HUMOR

By Liza Fergusson

“I run cross country” is a sentence commonly uttered by three-season runners who enjoy miles and miles of endless running. If they’re not three-season runners, some students might join cross country to meet Collegiate’s Upper School two-sports requirement. So why would I, a college-bound lacrosse player who has already met the sports requirement, join the cross country team? I do not know. 

I am beginning to fear I may have been struck with a quarter-life crisis, as I am now a voluntary long distance runner. I had the last two weeks of my summer stolen by an evil monster called “8 a.m. practice at Robins.” I am beginning to develop a strange ache in my shins, and I constantly feel the impulse to tell people just how awful cross country practice is. 

It’s not that I did not know what cross country was all about, as I was on the team my sophomore year, but quit due to a debilitating case of mono, as well as some shin splints. Yet, I am back. 

Another possible explanation for my new-found status as a member of the cross country team could be that I enjoy running. Except I don’t. I guess I joined the cross country team for… fun…? 

What about cross country could possibly be fun?. There is no other way to put it: cross country is only fun if you make it fun. The sport itself is, in my opinion, one of the most physically taxing sports offered in high school. The simple task of running multiple miles a day at various paces and intensities in the early fall heat sounds almost identical to a nightmare I used to have as a child. But to show how I can trick myself into thinking that cross country is fun, I will tell the story of what I did Saturday, September 17. 

The soothing melody of “I Gotta a Feeling” by The Black Eyes Peas blared uncomfortably close to my ear, signaling it was time for me to get up. 5:50 a.m. on a Saturday morning, and I am on my way out the door, peanut butter toast in hand, ready to head down River Road to board a bus to Fork Union Military Academy (FUMA). I know that most teenagers would absolutely love to spend their Saturday morning on a bus on their way to a cross country race. 

There is a large gap in public knowledge about what goes down during a cross country race, so for the sake of my story, I will explain a few logistics. The race is always a 5K (3.1 miles) through a course typically consisting of hills and wooded terrain. The beginning is marked by a starting gun, or in the case of the meet at FUMA, a large cannon. 

The bus rolls out of Collegiate at 6:47 a.m., and the journey to FUMA begins. A thick fog impairs everyone’s visibility, and many jokes are thrown around by fellow runners discussing how if the bus crashes, we won’t have to run. As we carry on down River Road West, the pre-race conversations about potential ways to get out of running, or promises to just jog the race, bounce around. The sun rises exceptionally pink through the back window of the bus, reflecting off of the dense fog. I note it as something I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to see if I hadn’t been up at this hour. The time between my tender observation and the start of the race passed too quickly, and suddenly I was standing on the start line, waiting for the cannon to send me off. I hear my cue and set into my embarrassing pace at the back of the pack. 

The FUMA course is particularly painful, due to its large field covered in knee-high grass and rolling hills that comprise the first mile. After the aforementioned hilly first mile, the course disappears into the woods, only to shortly return to direct sunlight for a loop around the parking lot to complete the second mile. The third mile finishes up back on the field of rolling hills, and the second go around on the hills was much worse than the first. By mile three, my shoes were damp from morning dew, and I was drenched in sweat, making my uniform stick to my skin. 

Girls XC team. Photo credit: Ken Miller.

I know that none of this experience in any way resembles “fun.” And writing about my race experience has made me question if I actually have been enjoying running cross country, or if I have just intertwined myself in a deep bout of reverse psychology. But that could not explain why my post-race photos, captured by cross country coach Ken Miller, show me smiling excessively and even laughing. The strange sense of pride I felt as I slowly crawled across the finish line cannot be attributed to anything other than the fact that I am enjoying cross country.