Jamul Toads

In my youth, the allure of running was irresistible; its individuality, camaraderie, and rigorous challenge stirred something deep within me. Above all, I reveled in the unity of "pack running," a collective effort transcending individual achievements. But the depths of my resilience and passion for the sport were truly unfurled only when I found my stride with the Jamul Toads, a distinguished running group in San Diego.

To me, running was not just a physical exercise but a mirror reflecting life's essence. Success or failure, in running as in life, often boiled down to one's self, a personal test of fortitude and belief. In its stark simplicity, I found an intense beauty.

The turning point came in 1990 when an invitation led me to "The Corner" at Diamond and Lamont streets in Pacific Beach. This intersection, made legendary in 1978 by the extraordinary runner Steve Holl, served as the cradle for the iconic weekly runs. Here, running titans such as Alan Scharsu, Steve McCormack, Thom Hunt, Steve Scott, Kevin McCarey, Ron Tabb, and Matt Clayton assembled. It was an intoxicating fusion of pace, ambition, rivalry, and raw energy.

The infamous Friday 9-miler kicked off at 4:30 pm, an unforgiving race against time and the limits of human endurance. Sundays, in contrast, began at a more gentle 8:00 am but held no less of a challenge: a pulse-pounding 14-miler that sometimes reeled back to 12 miles. These runs were a voyage into the heart of running, a thrilling exploration of speed and stamina. Among us were world-class athletes who tested my mettle beyond what I believed feasible.

But the group was more than just an arena for athletic feats. It was a crucible for life lessons. I realized that kindness is not a universal trait, even among runners. Idealism often paints a rosy picture of the world, a place where everyone wishes us well, which is not always the case.

Among the Toads was Steve McCormack, a four-time All-American runner, three-time U.S. Olympic trials qualifier, and one of San Diego's most decorated athletes. Despite his impressive track record, he was equally known for his sharp tongue. The true lesson was understanding that when others act harshly, it may be a veneer masking their personal struggles or pain. Steve's journey was marked by the early loss of his parents, and perhaps running offered him a refuge, a way to express himself, to validate his existence in the face of adversity. He was also navigating the trials of parenthood, raising three children in an uncertain world.

The Jamul Toads' reputation for exclusivity was no deterrent for me; I was drawn like a moth to the flame of their relentless weekly runs. One fateful Sunday during a punishing 14-mile loop, as we ascended the steep Mission Bay bridge, I found myself pushed to the edge of my capabilities. But this day was different; I found myself in pace with the front pack, running shoulder to shoulder with Steve McCormack, a moment that caught the attention of my fellow Toads and signaled a sea change in my running career. That was the day Steve McCormack, the man I'd heard so much about, became my friend.

As we climbed the formidable hill, my heart pounded in my chest, my muscles screamed in protest, but it was Steve's words that kept me going. "You belong at this pace," he encouraged, "stick with me. I'll bring you back to the pack. You can do this." His words revealed a new facet of leadership, a subtle transformation from bravado to a more meaningful and empathetic form of coaching.

I took his words to heart, trusted in my training, and found a way to keep pace until the run's end. That moment was a catalyst, leading to a slew of personal records across all distances from the 5k to the marathon. But more importantly, it marked the beginning of a lifelong friendship with Steve. We ran side by side three times a week for more than two decades, and every run would remind me of our unique beginning, eliciting a humble chuckle from him. Steve was more than a coach or a friend; he was a symbol of grit, determination, and self-belief.

Looking back, I see the Jamul Toads were more than a running group. They were a tribe, a community that nurtured dreams, inspired excellence, and fostered lifelong friendships. They ingrained in me a sense of commitment and passion that has since shaped my approach to coaching in business and in life. As I reflect on those exhilarating runs in San Diego, I'm filled with gratitude for the wisdom I gleaned and the bonds I formed. The Jamul Toads will forever be etched in the annals of my heart.