Dear Cross Country,

This is a thank-you letter. It’s not, I hope, a goodbye, although I suppose it is a goodbye to this era of our relationship. It is an attempt to express my gratitude for what you’ve done for me over the past four years, a stab at quantifying the unquantifiable pieces that make up one of the most quantitative sports in the world. I suppose it’s a reflection of sorts, too; a long, nostalgic look back at who I was when we met and the route by which you led me to become who I am right now.

When I look back at the runner I was when I first encountered you, I can barely recognize her. She seems so young, so inexperienced, so unprepared for the miles ahead of her. She doesn’t realize that those 2-mile runs around her neighborhood are no sort of preparation for the pain you’ll put her through during her first race at Rockford High School. And as she finishes that race, she has no idea that she’ll cut off nearly four minutes from that 23:09 over the next four years.

This is a thank-you for the solidly objective things you’ve given me. It’s a thank-you for the numbers. They tortured me sometimes, but as much as I often hated the time displayed by the clock at the finish line or the watch on my wrist, it was those numbers that pushed me past barriers of pain which I never thought I could conquer. Thank you for the 19:17 that will forever be my personal record, for the number 1 place in the conference that I will always remember receiving so unexpectedly with my team as a senior. Thank you for the 86-second mark that I hit on every 400 meter repeat of the hardest workout of my life. Thank you for the 3.1 miles that you let me run 45 times over my high school career and for the countless things you taught me along the way.

This is a thank-you for all the wonderful people to whom you introduced me. My coaches, my competitors. Most of all, my team. The girls I suffered with year after year, the girls with whom I laughed and cried and lost and won. Thank you for bringing out everyone’s truest self, for extracting honesty and lighthearted humor and a little bit of sass from everybody who has accompanied me on my journey with you.

This letter is a thank-you for a million tiny, intangible things that I’ll never be able to put into words. It’s a thank-you for that first fall run of every year, for the crisp air and the flaming colors of the trees coming up the last hill on Ada Drive. It’s a thank-you for the incomparable sensation of power that comes from the final 200 meters of a track workout, for the illusion of strength during the final sprint and the gratifying exhaustion of speed. Thank you for the golden sunset that illuminated the black rubber of the track during that last 150-meter sprint I ran as a member of the Forest Hills Central cross country team. Thank you for the shameless excess of sweatshirts and t-shirts and blankets that warmed up so many cold, windy meets. Thank you for neon spikes and triple-knotted shoelaces, for Michigan autumns and for cowbells and for loud cheering and the unwordable everything that all those little things added up to.

I’m sure there are things that are missing from this letter. Little things that will meander into my head whenever I see leaf-covered sidewalk or smell wet grass or taste the sweet sensation of speed. I’m sure I’ll never stop thanking you for those little things and everything they did for me. Because no matter where I go, I’ll always have a little bit of your mud on my shoes, your happiness in my heart, and your strength in my soul.

With gratitude,

Ally