The mildly overweight official, decked out in a primary red sports coat and straw hat reminiscent of an afternoon at Wimbledon, raised his arms and fired a single shot. At once, a mass of women darted across the imaginary line that marked the “start” of the first—and only—SCIAC dual meet of the season. Eight different jerseys on a pack of 108 runners painted a collage of blues, reds, and purples against the vivid green of La Mirada Park. Just as the gun went off, cheers erupted from the sidelines, packed with eevry type of fan, from overzealous parents to the token CMS fan wearing a foam Stag hat. But the runners paid little attention to the sidelines.

The first mile of any race is usually a fast one. Legs are fresh and adrenaline is pumping. It’s also when you’re most visible to the crowds which, let’s face it, provide a little extra motivation to stick with the pack—your pride is on the line. La Mirada was no different. The pack took off and raced through a soggy depression by the first hole of the Frisbee golf course. Mud was everywhere—one careless step and you were ankle deep in a soggy mess, resigned to painting a speckled brown trail down your back with each subsequent step you took for the next three miles. The runners didn’t spend a moment on the aesthetic faux pas their uniforms advertised. Instead, their full focus was on the course ahead of them.

To run a cross-country race means you’re “in it” for the long haul. The “it”—well, I suppose that could be anything. For some, it’s the competition of the event, while others might be thinking of running as a more intense workout than usual. But whatever her reasoning may be, for every woman out there with a paper number pinned to her left hip, a decision has been made. Each woman is responsible for preparing herself to spend a certain period of time—anywhere from 22 to 41 minutes—on the course. Performing. Putting her body through intense physical pain. Wondering whether she’ll make it to the end or not. “Should I pretend to sprain my ankle?”

But at this point in the season, with two weeks to go until the SCIAC championship meet, each woman had the physical potential to survive the course. Each runner could––and did, thankfully—finish the six-kilometer course. What separated those who were in the race—those whose “it” was to run hard and run against the other girls out there—from those who were not, was their mental state. What separated the women who, after falling over the finish line, could hardly stand from those whose shorts were still the same light color as they had been in the laundry basket that morning was their tenacity.

Each runner has her own breaking point. Ask some people and they’ll tell you, “at mile X, I’m through,” or “when I hit the hills, I can’t help but thinking about how comfy my bed is.” Everyone has their own unique struggle when they’re faced with that decision between running hard and running for fun—jogging out the race. “I’m in this” or “I don’t even care.”

When you reach that breaking point, you know you can push through the burning in your thighs and that tight feeling in your throat, and the only thing stopping you from setting your personal record on your last race time or scoring for your team is simply whether you want to or not. And that’s when the race really begins. Because that choice—and you only have a second to make it—is so much harder than any physical challenge might put you through. It’s a choice to commit to running your best, to shoulder some responsibility, and to ultimately commit to being a part of the team. To being a part of a something bigger than yourself. At that precipice, you have a split second to look over the edge and see that it’s going to hurt, though you’re not quite sure how much. And then, once you make that choice, there’s no going back—you’re strapped in, and who knows how well you might do or how fast you might run. And your own success might even be the most frightening thing about it all. It was pushing through that point, making that choice, and racing that led Annie Lydens PO ’13 to a stunning performance, finishing first in 22:08, a solid eight seconds ahead of last year’s winner, Jennifer Tavé SC ‘12 of CMS.

I hadn’t seen so many spectators at a race in a while, and the lot at La Mirada was an enthusiastic one. There were the parents decked out from hats to sweatpants in their kid’s college gear. Jimmy came with his mom. High school students manned the water booth. The mens’ team cheered its characteristic cry, members of the team showing off their legs in P-PXC running shorts during their post-race cool down. But a lot of it was lost on the runners. Most of them were trance-like, challenged by the thought of how successful they might each be, if only they chose to go for it.