Don't Stop Till You Get To The Top

or "Still Channeling Dad"

Twenty-five years ago I was kind of a chunky teenager. Sometimes on weekends, my mom and dad and I would go hiking or bicycling in the hilly California neighborhood where we lived. I can remember several of these outings, and how they always turned into endurance-fests. Mom and I would want to stop and rest, but Dad’s insistent mantra would keep us going.

I remember Dad's voice like you remember a scent. It was the voice he used for coaching as he tried hard to be encouraging while pushing us both toward greater fitness. He'd always say, "Don’t stop till you get to the top."

And even though there isn't a hill in Corpus Christi that warrants such a chant, it is the voice I heard coming out of me a few afternoons ago.

Today I lead a very fit and active lifestyle, much like my dad did in his forties. I co-sponsor a running club at the elementary school where I teach, and the club is made up of a troupe of 5th grade boys who like to talk and act like they are 17. Two of them are natural athletes with the lean physiques and long legs of gazelles. The rest are a tad overweight and I suspect forced to be in Running Club by parents who don’t want fat kids but can’t be bothered to exercise themselves.

Two days a week I take this odd band of would-be athletes on a 2-3 mile run around the neighborhood by our school. They usually begin by sprinting and exhaust themselves in half a block. They dash, then saunter along, and nothing I say, nothing I do can get them to even attempt to "walk fast."

A short list of my insistent, imperative, urgent exclamations that have failed:

"Come on!"

"This is a RUNNING club!"

"Walk fast!"

"Walk fastER!"

"You can do it!"

"I believe in you!"
"Don't stop! Don't stop! DON'T STOP!"

It is as if the sheer force of the wind that lollygags past their ears as they move at 0.000005 miles per hour deafens them.

The only thing that motivates them to move at more than a mosey is competition. If one of them begins to look like maybe he’s possibly going to burst into a jog again, they all start racing.

About half a block later, they are back to their plodding promenade again.

It is my great dream to turn them all into athletes, so last week I tried to teach pacing. As we approached the 15-minute mark, I observed that they weren't even what you would call "walking" anymore and I was tired of my own cheerful appeals.

That's when Ed Holton, my dear dad, came right out of my mouth:

"Boys. Listen up now. You can walk to that lamppost, but then you’re gonna start running. And you're gonna keep pace with me. Don’t get past me. You’re gonna run the same speed as I’m running and you’re not gonna stop till you get to the curve in the road. Understand? Don’t stop till you get to the curve."

I wish you could hear the inflection. The way my dad talks is really all in the inflection. As a general rule he is a man of few words, but when he speaks, the words flow eloquently, and each sentence comes out in sort of monotone burst of words with a slight accent on the ultimate.

It always sounds like he means business.

And I sounded like I meant business.

And the most amazing thing happened. The boys listened to me and did what I said. They kept pace with me (I'm no speed demon). They didn’t stop till they got to the curve. They actually jogged for four whole minutes.

When they got to the curve, they immediately stopped running, doubled over and gasped for what appeared to be their last dying breaths. It was so over-the-top that I briefly considered turning this club into a drama club, since the boys seem much more inclined toward theatrics than calisthenics. But I digress.

The important thing is that they jogged twice as far as they would have without Ed Holton’s pep talk, and that was a start.

Now. If I could just ever get them to show up for Running Club again.