They coach daughters, don't they?

RUNNING

BY DAVE FOLEY

"You can't wear those to practice – they're too short."

This admonition came from my 15-year-old daughter Betsy regarding my running shorts. I had been wearing this style of running shorts for 10 years and I had eight other pairs of similar length. I also had only one daughter, and I was her cross country coach. Even if my shorts were the same length as every other adult who road races, I suddenly knew I needed to buy some new shorts.

Betsy was keenly aware that the 50 other kids on the team would see me, not only as their coach but also as Betsy's father.

Therefore, I must be acceptable in both roles. We began with my appearance. After the shorts, we moved to t-shirts; all ill-fitting, ugly, stained or faded ones were vetoed. Sentimental favorites like ones from the Boston Marathon, Bobby Crim 10-Miler, Grandma's Marathon and the New York Marathon, spent the cross country season in a box in the crawl space.

To coach my daughter, I soon realized it was going to require more than just a change of attire on my part. The coaching hours would change, too. In season I think about the team almost all the time and over dinner, I hash out the high and low points of recent practices or meets. Most years, these are monologues, since my wife, Cyndy, who is not at practice and lacks firsthand knowledge of the events, can only nod emphatically. With Betsy on the team, I thought the dinner talk about cross country would become a true dialogue, as she and I reviewed the day's running. No, this wasn't how it was to be. Betsy enjoyed running and cared how the team did, but to spend her off hours talking about it was clearly overkill. So, I learned to talk about non-running things at the dinner table.

When we were with the team, by an unstated agreement, neither of us played the father or daughter card. An outsider observing the team would never be able to detect a father/daughter relationship. Betsy was just another runner to be encouraged and timed.

On the ride home after practice when there were just the two of us, we would revert to being father and daughter. An opener like, “How do you think it went today?" didn't go unanswered. And the answers weren't based on times, the effect of the workout or the team's prospects for the upcoming meet. No, I was apt to be told that I talked too much at the pre-race meeting, told a joke that wasn't funny and that I ought to make the lazy ones work harder. Betsy was brutally honest and usually right in her observations. This was also a time when I could honestly tell her how proud I was of her.

Being the coach's daughter means that when it is a close call, she loses. My worst fear was being accused of practicing favoritism towards my child. I would cheer for her at meets, but no louder than the others. I would include her name in the news story but no more than her teammates. Keeping the newspaper write-ups impartial was made more difficult because for most of the time, her last three years on the team, Betsy was the No. 1 runner.

However, when she was a freshman, I was faced with a different problem. That year she usually finished between fifth and eighth for our team. When I had to pick the regional team of seven runners, though I felt Betsy might be a slightly better choice, I was afraid of being accused of favoritism. I chose the other girl. It was one of the hardest decisions I would have to make in my 27 years of coaching.

As it worked out, one girl became injured and was not able to compete in the regional, so Betsy ran and was our fourth girl finisher. I like to think she gave it all she had in that race so as not to disappoint me, as well as show me the error in my decision to keep her off the regional team.

Having the opportunity to coach my daughter made me a better coach – I'm sure of that. When Betsy was on the team, perhaps even more than other years, I was determined to avoid doing things that she and her team members would think were irrational, unfair or stupid. I tried in every way I could to give the runners on my team the best possible experience. Being a parent made me strive to not only to be a good coach but also be someone that Betsy would be proud to have as her father.

Editor’s note: Today, Betsy is 39, married with two children and lives in Traverse City, Michigan.