On Saturday, I’m supposed to be on a school campus in northeast Connecticut. I’m supposed to be in my coaching polo and lucky leggings, a backpack with relay batons, pencils, chalk, sunscreen, and even an extra uniform top inside tight against my back.
I’m supposed to be covering every corner of the track and field, encouraging and embracing and yelling like a madwoman for the 35 girls on the Winsor School team as we go for our sixth straight conference championship, celebrating and consoling them, checking in with the other three coaches and constantly looking at the scoring sheets.