From the moment in early September 2015 when my team received shattering news, I knew my senior cross country season would be far from ordinary.
Weeks in advance, I had a long, inspiring conversation with one of my closest friends, detailing how, as seniors, we would implement an unparalleled team culture. Running side-by-side, we planned out the ways in which we would interact with the underclassmen and newcomers on our team to foster a positive environment. Ultimately, we hoped that our optimism and Christ-like leadership would carry our team to success in the championship meets of the season.
Our team had graduated a large number of talented seniors the previous year--seniors who served integral roles in our team’s second, first, second again, and third places at the state championship meet. As the new seniors, we strived to uphold our team’s reputation for late-season success, mentally and physically.
Thus, taking on the role of servant-leaders, we prepared ourselves to overcome challenges and struggles on the road to success.
But, we couldn’t prepare for everything.
One Monday afternoon, my coach stood in front of eighty high school cross country runners to deliver the news that would not only shape our season but alter our team forever: his wife, our assistant coach, in her sixth year of battles with three different cancers, only had two weeks left to live.
We all fell silent.
For a long time, no one knew what to do, until one by one, we walked to the front of the room and enveloped our head coach in individual hugs.
For the rest of the season, our team summoned an incredible amount of strength in practices, competitions, and life in general. We adorned ourselves with crocodiles (her spirit animal) and “I can, I will” (her mantra) at meets. We strived to compete with the same passion and determination that she had for both life and running.
Although we were inspired and strengthened as a community, we were unavoidably a team that carried heartbreak on our shoulders.
That year, we finished twelfth out of twelve teams at the state championship meet. Though most would view the result as a weak performance, in my eyes, we made history as the strongest group of high school athletes to ever finish in last place.
In the face of adversity, most envision a storybook ending in which a team, despite circumstances, pulls together and overcomes all odds. As much as we’d like to believe this is the case, reality often presents the opposite.
Nonetheless, one year later, I am still overwhelmingly proud of my high school cross country team. Deeper than a set of race results on a particular afternoon, we found in each other strength, love, and acceptance. These qualities proved not only foundational to the 2015 cross country season but also to our non-athletic lives and healing.
Our season transpired in a way that couldn’t be further from our initial plans. Yet, in the midst, we found that the individuals who make up a team are far more important than the results they produce.
