By Don West Jr., Florida State Track & Field, Men’s Hurdles (Class of 1996), and creator of the Legacy Pyramid
There are people who come into your life for a season, people who come into your life for a reason, and people who come into your life to reroute the entire trajectory of who you are and who you become. Coach Kim Turner — known today as Coach Seals, but forever “Coach McKenzie” to me — is firmly, undeniably, permanently in the third category.
This is not simply a story about hurdling. This is a story about being seen. About being challenged with love. About being built up instead of broken down. About a woman whose impact on my life has echoed across decades — a coach who kept coaching long after my spikes were hung up and the stopwatch no longer mattered.
It is a story about leadership. About becoming. About grace delivered at the right moments. And about the extraordinary gift of having someone in your life who shows you what you could be before you have the courage to believe it yourself.
Olympics on the Living Room TV
I first encountered Coach McKenzie long before I ever knew her name. It was the summer of 1984, and like most kids with big dreams but limited vocabulary for them, I was glued to the television watching the Los Angeles Olympics.
There she was — a Black woman flying over hurdles with a power and grace that didn’t need commentary. She was movement. She was confidence. She was excellence in a form I didn’t yet understand but somehow recognized.
She won the bronze medal for the United States in the 100-meter hurdles. I didn’t know then that she would one day change my life, or that I would eventually find myself on the very same team she once represented as an Olympian. But I do know this: seeing her mattered. Representation matters. A young Black boy needs to see what greatness looks like so he can imagine it for himself.
And years later, when I walked into the Florida State University track program as a walk-on Navy ROTC scholarship student, she was standing right there, in real life, ready to coach the event she had run on the highest stage the world offers.
Life has a sense of humor, and sometimes, God has a sense of choreography.
Freshman Year, Tallahassee: The Walk-On Surrounded by Giants
Florida State Track & Field in the early 90s was no small-time program. We had killers on that team. National champions. All-Americans. Football stars from the 1993 National Championship squad who doubled as elite hurdlers. Phillip Riley — a national champion in the 60m hurdles. Marcus Dixon — an All-American. Kaz McCorvey, Wayne Messam — household names in their own right.
And then… there was me. A freshman walk-on. Talented, yes. But mentally, emotionally, spiritually — still under construction.
I had the desire. I had the speed. But I didn’t yet have the belief.
Enter Coach McKenzie. She didn’t introduce herself through fanfare, intimidation, or distance — the way some elite coaches do. She didn’t flash credentials. She didn’t lean on her Olympic resume as a shield. She simply showed up with humanity, and everything else followed.
The Voicemail That Changed Everything
One afternoon, during my freshman year, I came home for lunch and hit the play button on my old-school answering machine. I can still hear the beep. I can still hear her voice — warm, direct, steady.
“Hey Don, meet me for lunch. Bring a bag lunch.”
Simple. Unexpected. And life-shifting.
We met at Lake San Luis — peaceful, tucked away, close to my house and close to the track. And what began as a single lunch became a tradition. A ritual. A sacred space.
We didn’t talk workouts. We didn’t talk splits. We didn’t talk rankings. We talked life. My life. Her life. Where I came from. Where she came from. What I feared. What she believed about me. How I saw myself. How she saw me — which often wasn’t the same, but she held the higher version of me with such consistency that I slowly began to reach for it.
She didn’t try to build the athlete first. She tried to build the human being.
At the time, I didn’t know how rare that was. Now, as a grown man with decades of military, business, academic, and leadership experience behind me, I realize just how extraordinary that gesture was.
She made time — when she had none to spare. She invested — when she could have stayed detached. She saw me — before I knew how to see myself.
Trouble, Growth, and the Quiet Question That Made Me a Leader
Let me be honest: I wasn’t always a model citizen. Not trouble with a capital T — but the kind of trouble that gets you called into the head coach’s office. Parties. Noise. Distractions that every college student knows, but at the #1 party school in the country at that time, those distractions were a full-blown ecosystem.
One day, I found myself sitting across from Coach Terry Long and his brother Jim — an uncomfortable meeting about activities at my house the night before. It wasn’t catastrophic, but it was a moment that made me feel like I had failed to meet the expectations of people who believed in me.
I walked out deflated. Embarrassed. Disappointed in myself.
Coach McKenzie pulled me aside — gently, privately, away from the eyes of the team, away from the noise of judgment. She didn’t scold me. She didn’t shame me. She didn’t weaponize the moment. She simply asked:
“What are you going to do?”
Those five words became a turning point in my life. Because she wasn’t asking about the incident. She was asking about the person I wanted to become.
Then she said, “You need to show Terry through your effort.” No punishment. No shouting. No theatrics. Just accountability delivered with love.
And I did exactly that.
Her Coaching Philosophy: Building Without Breaking
Coach McKenzie is one of the few coaches I’ve ever met who understood a profound truth:
If you want the best out of a person, you must first give them the best of yourself.
She didn’t tear athletes down to rebuild them. She didn’t bully. She didn’t belittle. She wasn’t a screamer. She led with positivity, levity, and lived experience.
Her famous line — one that still makes me smile — was:
“I don’t drink no more… and I don’t drink no less.”
Tallahassee in the early 90s was the #1 party school. We all knew what that meant. She knew too — because she had lived enough life to guide us without hypocrisy. Her humor was her scalpel. Her warmth was her leverage. Her honesty was her compass.
Pork Chops, Rice & Gravy, and the Culture of Family
Coach McKenzie wasn’t just coaching a team — she was building a community.
Weekends at her home were legendary. Not for wildness, but for warmth. Her mother, Mrs. Turner, would be there. Her son, Leander. Teammates were like cousins. The table was like the family table of your childhood: pork chops, rice, gravy, stories, laughter, belonging.
It wasn’t about food. It was about home.
My PR Day: 14.16 and the Sprint of Joy
Every athlete has a moment they remember — the day the training, belief, and alignment come together in a perfect race.
For me, that was the Florida Intercollegiate meet in Gainesville.
I ran 14.16 — my personal record. I barely made it halfway down the track before I heard someone running toward me full-speed. It was Coach McKenzie — bouncing, radiant, beaming with joy that matched or exceeded mine.
Coaches celebrate wins. But she celebrated growth.
2012: When Life Hit, She Was Still Coaching
In 2012, my life took one of its hardest downward turns — the kind of season that tests your spirit, clarity, and hope.
I went to Huntsville, Alabama — where she had been coaching at Alabama A&M — because I needed grounding, clarity, and love.
We sat in her kitchen. We talked about her life. My life. Our journeys. Our struggles. Our dreams. Our direction.
Even in her own hardship, she still held space for me. Still building. Still guiding. Still coaching.
Hazel Green High School Has a Treasure
Today, she serves as the head coach at Hazel Green High School. I don’t know if the students, the parents, or even the administrators fully understand the level of wisdom, compassion, and excellence they have in their midst.
But one day, they will. Because greatness leaves a trail — a legacy — in the hearts of everyone it touches. And Coach McKenzie has never stopped touching lives.
Legacy Messages, Even Today
As I wrote this piece — on the very morning these words were first typed — she sent me a message. A motivational text. An uplifting reminder.
She’s still here. Still speaking life. Still believing in the people she once coached… and the people she coaches now.
Her influence didn’t expire with eligibility. Her love didn’t fade when my last race was run. Her coaching didn’t end when the stopwatch stopped.
She built me up to build me up — and somehow, she’s still doing it.
We Came In Uncertain — We Left as Leaders
Coach McKenzie coached men and women. She shaped us all. And if you asked any athlete she ever coached to describe her in a handful of words, they’d say: Inspirational. Fiercely loving. Loyal. Joyful. Hilarious. Steady. Believer in people. Builder of confidence. Guardian of potential.
We came in as uncertain young people. We left as accomplished leaders — not just on the track, but in life.
And that is the true measure of coaching. Not the medals. Not the records. Not the titles. But the lives you shape. The people you uplift. The futures you help form. The belief you instill that lives beyond the lights of the stadium.
Final Word
There are many coaches in this world. But there is only one Coach McKenzie.
An Olympian by title. A mentor by calling. A leader by nature. A builder of hearts, minds, and futures by design.
She built us up to build us up — and somehow, she’s still doing it.
And I don’t know how I got so lucky.
