The Solitary Ones

The cross country runners moved in near silence.

Behind all of the contorted faces, pumping arms and high-kicking legs were the fleeting sounds of footsteps. The rhythmic pitter-patter of shoe to pavement came and went like a metronome, timely and expected, rising above the calm neighborhood streets before joining the cacophony of Westwood.

After four miles, redshirt freshmen Bisrat “Biz” Zerehaimanot leaned against a tree, gasping for air. He couldn’t take any more. Like many of his teammates, he was battling a cold and while hunched over with hands on his knees, he wondered if that was all he could give.

After six miles, freshman Pablo Rosales grimaced and held back, bothered by a hip problem that stayed with him from the Notre Dame Invitational. A mixture of emotions swelled up inside as he tried to find the spark to push him forward.

After eight miles, coach Forest Braden called the men’s squad to gather around him.

“This is hell week,” he said to them. “We have to get ready for it. You guys rocked the hard pretty good, but we’ve got to stay hungry. We’re 26th right now, but that’s not where we want to end up.”

It was a Tuesday afternoon. Earlier in the morning, exactly where he was standing, Braden delivered a similar message to the women’s group.

If they want to get to Nationals as a team, they need to step it up. With Pac-10 and Regionals following pre-Nationals, this was their time. The opportunity to run at Nationals ““ to race with the best at the highest collegiate stage ““ hung like a dream the runners had since they started conditioning back in June.

For senior Kelcie Wiemann, that dream went back to her freshmen year when she tore her ACL and meniscus.

“I was out for six months and had to learn how to walk again,” she said. “Even though I was a freshmen, by my senior year I wanted to be on the team, scoring, trying to get to Nationals, and that’s now.”

Braden asked the runners to give more. On Sunday, they ran 12 miles, starting a week that included two-a-days, thousand-meter repeats, six- to eight-mile tempo runs and weights.

“La Muerta,” redshirt freshman Brett Walters likes to call the workouts.

“In a way, it is death. Every workout was basically supposed to kill us. We’re just trying to find that consistency to work hard,” junior David McDonald said.

To watch the men’s and women’s cross country teams practice is to look into the runners’ very cores. There is nowhere to hide. Each additional stride brought greater focus and more vulnerability, the body’s need to stop, coupled with the mind’s desire to keep going.

For freshman Phillip MacQuitty, there are times when he hates the sport he loves so much.

“Sometimes I think I’m going to quit the next day,” he said. “Sometimes I feel like it hurts so bad. Why do I do this? Why am I putting myself through this? Then I realize, it’s not just for me. It’s for my team.”

His female counterparts shared similar sentiments.

“This is what makes cross country hard, knowing that your body wants to stop,” sophomore Allie Lopez said. “But I have to do this. Pain is temporary.”

But to see them in action and observe them at their finest would be to experience a series of contradictions. They are relaxed yet driven. They move in packs, yet each runner is lost in his or her own world. They had developed a refined form, but one which hinged on an athletic endeavor so raw and basic.

Maybe that is the hook: a yearning to find that freedom. Maybe it was a need to escape and leave the shackles of civilization behind.

“It’s a freeing sport,” junior Marc Hausmaninger said. “It’s just you and your legs. While running, you’re trying to trick yourself that you’re feeling good no matter how bad you’re feeling. Praying, sometimes.

“When you finish, a lot of it is relief. A lot of it is joy, excitement.”

It all comes across as a demanding, cathartic exercise in constantly improving and working at that perfect race, a goal toward mind-body mastery. There is comfort in knowing they are the ones pushing themselves.

They are the ones in control. Fittingly, they run in loops, whether if it’s on the intramural field or in the neighborhoods outside campus.

Round and round they go. There was no final destination, just the moment itself. Surrounded by teammates, each runner keeps on moving. Some push ahead, others fall behind, but each one knows that the others are experiencing the same pain and fatigue.

“What drives me are my teammates. I do this for them,” Lopez said. “I see Shannon (Murakami) working out here everyday. I do it for her. I see Taryn (Pastoor), I see all my girls out there. They do this. They work hard. I’ve got to do this for them.”

The desire and discipline bonds them, and to see them act so relentless, something wakes up inside and realizes that for them, this is not just a sport.

“This is a lifestyle,” Wiemann said.

“This is who I am,” Lopez added.

They live within themselves. The early morning and the afternoon runs, before and after classes, are bookends to their days, and they wouldn’t have it any other way.

They start and end their days doing the thing that means the most to them.

“You get a lot of self-satisfaction,” McDonald said. “With the workouts we’ve been doing, last night I was just dreading it. Dreading going to sleep so I wouldn’t have to wake up. But when you finish, it really boosts your confidence. It makes you think that you can do just about anything.”

The more they run, the more they learn about themselves. But it isn’t a formal classroom education. It is knowledge garnered piecemeal through every step, practice and race.

“To be great, it’s very simple. It’s not easy, but it’s simple,” Braden said. “If you go out there and you work harder than everyone else, you put in the time, you’re disciplined, you push yourself further and further, and you just tough it out … you’re going to have success.”

At 6:30 Friday morning, a time when the night had yet to meet the crack of day, when the lights of distant high-rises dotted the darkness and when the hallmarks of a bustling campus were only premature memories, a group of faint figures stood on the track.

Their warm breath emanated out slowly and coolly, the only sign of life. It was a quiet moment, a period of reflection for the day ahead. They went on to lace up their shoes and began walking.

As they continued to move, their strides eventually got longer and their pace got faster and, soon, they fell into a comfortable rhythm.

And just as quickly, they were gone.