by Ben Frederiksen

Guest Writer

Last Thursday, Sept. 27, I traveled with the Calvin crosscountry team left to Rock Island, Illinois for the Augustana Invitational. So, what's a trip with the cross country team like? And why in the world do we love running so much? I hope I can give you a little glimpse of our experiences as a team, and our passion for running.

After a solid two hours on the bus, it was time for our afternoon workout. We stopped at Warren Dunes State Park for an easy four-mile run. After the run, we lingered on the beach, watching the turbulent, angry waves. A few brave souls ventured into the water, so cold it gave you a headache.

In the distance, the steel fingers of Chicago poked up into the gray belly of the sky, which seemed to hang oppressively over our heads. Re-enacting the memorable scene from ``Chariots of Fire'' we sprinted in slow motion across the wet beach to the waiting bus.

We arrived at the Hampton Inn of Moline, IL around midnight and headed straight to bed. As a runner (as a college student for that matter), sleep is your best friend. And if you've got two of your real friends to share a bed with, your dreams are even sweeter. Yeah, we're a pretty close team.

We had most of the next day to acclimate ourselves to the Illinois environment (read: wait around), so we first enjoyed a leisurely breakfast in the motel lobby.

In fact, I managed to read most of a recent Sports Illustrated issue while eating my runner's breakfast of cereal, fruit, apple juice and...waffles. I did pass on the doughnuts, though the raspberry jelly-filled ones looked extremely enticing.

After the team Bible study, the more studious types did homework while the slackers among us read more Sports Illustrated.

Before loading the bus we played Frisbee and hackeysack in the parking lot. A short trip on the bus was followed by more waiting around at Subway for lunch, and then more at Augustana College, where we changed into our uniforms.

Upon expressing my slight frustration at the slow nature of the acclimation process, our coach Al Hoekstra wisely said: ``The only thing we do fast as a team is run.'' Fortunately that's true.

At 4:00 p.m. we finally arrived at the Highland Springs Golf Course, site of the meet, raring to go. For some odd reason, we parked right next to the Hope College bus --something about the comfort of a familiar face while traveling.

Augustana College will also host the Division III cross-country national championships on Nov. 17, so several nationally ranked teams were there to preview the course. At least 32 teams were there, with 900 total runners (of which 470 were men). A long row of people stood in line for an equally long row of beige Porta-Johns.

The atmosphere at the course was electric. As we began our warm-up run, speakers blared athletic event favorites such as ``Eye of the Tiger,'' ``Highway to Hell,'' and... ``Where have you come from, where do you go, Cotton Eye Joe?'' Hmm.

The course itself was a confusing maze of yellow, blue and red flags scattered over the golf course. (In fact, several of the top runners, ironically from M.I.T., missed the final, crucial turn during the race and had to retrace their steps to get back on track. Obviously, they didn't win.)

One part of race preparation that was new to me involved the ``ChampionChip.'' This is a computer chip programmed with your name and team which you tie to your shoelaces; at the start of the race it is activated, and as you cross the finish line an electronic beam stops the internal clock of the chip.

These chips are then processed and the results of the race can quickly be recorded in a computer (I'm a little fuzzy on the details), eliminating the need for the paper tags that are customary at most races. At least that's the way it's supposed to work...

The final minutes before the start are always filled with a strange sort of dread for me. My heart keeps thumping louder and louder, and I wonder if it wouldn't be wise to make a last minute dash to the Porta-John. I usually don't--missing the start while sitting on the can would be the ultimate embarrassment, I think.

The agonizing minutes are filled with final stretching and adjustments, interspersed with handshakes and best wishes: ``Good luck, buddy. God bless. Have a good one. Kick ass out there.'' Everyone seems very solemn.

The handshakes are firm, but the palms are sweaty. We look intently at each other--these are the guys you've trained with, the guys you can count on, the guys who will pull you through in the tough moments of the race.

Bang! You're off. No final instructions, no warning, just the gun.

To be honest, I don't remember very much of the race. Even while you run, it all seems like a blur, albeit a very fast blur. You have no concept of where you are. The grassy ups and downs disappear as you focus completely on the jersey ahead of you. Gotta catch that guy, gotta catch that guy. If you give even a moment's thought to your burning legs or heaving lungs, you're toast. For such a grueling physical sport, it's amazing how vital mental tenacity is.

The one incident I distinctly remember from all of that impossibly long 5-mile race is little Allison, daughter of women's coach Nancy Meyer, standing mid-way up a small hill, cheering all by herself as I ran doggedly past. ``Go Calvin,'' she yelled.

The pain suddenly hits after the race, washing over you like giant breakers. Your legs feel like hot molten lead, searing and heavy. You stumble unsteadily to grab a cup of water.

Some guys, like sophomore Kris Koster, end up puking after a race. Hey, at least no one had to get an I.V. this time.

Before officially cooling down, we dashed around the course again to cheer the girls on. Usually they race before us and we don't get a chance to see them, so it was nice to watch them run.

As I watched, I wondered, ``Did I have that determined look of pain on my face too?'' The women's team did incredibly well, by the way, scoring 51 points as they cruised to a dominating victory.

It was a beautiful day to race, the kind of day that God designed just for running. I jogged at the back of our team on our cool down, watching the sun drop below the tree-lined horizon.

The cool evening air made every leaf and blade of grass stand out distinct and bold, as if to say, ``Look at me!'' It's on days like these when I'm reminded that running is a gift from our Creator, and on that beautiful day we experienced again the joy of running for Him.

We beat the girls out of the showers before heading to Arby's and Wendy's for dinner. Even crosscountry runners eat junk food once in a while... Nobody could really sleep on the way back, perhaps because someone had the brilliant idea of putting on that marvel of cinematography, ``Godzilla versus Mothra.'' We got back exhausted but strangely happy at 4:30 am Saturday morning.

So how did I do? Well, it turns out my vaunted ``ChampionChip'' somehow didn't scan when I passed through the finish line, so my name never appeared on the results sheet. Kind of makes you wonder if I was even there... But then again, that's what our philosophy is all about--it's not about the individual, it's about the team. Go Calvin.