Despite the surge in popularity of Major Marathons these days, cross country remains hard to beat. There is no form of competition more pure, and there is no discipline that brings people together quite like spiking up alongside your teammates and running yourselves ragged over uneven terrain. The sport has always thrived off the energy of the team environment, where you encourage, challenge, and support one another from gun to tape, and oftentimes beyond. Plus, it’s just fun to play in the mud with your friends, as several hundred of us did recently at the U.S. Club Cross Country Championships.
Walking over to the start area, you just had the feeling that this one was going to hit different. The air was cold, the wind blowing off the water was unrelenting, and it had just started to rain. The course, which had absorbed a lot of water in the days prior, was slick and sloppy. There were even a couple hay bales thrown in for good measure. This was proper cross country.
I traveled to Tacoma with my Masters’ teammates from the West Valley Track Club, a Bay Area-based group of runners who came here to, amongst other things, repeat as national team champions. Many of my teammates competed collegiately, but some didn’t. For me, cross country has been a part of my life for more than half of my 42 years, and when I think about what draws me to the sport, it’s not just the purity of competition or the challenge of racing over varied terrain. It’s the opportunity to be a part of something bigger than myself and contribute to a collective cause, which is not the norm in an individual sport that oftentimes revolves around the pursuit of podium finishes, personal bests, qualifying times, and the like. Whether you’re 17, 25, or 42, there’s something uniquely powerful about coming together as a team. This sense of camaraderie and shared purpose remains at the heart of what makes cross country so special.
The tension on the start line is palpable as we wait for the gun to go off, which it does almost without warning. It’s really raining now and the ground ahead of us is already a chewed up mud pit. There’s a mad dash for the end of the field as everyone fights to establish position before the course bottlenecks a bit. I’m trying to stay in contact with a few of my teammates while also keeping a close eye out for our rivals’ kits, knowing that it’s going to be a tight race, and we’ll need to fight for every place. The wind is relentless and my upper body is already cold as we approach the 1K mark. My spikes are caked in mud, sucking the life out of my legs with each stride.
As the race develops I literally and figuratively feel stuck in the mud, unable to respond to moves being made around me. My legs grow heavier by the lap, and by the time we approach the end of the first of the four-loop course, I know it’s going to be one of the longest 10Ks of my life. Ahead of me, I can see my teammates surging and responding, locked in a tight battle at the front. They’re fighting for every spot, which, despite my own struggles on the day, inspires me to do the same. This is what it’s all about.
Lap after lap I continue to push, yet I keep losing ground. A couple of my teammates pass me, encouraging me to try and stay with them. I can’t. Going into the final 2K loop I know I’m not going to score for the team, or even displace anyone at this point. It’s a tough pill to swallow, but at the same time, it’s giving my best effort for the sake of everyone else on the team—because I know they’re doing the same—that’s helping me to stay on it. If I were doing this for myself, I probably would have dropped out after 6K. Eventually, I get across the finish line, fifty some-odd places behind where I would have liked to be, a veritable non-factor for scoring purposes. And yet as I make my way through the chute, my teammates are all there waiting for me with hugs and high-fives, which helps soften the blow of a tough day. I’m disappointed, yet grateful.
Cross country is a sport that epitomizes we, not me. And while racing will always be personal to some degree, it’s best when it’s a shared experience. As a Masters athlete, being part of a team at this stage in life—and having that sense of purpose, camaraderie, and support—not just on race day, but throughout the year training, racing, and socializing together, is pretty unique and special. In the end, it’s that mutual commitment to one another, that collective passion for competition, and getting to play in the mud with your friends that keeps me coming back.
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