Following the Tahoma and Kent school district cross country teams has been a great experience for me.
I ran cross country all four years at Sammamish High School, so it is fun for me to write about it, having once shared their perspective.
It’s also been a chance for me to see others go a distance I never went.
I ran competitively sophomore year, but, repeated stress fractures in my shinbone left me struggling just to stay healthy my junior and senior year. I had always dreamed of running for a university on a scholarship, but it didn’t transpire.
It is a pleasure, therefore, for me to watch others earn that opportunity.
Cross country can be hard for a lot of people to understand as a sport.
It’s as basic as you can get — outrun the runner next to you. The rules could fill half a page, double-spaced. A lot of the coaches, like mine, run alongside their athletes during their strenuous workouts instead of barking at them while driving a small cart.
Outside of my team, my other friends could not understand why I ran cross country. Their sentiment was best summed up by the bar patron from Back to the Future Part III. “Run for fun? What kind of fun is that?”
I usually replied with some nerdy historical reference. When the Greeks were informed of their victory at the Battle of Marathon, possible the most significant battle in history, they didn’t hear it from the biggest, most combat-hardened soldier in the phalanx. They heard it from the soldier who could outrun everyone else.
I think, however, Tahoma’s Head Coach Gary Conner best summed it up when he said running is a lifestyle.
It has to be because cross country isn’t for the weak of heart.
Don’t let the short shorts fool you. It can be brutal and vicious. In essence, it is a contest to see who can endure the most excruciating pain for 3.1 miles.
It isn’t a test of physical strength, but, of mental perseverance and pain thresholds.
During races, I sometimes ran against runners who were better trained and better conditioned than I, but they didn’t always necessarily beat me.
That is the beauty of the sport. It isn’t all about the training. It’s about the pain tolerance. It’s about the determination. It’s about what you do at the 2 mile marker, when every nerve cell in your body is screaming for you to give up.
You’re at the breaking point, where your mouth is dry, your lips as parched as a desert riverbed. Your arms are exhausted, your chest heaving in and out as frigid air fills and empties your seared lungs. Your legs, which at first had felt like they could go on forever, feel like dead weights dragging you down into the muddy grass. You’re paranoid everyone is right on your tail, waiting for you to quit.
At that point, it comes down to a single fundamental question: Do you keep the pace or not?
My best performances were when I did. The best runners keep the pace and then some.
After reading this, some of you may wonder, “So why would anyone put themselves through this?”
It’s all about the finish line.
There is no greater source of satisfaction than crossing the finish line in a cross country race without a single ounce of energy left to spare in your body.
As you crumble to the ground, sometimes pulled forward by someone in front of you, you are allowed to relish the fact that you gave it your all.
There was nothing left for you to give. You performed to the highest capable level.
Like Conner said, it’s a lifestyle.
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