| OCR Text |
Show 90 U. of U. Chronicle Year Book Cross Country ^uniting F COURSE, you feel very sore and your joints squeak and snap every step you take. You go sneaking around and fee! as if you had no right in the gym, as you have sworn at the finish of each previous night's race for the last week that you would never run again. Yet you are ready and feel strangely queer in the stomach as you wait for the "bunch." You admit that you should be home studying, yet the exhilaration and fascination of the previous runs compel you to make one more attempt. At last, you're off. The runners stretch out in a single line, running with a long swinging stride that somewhat resembles the gait of a wolf. Up across the car track, around the pond, and then the steady grind over the winding path across the creek, up the muddy side of the gully, and then on again,-through dooryards, over fences, and through fields, always keeping the same old "jog." O! the beauty of the uncivilized country, where the air is free from the deadly fumes and the suffocating heat of the city, where the thought of "lessons" has scarcely penetrated, and where one's lungs can breathe the pure air intended for them. The returning green of the grass, the murmur of some nearby stream-would that we could linger and drink the refreshing sweetness of the air. Then, you suddenly remember that you are running, yes running on and on, past the "keep-off" sign, past the old fence, and back to the school buildings that you love and yet hate to return to. When, at last, you collect your remaining strength for the final sprint, and with head thrown back and eyes closed, lengthen your stride and almost fly over the sage-brush and grassy turf and at last drop exhausted on the cool stone steps of the gym, you.congratulate yourself because you are able to use and appreciate the wonderful gifts of Nature. |
