We had a good team.

Our top guys ran sub 17s, we had few more capable of sub 18s. We won a few smaller meets throughout the season.

We had a good team, but they had a better one.

Another team in our conference had beat us by 30 points at our last big meet two weeks earlier. They had beaten our team at conference for the last six years. And here we were, getting ready to face them at the conference championship race. 

The weather was damn near perfect: cloudy skies at just around 60 degrees. The race was at our home course; a course we had ran since middle school. But we still knew what we were up against.

Then, as we were beginning our warm-up, that song played through my teammate’s phone.

I Feel It Coming

The Weeknd’s vocals filled our ears, and we were taken back...

Back to the long, hot runs in July on a gravel trail that never seemed to end.

Back to the mile repeats around our high school campus with a storm behind our backs.

Back to the field where we would play ultimate frisbee until the sun went down. 

Back to all the miles we pounded out together, week after week.

Back to the brotherhood that we formed since the beginning of the season.

Back to everything we did to get to where we were.

The Weeknd’s song symbolized more than what we had done. It symbolized where we were going.

We felt it coming.

Our team may’ve been defeated two weeks ago, but our team was mentally stronger than that other team. We had a vision: a vision to break PRs. A vision to pass a runner, and then another, and another. A vision to bring back that conference championship plaque, hung up in our high school with our names on it. 

We felt it coming.

We felt it coming, lining up on that white line in the grass. We felt it after the starting gun went off; sprinting out toward that first yellow flag. Running up that hill infamously named “Big Bertha.” Running up “Big Bertha” again. All the turns and bridges and mud. The final stretch toward the finish with everyone screaming:

We felt it coming.

We were all huddled together under the tent after we finished. I had PR’d. Hell, I think everyone on our team ran their best race of the year. Yet, even after such an exhausting event, we were alive with energy. Counting the scores up in our heads as they were being projected from a board by the finish.

The score was tied, 63 each.

Our sixth runner was ahead.

After seven years, our team finally took home that plaque. 

And about next year’s season:

I feel it coming.

- Andrew Aderhold