A few Fridays ago, I had the opportunity to take the line for the annual Greenville Classic cross country race, hosted out at the Hillsboro Country Club.
There were more reasons to run than to not. I have been running consistently since February, after a few months of idleness to end 2024, and felt I was in the best ‘cross country’ shape I would likely ever be in post-college. More importantly, about ten of my close friends and former teammates, all now graduated and in the real world, had insisted on racing as an unattached, ‘Not Greenville’ team.
It seemed like too good of an opportunity to pass up, even with knowing very well that there would come a point in the five-mile race that it would not be fun anymore. That moment came at the four mile mark, when I yelled that exact line to Dane Huber, who continued to encourage me as I stumbled by. If not for seeing my old friends continue on by, running fast and hard all the same, I don’t know if I would have had it in me to finish something I didn’t have to start.
After the race, I was reminded why I raced, back then and once again. As my teammates from over the years and I recapped the event and reminisced, there was an almost ethereal feeling in the air. The sun was setting, the air was still but neither cold nor hot and the fall leaves turning aglow. My good friend Joe Gomez, flying in from California to run, remarked that this must be what heaven feels like, and I couldn’t agree more.
Fellowship.
There is a great fulfillment that comes with putting on a team uniform. I have felt a spark in my very soul, the one that comes when you commit yourself to a collective seeking a success greater than your own. The action of taking the line, surrounded by the ‘enemy’ but even more closely surrounded by your teammates, all donning the same jersey, whether it was Greenville or ‘Not Greenville,’ relieves one of just a bit of the pain to come over the next 27 minutes.
There is fulfillment in doing hard things, and cross country is certainly hard, but there is even more fulfillment in doing hard things with your friends. Individual suffering often tears you apart, but collective suffering breeds satisfaction in survival. Iron sharpens iron.
Still basking in the warmth of that fellowship, I was drawn to my most recent obsession, reading The Lord of the Rings for the first time. (How incredible! I imagine more columns are coming about these books. I look forward to watching the films.)
I especially love the character of Samwise Gamgee, like any good cross country teammate, sticks to his master Frodo’s side through every step of a terribly long journey, running with him even while knowing it will end in certain misery: doom for the hobbits, exhaustion for cross country runners.
Like many of my teammates through the years, Sam, a faithful friend to the end, is not concerned about the weight of the world on their shoulders nor his own well-being, but instead solely focuses on ensuring Frodo continues on. He cannot run the race for Frodo, but he can run with him, and pace him along as best he can. He encourages him by his mere presence, even as the two faced the darkest of days and unrelenting pain. Sam does not let Frodo give up, nor does he abandon him in his trials, despite no obligation to endure. He is loyal to the certain end.
Cross-country or running in a general sense is a microcosm of life. There are peaks and valleys, times when things come easy, when the miles and days are just clicking off, and times when it is hard to go on, when the weight is unbearable and your legs can’t take another step. But thankfully, there are teammates in running, who will endure the long burning miles alongside you, and there are good friends in life, who will carry your burdens for you.
By this point, I realize that it sounds as though I am arguing we are all Frodo in need of a good friend like Sam. The quite opposite is true; we are much more like Sam than Frodo, who did bear the weight of the world and made the sacrifice for the good of mankind, something we could never do, but thankfully Christ already has done. Thus it seems, the very least we can do is be a loyal servant to our Master and a good friend.
Even amidst the painful exertion that is the nature of the sport, running a race with some of my dearest friends in the world has brought me great stabs of joy in life. (I say stabs, because pure joy only has One source–Christ, but like a sun’s rays one can still experience warmth without looking directly at it.) C.S. Lewis described friendship as the a-ha moment where one says, “What? You too? I thought I was the only one!” With Greenville cross country, I found myself surrounded by other ones, good friends ‘til the end of all things.
I don’t know if there will be another race where I take the line with these friends; there most certainly won’t be one with so many of us in uniform. The odds are slim. But there are other races in life, other journeys and adventures, trials and stumbles, that I am thankful that I won’t have to run alone.
