In my sophomore year of high school (circa 1991-1992), I joined the cross country team. I left the soccer team hating the sport, the coach, and the lack of team spirit I wanted. There was team spirit, but not for a bench warmer like me. So I headed to the cross country team. It was the first time I felt normal being weird. In fact, it was almost a requirement to be weird to be on the team. I've heard it many times from many people that they've had a similar experience.
On top of feeling welcome, there was an odd personal-to-group symbiosis. So while I had to run each race as fast as I could and do my best as an individual, our team would win or lose based on those individual scores. It's something that makes the sport unique. Beating a teammate to the finish line helps the team just as much as beating somebody from another team. I liked that. I could do my best to help the team but at the same time I could do my best to put myself on the podium (not that I ever did).
And then there was the therapy of running. This is what would seal the deal and eventually bring me back to the sport. I never really knew it at the time but running helped me deal with all of life's shit. I know that now but back then it was a jaunt through the trees with my own thoughts or chatting with friends. I didn't quite grasp how important it was to my mental health.
In the end, I stayed on the team through my senior year. I should have tried out for my college team but gave it up to pursue other activities, like computer games and girls. Out of all the crap I dealt with in high school, my time running our home course is among my favorite and most memorable. So despite the look on my face in this picture, I really did love it.
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