Liberating The Boy’s Cross-Country Team

By Linda Cole

Being the first has its rewards and costs. In the fall of 1971, I became the first girl to join our high school’s boy’s cross-country team and so I received both the recognition and the ridicule. It wasn’t until 1971 that the Amateur Athletic Union, organizers of marathons and the San Francisco Bay to Breakers Race, officially recognized the existence of female cross-country runners. I bought men’s track shoes because there were no women’s track shoes. (At the time, I believe there were only three brands on the market at all.) Within two years the running world would change completely, but right now in my school, cross-country wasn’t a sport for girls or even the traditional boy jock. Rather, it was the sport for the non-conformist long hair athlete.

In past years my older brothers had been on the Redwood High Cross-Country Team. I knew the coach, so when fall came, I asked him if I could train with the team. Running alone all of the time was kind of a drag, and unlike the rest of the girls, I trained year round. I wasn’t naturally very fast, so what I couldn’t accomplish with my speed, I accomplished with my stamina. Besides, I truly liked running and the time I spent jogging with my father and brothers. Running wasn’t a show for me; it was an enjoyable part of my life.

I joined the team as small skinny junior, running in my cut-offs, pigtails, and hippie headband. I didn’t keep up with most of them, but I was a novelty. The coach would drive us to nearby trails and lakes, places I couldn’t get to readily on my own. He was a true liberal, letting me join.

His VW bus was one of a kind. It was light and dark green with a psychedelic mural painted on the outside. Inside were just the two front seats and a place for cargo, or in this case as many runners as he could fit in the back. Instead of front door handles it had hot and cold ceramic sink knobs. The only way to get air in the passengers was to open the hatchback right over the exhaust. You haven’t lived till you’ve been packed in a van, with ten guys who have just run fifteen miles and your only choices for breathing are the windowless back of a cargo van or that same van with the back open and exhaust fumes billowing into your face. But hey, in the years before this, teenagers crammed themselves into phone booths and sneaked into drive-ins in the trunk. So what’s wrong with a little claustrophobia and bad air?

My original intention was only to train with the guys, and I did just that. Well, I really trained behind the guys. I could only keep up with one team member who only came to practice occasionally. In the last competitive meet however, the guys all wanted me to join the race. "Come on Linda. Do it. Go ahead. We’ll ask the coach."

They asked him and he gave his permission After all, he was a true liberal. I was going to compete and why not? The guys had become accepting, and they wanted me to. And I had trained.

We came to the starting line, the gun fired, and off we went. In no time at all, I was in the back group with two guys from the opposing team. One was over six feet, and his stride was easily twice as long as mine. The other was just an average guy in both build and height. I struggled to keep up with them. They struggled not to be humiliated.

We did the opening flat fire road together, and I fought to keep up as the course became a path and started to climb a hill. I was obviously not going to win this thing, but I wanted to beat somebody. And I did do that. On my way down the next stretch, I passed Mr. Average. He had stopped by the side of the road.

"Tell them I got a bloody nose," he said as he stopped.

I told him I would, and, later at the finish line I did. But you know, I don’t remember seeing any blood.

After I passed him, it was just the giant and me fighting to stay out of last place. I was barely keeping up, when we got to a long downhill stretch. All the giant had to do was open his stride and glide. He beat me easily, but as I did my final yards some of the team came out to run the last part with me.

I still remember one of them saying, "Way to go. You have the women’s course record. Keep going, and you’ll have it."

And I probably did have it, if the official still had his watch running.

I had many other experiences both good and bad. Some people were accepting and some were not. In that year, I would go on to the county meet where I was removed at the starting line because the meet director wouldn’t let me run. He kept me out saying, "What if she gets hurt?"

I also had some local kids throw rocks at me as I was jogging. "Go back to the kitchen and bake cookies," they yelled.

For over a year, I received stares of either disgust or encouragement, but mostly I got looks of amusement made at me, the local novelty.