One question posed often by my track runners is about protein shakes. Do they really work? Will they work for me?

The truth is that, as a runner, you do need more protein than most people. In fact, you require about twice as much as the typical couch potato.

But an average runner doesn’t need as much protein as a shake holds. Muscle recovery demands about .7 grams of protein per lb. of body weight. Most people already get this much through their diet. Your chicken dinner, in addition to the milk from breakfast and the peanut butter sandwich you had for lunch, is sufficient.

Your body can absorb more protein than this in a day, but still only about 1 gram per pound of bodyweight*. Any protein beyond that point just leaves your body with urine. And if that protein comes form an expensive shake, you’re literally pissing your money away.

If you’re a runner and concerned about building muscle, where your protein comes from isn’t as important as when you pack it in. There’s a half-hour window after workouts when your body is craving carbs and protein. A turkey sandwich or peanut-butter covered banana will give it what it needs. And chocolate milk. God bless the inventor of chocolate milk.

*This excludes whey protein, which can be absorbed in greater quantities.

In my otherwise sparsely-decorated apartment, resting on a high bookshelf, I have a vase full of flowers. Most of them are flattened, the victims of a clumsy dress shoe.

They were a gift from the head track coach, given at last week’s banquet. Coaches, athletes, and parents had joined together to celebrate a respectable spring track season. Our runners had been told to wear their “Sunday’s best,” which, as it turns out, is a pretty indulgent classification.

So, in their untucked button-ups, sweater vests, half-tied ties, running shoes, and shorts, our kids squeezed around tables in our tiny backroom. Their parents sat behind them, watching us coaches hand out awards.

When every athlete had been acknowledged, it was time to honor my colleagues and myself. We each recieved a bouquet of flowers and accolades from the head coach. I assure you I’m quite unused to praise from her, so the appreciation was quite nice.

It paled, though, in comparison to what the athletes had to say. My runners called me to the front of the room to give thanks for my coaching. It doesn’t need repeating here; only know that I was getting a little misty by the time I returned to my seat.

So misty, unfortunately, that I didn’t see the flowers resting under my seat. If they hadn’t squished under my foot, I wouldn’t have known, later, what careless force had rendered them two-dimensional.

In all of the craziness surrounding my induction as a jumping coach (not the least of said craziness being my induction as a jumping coach), I ended up shifting over to an entirely different position. I went from handling girls’ jumps to boys’ sprints. And while I may not be known for my own speed, I’m much more comfortable in my new role; I’m now at least dealing with running events.

Sprinting necessitates daily form drills. Luckily, a misguided college track coach tried to train all of his distance runners as if they were sprinters. As a result, I’m well versed in many of the drills. My sprinters, on the other hand, didn’t even know an A-skip from a B-skip.

And so it came to be that, after years of decrying these drills, I stood before a group of high school athletes and explained why a B-skip was a crucial part of their training.

Fate can be heavy-handed with the irony.

Well, I am an official track coach.

Up to this point, it’s really not so hard to believe. I’m a respectable distance runner. I’ve competed in most everything between the mile and the fifty mile. I’ve worked as a volunteer with both the boys’ cross-country and track teams.

The unbelievable part, the terrifying, deep-left part of this whole thing is that I’m not officially coaching runners.

I’m a jumping coach.

A week ago, when I applied for the position, I knew nothing about jumping. Since then, I’ve been poring over textbooks on each event. Hopefully my book learning will translate into practical knowledge, and I’ll be able to help these kids. I’m just starting to feel confident that I can.

Please forgive the recent lack of updates; my time’s being poured into these books. Long-term readers probably know that it’s not my style to half-ass anything. I’m going to be the best coach possible, so that I can produce the best athletes possible.

Our first practice is tomorrow. Wish me luck.

“Dave, buddy, you gotta get those knees up.”

The ambitious freshmen (ambitious because this was a tempo run and he was chasing varsity) looked exhausted. He had been running fast, and his terrible form was beginning to tax him. He didn’t bend his knees, like he was sweeping the sidewalk with his feet.

He smiled bashfully and did as he was told. Meanwhile, one of my cheekier seniors turned to me with a knowing look. He appreciated the irony of the situation.

“Do as I say, not as I do,” I added, mostly for the senior’s benefit. I, too, had grasped the irony of my criticisms.

I have heard several times that I run with a jogger’s form– in slow motion. I take small, strangely energy-efficient steps like Cliff Young. And, while I don’t sweep my feet like brooms, I don’t lift my knees as high as good form dictates.

Dave managed to finish the workout with varsity– for the first time ever. His form improved briefly, and then he returned to sweeping duty. I didn’t bother to correct him the second time. form, after all, isn’t everything.