Why do I run cross-country
Illustration By Sophie Balk ’25
“Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional.” —Haruki Murakami,
What I Talk About When I Talk About Running
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George Ning ’26
Murakami’s words ring in my head every time I step to the starting line, as I spend my whole cross-country season figuring out how to make the process of running enjoyable, or at least not tortuous. Every afternoon, we put on our running shoes, rub some sunscreen on our face and neck (some of us do), set our watches and hit the road. To many, the sport may seem monotonous: just one foot in front of the other, over and over, but running is never just about the physical act. Beneath the steady rhythm of footsteps is a cacophony of thoughts and internal battles. I asked my teammates and coaches what they think about while they’re running, and I discovered that every race is a deeply personal mental journey. Their thoughts, ranging from the absurd to the profound, paint a vivid picture of what it means to be a runner. But the question is can I find my way to truly enjoy the act of running?
One such runner is Michelle ’26, who often struggles to overcome the screaming voice in her mind. Her running form brims with energy. Her strides long but uneven, as if trying to outrun the pain. “In my hardest race,” she said, “for a moment, I thought, ‘Let’s just say I have a serious stomach ache and give up the race.’” By the second mile, the strain begins to show. Her shoulders hunch, face falters, and her breathing grows louder, gasping desperately to fight to keep moving. “Even though I suppressed these thoughts, it took extra energy not to let them overtake my mentality. That’s the hardest part of running, to fight against yourself.”
Running is at once solitary and communal. It’s you versus the hill, the seconds ticking away on your watch. It’s also the people cheering your name, the team waiting for you at the finish line. Still, the loneliest moments come when the course stretches ahead and the only sound is your own breath. The heart pounds like a drum in the ears. The taste of copper fills the mouth. Every step seems heavier and slower than the last. These are the moments when the mind begins its rebellion. “Do you want this?” it whispers. “You could stop right now.” And when coming to this moment, runners use all sorts of strategies to keep themselves going.
“I counted my strides, focused on my arms, anything to not think about the pain,” Rigel ’25 said. Often, it’s the smallest distractions that offer the greatest relief. Rigel remembers seeing a flag on the sidelines during his New England race, trying to make out the letters as he ran. “For a few seconds, the pain was gone,” he said. “It’s weird, but those random moments, like spotting a dog or hearing a cheer, can actually make a huge difference.” Even the sound of the spikes clicking on the pavement, or the labored breathing of a runner just behind, becomes a kind of comfort, a reminder that he’s not alone, that others are suffering alongside him.
Distraction works for some, but runners like Will ’25 end up grappling with deeper thoughts—like why are they putting themselves through this in the first place? To me, he always seems tireless when running, probably because I never get to see him finishing a race, since I’m always behind him. Considering the numerous miles he had run. I figured he must really enjoy the process of running. It turns out he doesn’t enjoy it at all. In fact, he has serious doubts about running. “I find myself in that place a lot, questioning why am I doing this. But this has been a journey for five years. And it's continued, building year on year. That's a lot of motivation. I mean, Why quit now when you're so far into it?”
When personal experience isn’t enough to endure the suffering, some runners seek motivation elsewhere. Kelvin ’25 often turns to philosophical musings to keep himself grounded. “We suffer more from imagination than from reality,” he said, borrowing from Seneca. The act of running is a way for Kelvin to test his resilience and make sense of the pain. He may not be the best runner on the team, but his mentality is a force to be reckoned with.
Math teacher Emmet Flynn ’17(now our assistant coach, but once a runner on the varsity team himself) shared some race-day wisdom with me. “Just fixate on the jersey of the person ahead of you.” To focus solely on that jersey, you must push yourself until you are mentally numb and cannot think of anything else; The reward for this intense effort is to have a huge improvement in your personal best. While it’s effective, by the end, you’re so wiped out it feels like you’ve aged a decade. Such extreme tactics are not my preference, but pushing oneself to the limit can lead to an unexpected reward—the runner’s high, which every runner eagerly pursues. In scientific terms, it arises from the release of endorphins and other neurotransmitters. It’s the body’s way of rewarding perseverance through pain. It’s fleeting, unpredictable, and yet, for those brief moments, the agony of the hill fades, replaced by a sense of invincibility. “I no longer stare at my feet,I look straight at the sky,” Michelle said, describing her experience of a runner’s high. “You actually don't feel like you're moving ahead much, because the sky is not changing. And then that makes me feel so small, because I'm just part of the world under the sky, and it calms me down.” I guess this is a solution to my problem, but the chance of experiencing a runner’s high during a race is about as good as me remembering to put on sunscreen before a run—which is to say, almost never.
After doing all of the research on how to truly enjoy the process of running, I have yet to find an answer. Cross-country is a sport that can bring numerous benefits: improved physical health, enhanced mental strength, and a sharper ability to focus—not just on studies but on every aspect of life. These advantages are undeniable and make the sport a valuable pursuit. However, there really isn’t a way to convince myself from the bottom of my heart that running cross-country is actually fun.
Two days after the end of the season, still searching for a way to enjoy running, I participated in our school's annual Pie Race, a beloved cross-country tradition. I started casually until my coach, Grant Gonzalez—who I’d only ever seen jogging during easy runs—overtook me. I was surprised to see him pushing so hard for the pie race, with powerful arm swings and short, hard, rapid breathing. Out of interest, I decided to follow his pace. Everything was smooth until, just before entering the woods, a roar bursted from Grant’s chest. It was so sudden and absurd that I giggled uncontrollably. I had to slow down when I thought of it, so Grant wouldn’t hear me laughing. “I used to be very quiet when I ran,” Grant told me later. “I think it is an age thing. I try to externalize the pain and the angst that I feel when I run. And so sometimes I have to let out a shout.” As the race intensified, I pushed myself to stay with Grant. It was tough, but I passed him in the last 100 meters. “Next time I got to build a bigger lead,” he said, “because I'm not sprinting past you. If I want to beat you, I gotta have a bigger lead early on.” (I won’t run the Pie Race next year, so Grant’ll never get the chance to try).
Weeks after running the Pie Race, I vividly remember every moment of those 19 minutes. Why is the race etched so deeply in my mind? Rose ’25, a seasoned runner who logs 7 miles every day during the summer, seemed to have the answer. “Say I run like a 20 minute 5k,” Rose said, "I could always pull up this 20 minutes of my life, but there's so many other 20 minutes in my life that just goes by without me noticing. So every time I'm running, especially the last, hardest part, I would tell myself: ‘It is the pain that makes this 20 minutes meaningful,’ and I think it's worth it.”
The suffering endured during a race crystallizes into something unforgettable. The pain activates our senses, tangible proof of the effort we’ve invested. If life is measured by the moments that make us feel most alive, then maybe the pain and effort are worth it.
