Godspeed, Will O'Brien
Will O’Brien is gone. Just like that. Pulled out today, bound for his new life in Green Bay, Wisconsin.
Will, we hardly knew you. But hardly is better than not at all. O’Brien, of course, is Collegiate’s wise-beyond-his-31-years director of strength and conditioning. A native of County Wexford, Ireland, with degrees from Mercyhurst College in Erie, PA, (B.S. in athletic training) and Georgia State (M.S. in athletic training and exercise physiology), he came to us two years ago from Westminster School in Atlanta. His impact was immediate. During that first summer, he met with each varsity head coach, and together they designed sport-specific programs for their teams.
Will, we hardly knew you. But hardly is better than not at all. O’Brien, of course, is Collegiate’s wise-beyond-his-31-years director of strength and conditioning. A native of County Wexford, Ireland, with degrees from Mercyhurst College in Erie, PA, (B.S. in athletic training) and Georgia State (M.S. in athletic training and exercise physiology), he came to us two years ago from Westminster School in Atlanta. His impact was immediate. During that first summer, he met with each varsity head coach, and together they designed sport-specific programs for their teams.
He quickly began a regular schedule in the weight room, but there
was definitely a learning curve. New culture, new faces for him. New
paradigm for us. Only two guys – rising juniors Cole Hawthorne and
Coleman Wortham – appeared that first day. Word spread quickly, though,
and as many as 60 began showing up voluntarily for sessions. The weight
room became a happening place even if O’Brien’s workouts, including the
legendary Grendel, weren’t for the faint of heart.
The rules had changed. There was a new sheriff in town. When school opened, strength training, conditioning work, core drills were mandatory. No exceptions. Didn’t need to be.
Our kids gravitated to this dynamic newcomer who knew his stuff and had just the right words to motivate them. “We hit the ground running,” he said. “The kids were unbelievable. They work extremely hard. That means a lot to me.”
Workouts, regardless of the team involved, never became macho events. Instead, athletes viewed his program as a welcome albeit demanding, sweat-inducing complement to their on-field training that would give them confidence and a competitive edge over any opponent, no matter how daunting.
“I’m not a dictator,” he continued. “I’m an educator who tries to build character. I want kids to take more away than strength training. I want them to be good people and positive contributors to society. Kids are so fragile at this age, so malleable that we can mold them to be great adults.”
O’Brien’s decision to leave was difficult, even wrenching, but noble. His wife Michele is from Wisconsin. The move takes them, their daughter Caitlin – his “14-month-old package of motivation” – and their two dogs only four hours from her parents’ home in Prescott near the Minnesota line.
“I grew up with a large extended family with aunts, uncles, and cousins all within a 30-mile radius,” he said. “My grandmother spent a lot of time living with us. We want Caitlin to grow up with a sense of family.
“At the same time, the people I’ve had the opportunity to work with here have certainly given me a great sense of family.”
He’ll soon begin work with Cook Medical as a regional sales rep for peripheral intervention devices. “I’ll be visiting cardiologists and radiologists on a daily basis and sitting in on surgeries,” he said. “I’m going into the unknown. I don’t know what medical sales will bring. I don’t know what the future will bring, but I have confidence that I’ll land on my feet.”
The interview was coming to an end. A couple of June graduates were waiting to take him to lunch. One more question, I said. How do you want to be remembered? He smiled. The big guy, the former college rower who’s built like an NFL tight end, the guy with the booming voice that could always be heard above the clanging cacophony of his domain, smiled often.
“As someone,” he said softly, “who really cared.” — Weldon Bradshaw
Back
The rules had changed. There was a new sheriff in town. When school opened, strength training, conditioning work, core drills were mandatory. No exceptions. Didn’t need to be.
Our kids gravitated to this dynamic newcomer who knew his stuff and had just the right words to motivate them. “We hit the ground running,” he said. “The kids were unbelievable. They work extremely hard. That means a lot to me.”
Workouts, regardless of the team involved, never became macho events. Instead, athletes viewed his program as a welcome albeit demanding, sweat-inducing complement to their on-field training that would give them confidence and a competitive edge over any opponent, no matter how daunting.
“I’m not a dictator,” he continued. “I’m an educator who tries to build character. I want kids to take more away than strength training. I want them to be good people and positive contributors to society. Kids are so fragile at this age, so malleable that we can mold them to be great adults.”
O’Brien’s decision to leave was difficult, even wrenching, but noble. His wife Michele is from Wisconsin. The move takes them, their daughter Caitlin – his “14-month-old package of motivation” – and their two dogs only four hours from her parents’ home in Prescott near the Minnesota line.
“I grew up with a large extended family with aunts, uncles, and cousins all within a 30-mile radius,” he said. “My grandmother spent a lot of time living with us. We want Caitlin to grow up with a sense of family.
“At the same time, the people I’ve had the opportunity to work with here have certainly given me a great sense of family.”
He’ll soon begin work with Cook Medical as a regional sales rep for peripheral intervention devices. “I’ll be visiting cardiologists and radiologists on a daily basis and sitting in on surgeries,” he said. “I’m going into the unknown. I don’t know what medical sales will bring. I don’t know what the future will bring, but I have confidence that I’ll land on my feet.”
The interview was coming to an end. A couple of June graduates were waiting to take him to lunch. One more question, I said. How do you want to be remembered? He smiled. The big guy, the former college rower who’s built like an NFL tight end, the guy with the booming voice that could always be heard above the clanging cacophony of his domain, smiled often.
“As someone,” he said softly, “who really cared.” — Weldon Bradshaw
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