Coach Grath met me at a park near my old home where David lived, if he still lived there. I didn’t ask why my new coach picked that park, but it was fine with me. This was one of my normal running routes. When I got there, he pointed to the grass, “Stretch out.”
He was all business.
Coach Grath had a gruff face. His square jaw gave a no-nonsense vibe and there were no wrinkles around his mouth, like he never smiled or laughed. He was dressed in a crisp-looking track suit with the Fallen Crest Public school colors, red and black. A whistle hung around his neck, and he held a clipboard in his meaty hand. As soon as I was done stretching, he grunted, checked his watch, wrote something down on his clipboard, and gestured to the walking trail. “Keep to the right, circle the park, and come bac
