Going to Rabun Gap was one of the greatest experiences of my life. It was a blessing in every way imaginable. I grew, emotionally, physically and spiritually. But nothing helped me grow as much as my time with the basketball team. And it wasn’t the good times I remember. It is the tough ones. The ones I looked at my feet and said “I can’t move these anymore. How does he expect me to keep going?” Those were the best.
I remember one practice as the worst of all time, Coach Cox was new to the program and trying to instill good habits so when we went home for Christmas break, he gave us each a workout sheet with 11 days on it. When we got back, not only did no one do the workouts, 11 out of 15 people had lost the sheets (yes, I was one of them). Coach didn’t get mad. He didn’t yell. He just said “you each have to realize there is a consequence to every single one of your actions. The consequence to this one is you are going to run a timed suicide for each day on each sheet that wasn’t turned in. If you don’t make the time, we will add one second to the time and try again. Officially, we were supposed to run 121 suicides. We only “officially” ran 77. In reality, we ran 157 because we kept missing the times. I cramped up so badly on 154 that I missed the last 3.
The next day, we came out to practice, sore, tired, dead. I had no desire to be there. But Coach Cox didn’t let us quit. He just kept saying “when you have a chance to be weak, be strong.” He kept yelling to quit acting tired. That “we didn’t have the luxury of being tired.” He said there were people more talented, in a better position than us and we couldn’t act weak or they would win. So I took each drill, step by step, minute by minute for two hours. And did the same the next day. And the next. It took a full week to get my legs back.
Flash forward 4 and a half years. I am working for the Charlotte Bobcats as an intern in their scouting department. I had spent the previous night in the Emergency Room, dealing with some medical issues. Vertigo that left me literally unable to stand. Bouts of dizziness that were so bad, I couldn’t tell where the floor was. I left at 3am and had to be at the arena at 6am. I was presenting to Michael Jordan about some draft prospects including UConn’s Kemba Walker and Butler’s Shelvin Mack (who had both just played each other in the National Championship). MJ, the greatest basketball player of all time, was going to listen to me, a 20 year old punk intern. I had a choice. I could give in to being tired. I could make excuses. I could tell MJ that I had been in the emergency room and I was really sorry. That would be the easy way. It would be reasonable. I mean I was legitimately sick. I could give in. And I would have missed my shot to present to the Best Ever.
I didn’t. I had learned how to be tough before. I had been more tired, more exhausted, more beat up I presented and I acted like nothing was wrong. I pushed through, the same way I did on suicide 1. On 75. On 127. At the end of the presentation, Jordan said “good job” then promptly ignored me as he talked to people much higher paid than I am. I went home feeling frustrated that no one saw how hard I had pushed myself. But when my internship ended, I was offered an extended internship for an additional year (this typically leads to a job). I am not saying what I did that one day led to all of that. But I can say that had I been weak that day. If I had given up, I can promise you it doesn’t happen.
I learned many things from basketball at Rabun Gap. Toughness is at the top of the list but it isn’t the only thing. I don’t have time to write down everything that I learned then. But this was probably the most important. When you have a chance to be weak, be strong. And that is something I will take with me for the rest of my life.