Coaching lifestyle leaves little room for healthy balance

Sanford does his best to detach himself from all that is X and O, which is a nice little theory.

If it weren’t impossible.

"Even when I go away, I’m reading books to prepare myself for the season," said Sanford, whose third UNLV team opened fall camp Friday. "I’m always taking notes. The cell phone is always with me."

This is part of the deal that makes all those generous perks seem meaningless: the affluent salaries, the courtesy cars, the free meals. What do any of them mean when a doctor looks at the results of your treadmill stress test as he might a malpractice insurance statement?

College coaches in all sports paused this week when the news of Wake Forest basketball coach Skip Prosser being found dead in his office after a morning jog was followed locally by UNLV basketball coach Lon Kruger undergoing open-heart bypass surgery. Coaches took a deep breath, contemplated their own situations, promised to eat better and sleep more and worry less.

Then they immediately made plans for another four-city recruiting trip and popped another game film into the DVD player.

It’s who they are, how they exist. They can’t comprehend other ways to survive. It’s a life of red-eye flights and greasy takeout.

Coaches are fascinating creatures who conceal insignificant truths as if they are government secrets and who accept elevated levels of stress as part of their job like a movie theater usher does spilled popcorn.

Kruger thankfully underwent a successful operation and there is no assurance stress had anything to do with why doctors found so many blockages the deeper they inspected. His father had heart issues. His father’s father had them.

Genetics often have as much or more to do with it than anything. Jim Fixx popularized the sport of running and was credited with helping start America’s fitness revolution. He dropped dead of a heart attack at age 52.

His father had one at 35 and died of another at 42.

Translation: It’s not always about the diet.

But you also have to live. You have to get in your car and cross that bridge in Minneapolis for the thousandth time and not think this is the day it’s going to collapse. You have to understand that choosing a profession of coaching means you will ignore healthy lifestyle options as often as you miss those Little League games and dance recitals.

You have to know that by accepting the idea your livelihood will be decided within the ultra-competitive world of wins and losses, there is no such thing as a break. When you coach basketball or other sports with early signing periods, there is no such thing as a breath.

"Coaches know all about the stress when we get into this," Sanford said. "As a head coach, there are just so many irons in the fire: making your program successful, recruiting, making sure your players aren’t doing stupid things off the field, you’re always thinking about different schemes.

"You try to balance things out, to make time for family and eating healthy and taking care of yourself. But it’s hard. And for me and a lot of coaches, your faith comes into play when dealing with the pressures and stress."

Kruger telephoned Sanford on Wednesday evening to notify him of the impending surgery. Ironically, Sanford had his own treadmill stress test scheduled for the following day — same doctor that tested Kruger, same facility.

"Lon told me to make sure I didn’t keep the streak of (bad results) going," Sanford said.

He didn’t. He tested fine and then immediately returned to preparations for another fall camp.

Sanford read two books on vacation this summer. One was "The Five Dysfunctions of a Team: A Leadership Fable" by Patrick Lencioni, a guide to better help those who lead groups, be it at a troubled Silicon Valley firm searching for a new CEO or in a college football program trying to escape the Mountain West Conference cellar; the second was "Quiet Strength: The Principles, Practices and Priorities of a Winning Life," by Indianapolis Colts coach Tony Dungy.

What, you expected Harry Potter?

It’s not how these people exist.

Ed Graney’s column is published Wednesday, Thursday, Saturday and Sunday. He can be reached at 383-4618 or egraney@reviewjournal.com.