In my last post, I told a story from my own life about believing in yourself to the point you don’t take “no” for an answer when your goal is just and righteous.
Now that it's tax season, I thought I'd follow it up with another first-hand story about belief from that era of my life - this time, it’s about investing belief in others, even when they might not deserve it.
It’s been a little over a year now since my U.S. Naval Academy track coach – Al Cantello – passed away. Al was a legend at Annapolis, having recently retired after coaching cross country and track & field for 50 years. He served in the Marine Corps, set a world record in the javelin, and represented the US at the 1960 Summer Olympics in Rome.
Al was a larger-than-life personality who cared deeply about his athletes in a way that was tough and uncompromising, yet lasting and surprisingly endearing.
I have many “Al stories,” but the one I always lead with illustrates this point.
Friday’s practice was over, and I had a big weekend ahead with my girlfriend in New York City.
As we headed to the showers, my buddy reminded me. “Don’t forget we have practice Sunday at 1800.”
1800 is 6:00 pm in the Navy.
We had a big meet coming up the following weekend, and Coach Cantello wanted us all to put some extra “money in the bank.”
But I wound up having a great time in City and, when my girlfriend asked me to stick around for spaghetti dinner, I forgot all about making it back for practice.
And by “forgot,” I mean I just talked myself into not going.
It was a three-hour drive back to USNA, and I arrived at our dormitory, Bancroft Hall, around 9:30 pm – 2130 Navy time. My roommate, Maz, was just getting ready to turn in.
“Cantello is waiting for you out on the track.”
“What? No way.”
Sure enough, Maz showed me the message left by the watch.
MIDN SMYERS IS TO MEET COACH CANTELLO AT THE OUTDOOR TRACK WHEN HE RETURNS
It was approaching 10:00 pm at this point, so I figured Coach Cantello had long since given up on me. I suited up and headed to the track.
“I’ll catch hell tomorrow,” I thought, “but at least I can tell him I showed up.”
Bancroft Hall is a huge building – the world’s largest co-ed dormitory at the time, we called it Mother B – and at the end of the long walk from 7th Wing, I stepped onto the track.
It was dark, but for a lone set of car headlights. The spaghetti in my stomach made just enough room for a knot.
Coach Cantello was reclined on the hood of his car with his hands behind his head and his hat pulled down over his eyes. He must’ve heard me coming.
“On the track, Smyers.” he said, without even lifting his hat, and I dutifully complied.
I ran ladders that night – race pace for escalating distances - 200 meters, then 400 meters, then 600 meters, then back down again.
I ran a few ladders, parting with my girlfriend’s spaghetti on the far turn in the middle of the first ladder. Cantello asked me if it tasted good the second time.
Al was a tough coach.
With the last click of his stopwatch at the bottom of the last ladder, Al reminded me “I’ll see you tomorrow, Smyers. Don’t be late,” then he got into his car and drove away.
I don’t remember how I did in that week’s meet; I don’t even remember who we ran against, but I do remember that workout. And I remember the man with a lot of responsibilities and a family who sacrificed a comfortable evening at home to teach a kid a personal lesson and invest in the maturity of one of his athletes.
A struggling student-athlete with raging hormones, I locked horns with Al throughout my four years there and, while I gave him plenty of opportunities to give up on me, he never did.
Al Cantello was unlike any coach I’ve ever had. He was alternately a thoughtful guru and a harsh disciplinarian, but he got more out of me than I thought possible. Although I was a “walk-on,” and not a recruited athlete, I would leave Annapolis, and begin my career as a commissioned Navy officer, with three track & field records – two that lasted for decades.
TD Smyers is Long Game’s Executive Coach and Leadership Consultant. TD holds a Physics degree from the US Naval Academy and a Master’s in Resource Strategy from the National Defense University’s Eisenhower School. He’s led diverse, high performing teams as Commanding Officer of a US Navy aviation squadron and a joint military air base, as well as CEO of major market offices for two global nonprofit organizations and BoardBuild - a nonprofit SaaS company. The Fort Worth Business Press named TD the city’s “Top Nonprofit CEO” in 2019. TD joins Long Game after returning from a career pause exploring the Atlantic and Caribbean for three years with his wife, Barbara, on their sailing catamaran, La Vie Dansante.
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