As I write this, a crisp wind blows a pre-winter chill in from the north. Roiling grey clouds cover the sky as leaves float to the ground signalling the fiery death summer. It's jacket weather.
Better yet, it's distance-running weather.
Training in the Midwest, you get to deal with four distinct seasons -- which all, in a way, lend themselves to a periodized schedule over the course of the year.
Winter represents the hibernation, where the college athletes (and increasingly, high schoolers as well), take to the indoor track. Runs in the gusty winter chill are endured, not enjoyed, knowing they'll make for a stronger, tougher athlete come spring.
Spring is the rebirth. As the flora comes back to life, so too do athletic aspirations. Rising from the winter doldrums, we step on the track once again, eager to unleash the speed that has been pent up all winter.
As May comes and goes, Spring merges into Summer, and training takes different paths for different runners. For the high school and college kids, summer is the return to basics. Coming off of the track, these runners relish in the promise of future cross country glories. For the post-collegiate runner, summer is for 5Ks. The hot and humid conditions challenge the endurance athlete; the 5k is a short enough event to be concluded before heat exhaustion sets. Plus, it's fun to run fast again.
Fall is the culmination. As the weather turns and temperatures drop, the legs become excited for true distance racing again. While the average person bundles up for a 50-degree day, the runner strips down to spikes and singlet. That's racing weather.
Like most runners, I got my start in the fall as a 7th-grade newbie. Cross country became an introduction into the world of distance running. A world of fallen leaves crunching under the stampede of spikes. Of an inability to feel the winter wind whipping across open fields, dressed only in a scant singlet and shorts. Of shoe-sucking mud in the cold October rain.
It's the first love of many veteran athletes.
It's a shame cross country largely disappears after college, taken over by the mass participation of born-again road runners. The individual glory of the road can hardly compare to the team challenge of the cross season, seven athletes united in a common vision, pitted against a charge of 200 other like-minded competitors. Flying over fields, up hills and down valleys, through raging creek beds and sun-wilted grassland is as primal and pure as sport gets. Humans evolved to be runners before they were thinkers, and the cross country course is our natural habitat.
But as the leaves turn and the wind shifts, we can recapture youthful glory.
Runs and workouts in the fall breathe in the air of nostalgia. I remember easy runs over leaf-strewn streets, while everyone else in school was prepping for Homecoming. I remember disappointing races in cold, mud-soaked fields. I remember sunrise at the starting line, belying the brisk autumn air. Fall fuels us by the promise of past performances.
Perennially, all of our training -- suffering and setbacks, triumph and tribulation, the trial of miles -- reaches its zenith in Autumn. Like the leaves on trees, we look to head into Winter with one last work of explosive brilliance. Whether it's for the State Tournament, an NCAA Championship berth, or that fall marathon, runners of all ages and abilities aim to peak in mid-October and early-November. One final blaze of glory before hibernation sets in.
As the real racing begins, I carry my past experiences with me. Recapturing youthful exuberance is one of the things I love about this sport.
So to all the cross country athletes out there, preparing for State or Conference or NCAAs; to all the marathoners and road racers reaching their peak for one cathartic race, I say:
Race hard, Harriers.
Better yet, it's distance-running weather.
Training in the Midwest, you get to deal with four distinct seasons -- which all, in a way, lend themselves to a periodized schedule over the course of the year.
Winter represents the hibernation, where the college athletes (and increasingly, high schoolers as well), take to the indoor track. Runs in the gusty winter chill are endured, not enjoyed, knowing they'll make for a stronger, tougher athlete come spring.
Spring is the rebirth. As the flora comes back to life, so too do athletic aspirations. Rising from the winter doldrums, we step on the track once again, eager to unleash the speed that has been pent up all winter.
As May comes and goes, Spring merges into Summer, and training takes different paths for different runners. For the high school and college kids, summer is the return to basics. Coming off of the track, these runners relish in the promise of future cross country glories. For the post-collegiate runner, summer is for 5Ks. The hot and humid conditions challenge the endurance athlete; the 5k is a short enough event to be concluded before heat exhaustion sets. Plus, it's fun to run fast again.
Fall is the culmination. As the weather turns and temperatures drop, the legs become excited for true distance racing again. While the average person bundles up for a 50-degree day, the runner strips down to spikes and singlet. That's racing weather.
Like most runners, I got my start in the fall as a 7th-grade newbie. Cross country became an introduction into the world of distance running. A world of fallen leaves crunching under the stampede of spikes. Of an inability to feel the winter wind whipping across open fields, dressed only in a scant singlet and shorts. Of shoe-sucking mud in the cold October rain.
It's the first love of many veteran athletes.
It's a shame cross country largely disappears after college, taken over by the mass participation of born-again road runners. The individual glory of the road can hardly compare to the team challenge of the cross season, seven athletes united in a common vision, pitted against a charge of 200 other like-minded competitors. Flying over fields, up hills and down valleys, through raging creek beds and sun-wilted grassland is as primal and pure as sport gets. Humans evolved to be runners before they were thinkers, and the cross country course is our natural habitat.
But as the leaves turn and the wind shifts, we can recapture youthful glory.
Runs and workouts in the fall breathe in the air of nostalgia. I remember easy runs over leaf-strewn streets, while everyone else in school was prepping for Homecoming. I remember disappointing races in cold, mud-soaked fields. I remember sunrise at the starting line, belying the brisk autumn air. Fall fuels us by the promise of past performances.
Perennially, all of our training -- suffering and setbacks, triumph and tribulation, the trial of miles -- reaches its zenith in Autumn. Like the leaves on trees, we look to head into Winter with one last work of explosive brilliance. Whether it's for the State Tournament, an NCAA Championship berth, or that fall marathon, runners of all ages and abilities aim to peak in mid-October and early-November. One final blaze of glory before hibernation sets in.
As the real racing begins, I carry my past experiences with me. Recapturing youthful exuberance is one of the things I love about this sport.
So to all the cross country athletes out there, preparing for State or Conference or NCAAs; to all the marathoners and road racers reaching their peak for one cathartic race, I say:
Race hard, Harriers.
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