I just wrote a feature on a tremendous young athlete who runs cross country at the school I teach. And anytime I'm around the sport I'm haunted by my only real regret I have so far in my 32 years of living.

I've had two fathers die; I witnessed an ugly divorce between my parents; drug addiction that plagued my older brother; I've lost a lot of good friends with things I shouldn't have said (and things they shouldn't have said). I've gone 32 years experiencing a lot of loss.

I've led a good life. I befriended my step father when he was diagnosed with cancer. But I wasn't so lucky with my biological dad - I never did forgive him for taking away my best friend - and my father's sudden death courtesy a massive heart attack didn't allow me a chance to make amends. Or, rather, for him to make amends. I never forgave him for taking away my best friend, Roscoe. He promised I would get to see him every weekend following the divorce of my folks.

The last memory I have of Roscoe was him looking out of the car window as my dad drove away. If Roscoe could talk, he would have asked where he was going, and when he would see me again. Instead he just barked. Repeatedly. As he looked at me with those big, sad eyes of his.

Two years later, as the brutal divorce raged on, I found out that my Airedale Terrier companion died. The last memory I have of Roscoe was him looking out of the car window as my dad drove away. I was only 15.

I was a good student. I surrounded myself with good friends. I Fought through all kinds of adversity. Helped my mom through difficult times. Stayed loyal to my one true love in a world run rampant with infidelity. Didn't drink alcohol until I was 21. Never did hard drugs. And while I never turned to religion, I think God would give me the thumbs up for the life I have led.

And for those reasons I don't have any glaring regrets, save for one which - on this blog - I have repeatedly documented.

I've been told many times, just as recently as two night ago, that I have so much now in my life with a new house, three kids - my plate is filled with joy and new challenges. But I just continue to push the food aside. And don't get me wrong, I have embraced (and have been beaten down) by suddenly fathering three kids.

Even teaching (coupled with fathering and being a faithful loving husband) has offered me a tremendous amount of reward and satisfaction, yet a piece of me is still dead without coaching: which, to those who ask me, has become my greatest regret. Which boggles even me, considering the tumult life I've led.

I've been asked by students who notice all the trophies on my walls, and pictures with old athletes. They ask me why I don't coach anymore. And save for a select few, I lie: I tell them I took time off when I adopted my three kids.

But the truth is I quit, despite the advice of those closest to me.

I'm not sure how many more times I can write about this. I have beaten this topic to death, and have annoyed my readers with these trivial complaints. But I was at my best with a group of nervous athletes gathered around me before a big race - waiting to hear what advice I had to give.

I was at my best when, post race, a female athlete wouldn't stop crying because of how ashamed she felt. How she let the team down. How she let me down. I was at my best bringing a sense of calm to my athletes, while instilling a sense of urgency. I worked wonders at minimalizing the importance of a race, while maximizing their performance. I did this because, as I soon realized, it was what I was meant to do.

I haven't been able to replicate that high I received from coaching by teaching English.

The closest I've come to feeling as good as I did when I was coaching came today: when I saw my feature story on Clark's athlete occupying the front page of the Las Vegas Review Journal.

At this point, it's all I can do to help impact these young athletes like I once did.

There isn't a night that goes by where I don't think about that final race at the State Championship, where my two kids took 8th and 12th place. There isn't a night where I don't think about hanging it up prematurely, after an emotionally bruising year put me on my ass. And there isn't a night where I feel that teaching, alone, can replace the joy I felt coaching.

But for one day, at least, I felt pretty damn good.

And tonight, as I write about this yet again, I want to officially stop blaming other people for me being out of coaching. The fault lies with me. And I vow, if ever given the chance to coach again, I will not make that mistake again.