Farewell, Al.

The Invisible Coach

There is no one in my life, outside of my parents, who has had more of a profound impact on making me who I am today than Al Carius, and my world changed on September 9th when I heard that he had passed. For 50+ years, Al built and maintained one of the most dominant cross country programs in NCAA history at any level. You can go look up how many trophies the North Central College men’s team brought home, but Al was so much more than that.

You’ve probably heard that North Central’s training is a grind. Some people may look at that and think Al was a dictator, a ruthless taskmaster who accepted nothing but total commitment to the sport, but that isn’t the truth. Routinely, you’d hear Al extol the virtue of finding the “small daily wins.” The success of his runners wasn’t built in special, secret workouts, but on the shoulders of consistency, and Al was the beacon we all followed. Every morning at 6:30 AM, we would round the turn onto Loomis Street and see Al’s beaming smile. He’d shout a joyful “good morning, boys!” Then, in turn, we would respond, “Good morning, Al!”—all before he would head off on his own morning run routine, a little slower in those years than it used to be. He had a way of making the mundane fun and the discomfort of racing worthwhile.

I never heard Al talk about winning national championships; the only performance guidance he gave was to “maximize our God-given abilities.” Before workouts, I don’t recall ever receiving split times or directions on how fast to run anything. He wanted us to take ownership of ourselves and our effort. On race day, he was the calming presence that you didn’t realize until after it was all said and done had set you up to be successful. In the huddle, there were never any “rah-rah” speeches to get us fired up; he’d simply reiterate that we were there to do our best, before hands went in the middle and a “3-2-1, TEAM” rang out. His goal was to become the invisible coach; to give us all the tools we needed to succeed, then step back and let us define our own vision of success.

I was blessed to be a good enough performer to walk with Al to the starting line of five national championships, but that wasn’t everyone’s experience. We always carried a large roster and only seven got to run at the championship, but Al had a way of getting everyone—from the 40th guy on the team to the 1st—to buy into the message to “run for fun and personal bests.” There was never a doubt that he was competitive and wanted us to succeed, but his mission went deeper than accumulating individual acclaim and team trophies. In my last year or two, more than any of the others, I’d hear Al talk about “love.” He would tell us that “love is the most powerful word in the English language.” That word alone was the most accurate way to encapsulate his lifelong journey to get people to see the value in one another, to lift each other up through teamwork, and to unequivocally understand that feeling was the ultimate driver to a life well-lived.

There have been more successful and qualified former athletes to reflect on the legacy that Al left behind than me, but I know we all share the same feeling: Al was the light in the dark, the motivator that could get you to see the best version of yourself. The world may have lost a great man, but his spirit lives on in each of the North Central runners lucky enough to be touched by his guidance and wisdom.

Al was always about finding the potential in people and drawing that out with positivity and joy for the process of becoming the best version of oneself. He didn’t live in the past because that wouldn’t help the athletes he coached in the present. The way he saw it: every day was filled with potential, and he wanted you to see that too. To his last day, if you were to ask Al how he was doing, you’d get the classic, yet salient, response, “I’ve never been better than this day in my life.” 

I love you, Al.

Ryan Root

North Central, Class of 2014