Published 2011-08-30T21:24:00Z”/>
Ben Mullin
Half of Chico State’s cross country team, a full 25 runners, are crammed into the biggest room of a small house on Warner Street, affectionately dubbed “The Track Shack.”
They’ve all gathered together for one reason – to watch Scott Bauhs run.
The former Chico State cross-country phenom is an eight-time all-American, three-time national champion and a legend on the Chico State team. His surrogate family is huddled together at this squat, concrete building at 3:30 in the morning to watch him compete in the 10,000-meter for team USA at World Track and Field Championships.
The team shelled out for pay-per-view to watch the race take place live in Daegu, South Korea.
They’re all sprawled across two couches, the floor and one another. Most of them are wearing shorts, and there’s more sinew and muscle in this room than the entire Justice League headquarters.
Everyone there, with the notable exception of me, is probably in the best shape of their lives.
When I was accepted to Chico State, it was my dream to run cross-country with this team. Fresh out of high school with a 5:10 mile, I knew my chances weren’t very good, but I sent coach Gary Towne an email anyway.
His response was prompt and courteous, and confirmed what I suspected before I sent it – no room on the team.
Consider joining one of Chico’s running clubs, he said. I told him I would, but never seemed to have the time.
Three months later, I came to Chico and passed this house every day as I walked to and from my apartment. Runners glided by morning, noon and night, and I watched them with a strange mix of envy and awe.
I left the dream of running on a collegiate team behind in high school, like an old friend I wouldn’t see anymore. I haven’t run competitively since.
When Bauhs waves stoically at the camera before the start of the race, the room explodes with cheers, and I cheer with them.
“I swear, he looked into my eyes,” one runner says.
The gun goes off and the camera focuses on the track for just two of the race’s
28 laps.
The team watches in awe as their heroes set the track on fire.
“So. Fast.”
“Look how smooth they are, man.”
“They’re just gliding.”
Bauhs finished the race 14th in a field of 20. He didn’t win, but competed at the highest level available to him. The team cheers louder for his finish than they do for the winner of the race.
As they shuffle out of the track shack after 4 a.m., the runners complain good-naturedly that they have to meet for a 16-mile practice run in just five hours.
I know I will never be able to come with them, but that doesn’t mean I should stop running. Watching Bauhs race – and lose – showed me there’s no shame in defeat when you compete at the highest level possible.
While I may never be able to run with Chico State’s cross country team, I don’t have to run from it anymore.
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<strong>Ben Mullin can be reached at</strong>
<em>[email protected]</em>
