets him know he is a step off key.
When the goal is the finish line after 3.1 miles, a step off key is nothing but a hiccup interrupting the inevitable. Time doesn’t matter; it’s about the destination.
But when the goal is 18:57 after 3.1 miles, a step off key is a step in the wrong direction. Time is all that matters; hiccups can’t be afforded.
One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.
Colby Works is finding his rhythm again. It’s the melody he hopes to hear in three weeks when coach Marvin Smith’s voluntary workouts become mandatory after-school practices.
And when those mandatory after-school practices lead up to Iola’s first cross-country meet of the season, Works hopes his rhythmic runs from this summer’s voluntary workouts are upbeat enough to earn him a time of 18:57.
It would be a new personal record, an achievement that looks good on paper but feels better in spirit.
Works runs to best himself, or his past self to be more specific. Cross country presents a challenge that’s among other competitors but is truly against one’s own determination and willpower.
By the end of Monday night’s run, the high school senior is drenched in determination. Or perspiration?
Either way, he stinks.
After a nearly one-hour training session underneath the baking, summer sun, Works sheds his neon tank top. Shirts during cross-country season are like wilted Valentine’s Day flowers in the middle of March: At some point, you just need to know when to toss them.
Tired and accomplished, Works finally receives his reward for the day.
“Have you ever had Marv’s Gatorade?” he asks as if it was a vending machine staple.
“Oh man, you’ve got to try it.”
He finishes one cup. Then another. And one more before Marvin Smith packs it up.
This routine for Works will continue until the final 5k of his high-school career.
Show up, run, shed, drink. Repeat.
At the end of the day, it’s just another rhythm he’s got to get used to.
One, two, three. One. Two. Three. One, two, three.
She’s no runner, something she’ll admit on her own volition.
“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” she says while walking back to the practice’s starting point.
The thought sounds more deep, existential thinker than seventh-grade girl.
A report from the University of Georgia’s Department of Exercise Science “concluded that submaximal aerobic exercise performed for periods up to 60 min facilitate specific aspects of information processing.”
In other words, you think more.
“And now my sides hurt,” she continues, exhaling each word.
You also hurt more. Schinstock will be the first to tell you that you don’t need a scientific study for that.
But it’s not like she’s not athletic.
Schinstock plays softball competitively along with a variety of other sports recreationally.
But long distance running is a challenge like no other. It’s a challenge she embraces for now.
One, two, three. One, two, three. One. Two. Three.
Her spurts of running become more legato, more fluid. And then she hits that wall again, so she walks.
That wall is all too familiar to cross-country runners.
The persistent ones break through eventually. The others don’t.
It’s too early to tell what category Schinstock falls into. She was present two weeks ago when the summer practices began and she was present Monday night when they resumed.
For Marvin Smith, that’s a good sign. Get the kids coming back and it means they obviously get something out of it.
Whether Schinstock keeps it up is up to her. So for now, she’ll just think about it — one run at a time.
The gravel hasn’t told his running story since 1980, when a bus accident left him with a metal pin in his ankle a year into his cross-country coaching career.
Despite the sidelining injury, Smith has been anything but a sideline spectator. For 36 years, he has stayed at the helm of Iola’s cross-country teams.
Smith has stopped teaching and he has stopped coaching track.
But he’s not letting go of cross country.
There’s still that fire, one that’s even evident during the dog days of summer.
“You see her?” he starts. “Hey, you know that guy in green?”
He goes on to tell their stories as they wrap up practice with 600-meter repeats. Smith knows these runners (he knows these runners’ parents too) and he knows just how to push them.
“Now you’re going to be JV for a while, but keep pushing and I could see you on varsity at the end of the year,” Smith tells one runner through his smile.
He never fails to crack his toothy grin whenever he gets the chance.
He even smiles when the runners are gone and he’s left packing up his renowned Gatorade adaptation.
Smith’s routine is more rhythmic than Colby Works’. It’s more determined than Kailey Schinstock’s too.
Marvin Smith has marched to the beat of his own drummer for 36 years now, and it’s one cadence that’s never out of step.
NO BRIDGE TOO FAR
