We spent the morning taking a day trip down to a college cross country meet, something I haven’t done in more than ten years. After we parked the car, we walked up and down the rollings hills and paths that made up the course. Wind blew over the grass and trees; white lines marked the lanes that the runners would be passing through. Finally, the trees parted as we climbed the last hill leading to the start/finish area. Under open, blue skies, teams jogged to warm up together. It was cool but clear, not too windy. From the hill that marked the high point of the course, we could see runners on two different loops of the race, then we could make the short move downhill to see the finish. There’s nothing like the face of a cross country runner in mid-race, especially as she pushes her way up a steep hill, competitors chasing behind her.
More than anything, watching the races reminded of the simplicity, the purity of running, especially cross country. There’s nothing tricky, no gimmicks, no scoreboard of flashy lights or spectacle. Just the mixture of speed and grit and determination that marks all the participants–from first-place finishers to those bringing up the rear. Just singlets and shorts and shoes and the purity of running.
