The Woodberry Harrier 2017: Volume 7

Racing into the Rabbit Hole

Four years. Four years. Four years.  This is the mantra I chanted in my head in the State Meet as I blew past the 1600-meter mark, using the last of the downhill speed Mr. Hale calls free money.  As my legs and my doubts began to burn, I clung to that phrase to gain strength, to remember my commitment to this team and this sport. But a mantra will get you only so far.1

Since my freshman year, I have had the fantasy of staring down the fourth fairway of my last State Meet, my confidence as cool as the breeze on my neck, my focus as tight as my shoe laces. I never forgot a past Harrier article about an alum who wished that he could slip on his spikes one last time and race with the team, and that inspired me to imagine that perfect finish to the perfect race, with my performance and the team’s success assured. 

But gazing down that stretch this year, I didn't feel anything like that. Actually, I felt more like an uncertain freshman than I had the past three seasons.  We were in a hard fight for first place, and I was wondering if I could beat the St. Chris and FUMA runners who beat me the week before. My back was against the wall.  But I know that wall, and when you’re there, you learn that repeating a phrase won’t save you. Against the wall, it is the pain itself which focuses you, which pushes you back into the race, back into your groove, back into your mantra.

To me, Cross Country is about see how deep this rabbit hole goes: from confidence into doubt, from doubt into pain, from pain into a different kind of confidence.   In a hard race, you must push through one mental door after another to find out what you can do, what you are willing to do.

And in the end, this mental journey is what matters, not the PR, not the place, not the medal.  It’s about whether or not y0u were able and willing to hold yourself to a higher standard than the guy right behind you or the one right in front of you—all the way to the finish line.

—William Rich ‘18

Call Me Crazy

I love how my lungs burn when the cold air hits them. Once the weather begins to dip below 45-

degrees, running becomes much more than just a sport. People think we’re crazy for running miles
and miles in a cold rain. People begin to stare at us in our shorts and T-shirts once they have broken out their long sleeves and wool caps.  Later at dinner, I might hear my favorite question: Why do you run cross-country? I normally laugh and say that it’s probably because I’m crazy. Maybe, but maybe not.

I always want to answer that question with more than a flip answer, but there’s not enough time.  And, for some of it, there are no words.  How can I craft a response which captures all the pain and glory and fear and courage and struggle and triumph in a single race––much less in a season?  How can I explain how a side-by-side, twelve-mile run forges such strong bonds, how a single race can tell you more about yourself than you could ever know otherwise, how our little cross country team is more a family than a team.  

How can I explain that this sport demands that you try to be your best self every day, especially in moments of weakness and failure? How can I explain what it’s like to know that every step must be your strongest, every breath, your most important, every thought, your most positive?  How can I explain a sport which teaches you to laugh at fear, to run through hell without looking back, and to keep fighting when there is nothing left to fight for?

So if being crazy is a requirement for a long distance runner, then call me insane.  I could think of no better group to be locked up with.

—Guy Wall ’18 

A Final Word

My apologies for getting this final Harrier out so late.  I’ve had time to do it, but I have resisted.  At first I thought it was just regular procrastination, but I finally realized that I was in denial. When I click the publish tab, this season will be over for good, and I have dreaded that.

Maybe that’s odd given our bad luck.  It was a season of setbacks, injuries, and illnesses, a season beginning in high hope and ending in loss, a season of diminishing odds and menacing challenges.

But that’s ignoring the rest of the story. 

Ed had rehabbed his bad hip and trained well over the summer, and I was counting on him to be in the front pack.  But when we were at camp doing our first workout, he was in the hospital in High Point packed in ice with a bad case of Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever.  It was weeks before he could race, and it took a whole season to fight back to his previous year’s PR, but without his heroic performance at the end, we’d never have tied St. Chris.  Parker missed a week of training (having been pulled over worry about a stress fracture) and he’d just gotten back up front and was feeling strong again when he got a dangerous leg infection, which took him completely out of training for the crucial week leading into Preps.  He was cleared to race the day before and ran so hard he collapsed into the dirt at the finish line.  A week later, he was back in the mix. Without him, we’d never have tied St. Chris.  Henry Clark always raced with pain, but as one teammate said at the banquet, “He just doesn’t care.”  Without that grit, we would never have tied St. Chris.  William had been losing to Marrs Blaine (FUMA) and Wyatt Campbell (St. Chris) and it seemed for a while he’d have to accept that fate, but he wouldn’t.  He beat them both in the end, and without that gutsy finish, we’d never have tied St. Chris.  The list goes on—like Trace racing to a PR on throbbing shins and Henry facing a season-ending injury just when he when he was running his best.

The guys have teased me about saying at the beginning of the season that I don’t care if we win or not as long as they do something noble and courageous.  That’s fair.  Of course we love winning and hate losing, but this season—more than any other—has proven to me that pride in a team has nothing to do with the size of the plaque.   I knew that before, of course, but more as a theory.  Now I know it in my gut, too. 

I shall remember these guys with great joy, and those memories shall always remind me what’s possible when you work together and take risks and don’t take no for an answer.  Besides this, we have had a mighty good time.  They are as good a bunch as you’ll ever find, and I count myself blessed to have this time with them.

--BCH

 P.S.   It was the closest State Meet I have ever seen.  We tied St. Chris and the meet was decided by the places of the #6 runners.  Here are the results:

VISAA State Championships (Division 1)
Woodberry Forest, VA
10 November, 2017
2nd out of 18 teams 1-5   spread: 1:25
	Place out of 202	Time
Fletcher	4th	17:20	All State Honors; 6-sec. course PR
Rich	8th	17:29	All State Honors; 12-sec. course PR
Clark	11th	17:49	All State Honors; 37-sec. course PR
Watt	13th	17:51	All State Honors; 21-sec. course PR
Lindner	38th	18:45	57-sec. season course PR; 22-sec overall season PR
Daniels	60th	19:08	17-sec. course PR
Wall	81st	19:33	1:02 course PR
Richard	113th	20:06	1:03 course PR
Sompayrac	117th	20:13	17 sec. course PR
Dearborn	148th	21:07