The Coaches Who Shaped Us: This is the second in a series of three blogs that discuss how my running coaches influenced me, shaped how I coach runners, and explains why I create events like the ones delivered by Challenge Northwest. Mike Brady taught me unabashed enthusiasm for the sport and humble support for the athletes that you coach. ![]() Thanksgiving Day carries a bittersweet weight for me now. While it's a time to reflect on life's blessings, it also marks the day in 2017 when I lost a great mentor and friend, Mike Brady, to his battle with cancer. As I gather with family each year, I can't help but think about Coach Brady's impact on my life – as a coach, as a friend, and as a model for how to live with enthusiasm and grace. His passing left a void in the running community, but his legacy lives on through the countless lives he touched, including mine. In sharing this tribute, I hope to honor his memory and express my eternal gratitude for the time I had with him. You could hear Coach Brady's voice from anywhere on the cross-country course. That booming voice, which seemed too big for his frame, became a symbol of everything he represented – boundless enthusiasm, unwavering support, and a passion for running that was utterly contagious. When I first encountered that voice during my college recruitment in 1993, I had no idea how much it would come to mean to me, or how its absence would one day leave such silence. My journey with Coach Brady began unusually. I'd actually told him I wasn't interested in Princeton, but something about our conversations stood out during a confusing recruitment process. While other coaches applied pressure and spoke in unclear terms, Brady offered honest, patient guidance – even after I'd declined interest in his program. As a teenager dealing with my parents' divorce and the uncertainty of college decisions, his straightforward approach meant everything. That authenticity eventually changed my mind about Princeton, though I'm sure he had hoped it might when he spent those hours counseling me on the phone. Before I could even start my freshman year, life threw me a devastating curve. After a serious accident with warehouse machinery landed me in the hospital for a month, Coach Brady was there, calling to check on me, helping ease my transition to campus when I arrived so weak I could barely sit up. Once I was strong enough to attempt jogging, he met me before his workday began for slow runs together. Those morning conversations formed a bond that would last far beyond my college years. Mike and his wife Anita never had children of their own, but they poured their parental love into Brady's runners. Sometimes his enthusiasm was almost too much – I admit to hiding from him before races when I needed quiet focus rather than his signature pump-up speeches. But that enthusiasm was what made him special. You never doubted that he genuinely cared about your success, that coaching wasn't just a job but a calling. Our relationship continued long after graduation. When he and Anita moved to western Massachusetts, their home became a welcome stop for camping trips to the Berkshires, afternoons swimming in their pool, or rounds of golf. When I landed my dream job as New Balance's track and field footwear product manager, I packed a bag full of shoe samples and drove out to get his expert opinion, knowing he'd share his wisdom with the same enthusiasm he brought to coaching. That enthusiasm never wavered, even in his final battle with cancer. Call him during his treatment, and he'd excitedly tell you about the latest procedures, maintaining his characteristic optimism in the face of mortality. It was this unrelenting spirit that made his loss on Thanksgiving 2017 feel all the more profound – even in his darkest days, he showed us how to face life's challenges with courage and optimism. Today, when I coach my own athletes, I often find myself channeling Coach Brady's enthusiasm. I want my athletes to know, as he showed us, that coaching isn't about collecting a paycheck – it's about genuine love for the sport and the people who pursue it. Sometimes I catch myself getting overly excited at meets, my voice carrying across the course, and I smile, knowing that's Coach Brady's influence living on through me. What made Mike Brady special wasn't just his coaching expertise or his success with athletes – it was his ability to make every person he coached feel valued, supported, and worthy of his famous enthusiasm. He showed us that coaching is about more than splits and times; it's about being there for your athletes in their moments of triumph and challenge, about maintaining optimism even in the darkest times, and about letting your passion for the sport shine through in everything you do. Each Thanksgiving, as I reflect on his impact, I'm grateful for the resonating echo of that booming voice, still teaching us how to live, coach, and care with boundless enthusiasm. The Coaches Who Shaped Us: This is the first in a series of three blogs that discuss how my running coaches influenced me, shaped how I coach runners, and explains why I create events like the ones delivered by Challenge Northwest. Bill Miles is the source for the "Bravest runner is the runner who thinks they will get last but shows up anyway" philosophy. ![]() Bill Miles wasn't just a cross country coach; he was a history teacher who understood the arc of young lives, including mine. His classroom became a kind of sanctuary where even the most improbable declarations were met with patient wisdom. I still remember marching into his classroom one day, full of teenage certainty, to announce I would only run track if he promised I'd never have to run the two-mile race. Bill probably chuckled after I left, knowing what I didn't – that I would eventually become one of Minnesota's top distance runners and win the individual state championship in cross country in the fall of 1993. That was Bill's genius: he saw potential in his athletes that we couldn't yet see in ourselves. But more importantly, he knew when to guide and when to challenge, when to nurture and when to deliver hard truths. As a history teacher, he brought perspective to everything he did. His pre-race speeches weren't about winning; they were about life. He'd remind us that racing wasn't truly important – what's important is going home and finding out your parent lost their job or your dog has cancer. The sun would always come up tomorrow, our mothers would still love us, and as far as he knew, no one had ever drowned during cross country. "Act with class" wasn't just a catchphrase for Bill; it was a fundamental principle he lived by and expected his athletes to embrace. I learned this lesson personally during my junior year when I was sidelined with an injury during the state qualifier. Instead of celebrating my teammates who stepped up to ensure our team's qualification, I pouted about not racing. Bill pulled me aside and delivered his "act with class" speech. It wasn't just about running – it was about being a better person, about supporting others when things don't go your way. As a family man and dedicated teacher, Bill showed us what it meant to balance passion with responsibility. He didn't just coach running; he coached character. When my own family was going through difficult times with my parents' divorce, he became more than a coach – he became a steady presence, taking me out to breakfast almost every weekend for several months. This was time away from his own family, his own kids, just to make sure I had someone to talk to. That level of sacrifice and care showed me what real coaching meant – it wasn't just about training athletes, but about being there for young people when they needed guidance most. He understood that sometimes teenagers need more than just athletic guidance. What made Bill exceptional wasn't just his winning record, though he was arguably the most successful cross country coach in Minnesota history. It was his ability to see the bigger picture. He understood that high school athletes are works in progress, that we would be immature, that we would make mistakes, and that these moments were opportunities for growth. He knew when to laugh at our teenage declarations (like my resistance to the two-mile), when to be stern about our behavior, and when to simply be there as a supportive presence. Today, when I coach my own athletes, I try to channel Bill's patience, his wisdom, and his understanding that coaching is about more than just winning races. It's about helping people find their way, about teaching them to "act with class" even when things don't go their way, and about seeing potential in them that they might not yet see in themselves. That's Bill Miles's true legacy – not just the championships won, but the character built along the way. |
AuthorMy name is Adam, but the runners I coach call me Coach Dude. I've been a runner, a shoe fitter, race director, footwear product manager, running store owner, and running coach for 30 years. Read more Archives
December 2024
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