CULT OF MISFITS

Megan stepped up her pace as she began to ascend the grade. After running cross-country four years of high school and four of college she knew that most of her competitors could be defeated on hills. At the top of the final hill she'd left for dead all but two of the runners. Ahead was the long-legged runner from Brockport who had defeated her in the finals last year. It isn't going to happen this time, Megan thought as she pushed herself, gaining and watching the swinging head, indicating that the runner was nearing exhaustion. The fierce workouts, weight control and strict diet were paying off. The Brockport runner caught a glimpse of Megan's shadow and moved to her left in an attempt to block but after a fake to the right Megan anticipated the other's shift and sped by. Now, with less than a quarter mile she had but one more runner to contend with. Less than twelve yards ahead was the Black runner from Stoneybrook. Her teammates had effectively boxed in others, giving the Stoneybrook runner an open path and now she was making good use of it. Megan was gaining on the runner and with little more than three hundred yards to go had caught her. Instead of trying to block Megan's way the Stoneybrook runner decided to match Megan's pace. Bad strategy, Megan thought as she sped up. The Black girl was a little shorter and carried as much weight so she would burn out at the blistering pace. She was built more like a sprinter than a distance runner. Megan pushed herself as hard as possible and the Black girl matched her pace for pace. Up ahead was the chute where there was only room for one person and whoever entered the chute first was the SUNY Cross-Country Champion. Suddenly the Black girl burst ahead, a speed that Megan was unable to match. There was nothing Megan could do except hope that something would happen. Unless the lead runner would stumble, break stride, turn an ankle or some similar thing it was all over. Megan realized she had spent too much energy sprinting around blockers early, too much energy breaking stride in the beginning in an attempt to take the lead. It was all over. As Megan watched the glistening legs enter the shoot her heart sank. This had been her last chance to go undefeated, try out for the Olympics, reach the pinnacle that she'd striven four years for. The Black girl turned to Megan after being logged in and smiled. "Wonderful race," she wheezed. "You made up my mind for me. I'm done running. Nothing is worth what I just had to go through." "Thanks," Megan muttered while forcing a half smile. She could see Coach Teawoller approaching from her left and did not want to talk to him at all. The Black girl uttered something else then turned away with her hands on her hips. "Great performance, Megan. You set the Cortland record." "I came in second too," she snapped. At six-two she had to look down to him and walked past while still breathing heavily. "We're proud of you. You gave it everything you had." He wasn't a bad guy. It was just that he never ran cross-country and took the job in an attempt to get tenured in the Physical Education Department. He had several canned speeches, platitudes and some textbook knowledge but he could never know the hours of sweat, pain and devotion that went into a desire to be the best. When he attempted to follow, Megan turned to him. "Please, Coach, I want to be alone." He nodded and headed for the chute to greet other runners. "You must feel great after the race you just ran." Megan glanced toward the voice while frowning. It was probably one of the coaches from Binghamton. He couldn't have been more than five-eight and with the ponytail and sweatsuit, he appeared more like a middle-aged student than a faculty member. "It's too bad the girls from Onteona were able to box you in at the beginning or you would have won."