Story by Marion Larson, Class of '79

It was a perfect cross country race day, clear blue skies, a bite of frost in the air with only a slight breeze. I followed a bright yellow school bus down the road, knowing it and I were both headed to the State Cross Country Meet. I shouted with joy when I saw an Amherst school bus go by! I was on time for the girl's race--they had won this meet last year and were hoping to repeat. The Tufts University Veterinary School Campus in Grafton was the final destination of busses unloading scores of young athletes from across the Commonwealth. The usually quiet, pastoral campus was teeming with activity. Brightly colored tents and uniforms combined with music blaring from boomboxes provided a festive ambience.

I spied the Amherst girls trooping off their bus and said hello to Coach Art Keene. He was surprised and pleased that a former ARHS harrier had unexpectedly appeared on the scene. "When we get the tent set up, I'll introduce you to the girls." I offered to help haul the tent bag and in a group of 20 girls, we moved out across the open field.

The year was 1974; the place was, Franklin Park, Roxbury. On an overcast afternoon, the first group of organized female harriers from Amherst High School arrived in the afternoon before the state meet. It had been a harrowing ride for at least one driver--Anne Mathieson, phys ed teacher and girls track coach. She had tried to follow our coach, Charlotte Lettis into Boston, but long before we hit the city limits, Charlotte's car was nowhere to be seen. Anne had to rely on sketchy directions and the map reading skills of one of the girls to get into Franklin Par, and horror of horrors, Boston drivers. It was an adventure for all of us. We were four girls strong, one less than was needed to be considered an official scoring team. We had a chance to jog the course, with Charlotte giving us tips on what to think about for the next day's race. A police officer on horseback admonished us to be careful on the course, stay together and to leave before dark. Though already aware of the tough reputation of Roxbury, this warning magnified our teenage imaginations. We were a long way from the "country."

The heavy tent bag soon caused us to fall behind the group of chatting girls. We switched off positions to give one hand a break and trudged across the field. "Where are we going?" I asked.

"Probably up on that hill, that's where we were last year, answered one of the girls. "That hill" was still 150 yards away.

"It's going to be a long haul..." I muttered. When we stopped for another break I hefted one end of the bag, wondering aloud if there was an easier way. "Oh, the boys team carried it on their shoulders," said another girl, "Let's try that way!" There was an audible sound of relief from our foursome as we let our shoulders take the weight.

We walked briskly, approaching the noisy group as they settled bags, blaring music radio, and their bodies on the grassy knoll. Coach Keene came up behind us--"Hey, you girls are awesome to haul the tent so far." We murmered our assent. Art asked for everyone's attention--off went the music and the chatting quieted down. "We have a visitor today, Marion Larson, a founding member of the Amherst Cross-country team and first winner of the Western Mass Championships held in 1975. " There were interested, curious and welcoming glances from the team. After a couple more announcements, we set up the tent, taking advantage of the bright sunshine while gaining protection from the breeze.

"It was so windy up here last year, the tent collapsed," commented a young woman as we tugged tent legs into place. The team's music box played a blend of present and past, encouraging our bodies to sway to the beat, from Madonna to Queen's "We are The Champions to a rap version of a score from Saturday Night Fever. The latter two songs were hits when I was in Amherst!

A few minutes later, it was time to walk the course. "You're going with them aren't you?"asked one girl. "We'll take care of the rest of this."

The course was rolling, with sloping hillsides and rough footing in places. Coach Keene made a few comments, pointing out the mile marker, reminding a runner what place she had been in last year at that point, and exchanging cheery greetings with other team coaches we encountered. "OK, now we're going to jog the rest of the way , "he announced enthusiastically. "Remember that everyone is to meet at the starting line at 11:15. We'll say a few more words and you'll sing. I want the varsity runners to be together and of course the rest of you can go with them."

A few girls circulated throughout the group, offering to take extra clothing back to the tent. The varsity group peeled out first, with the rest of us pounding along to catch up. I eyed their running gear: windpants and wind breakers, long sleeved black shirts with the words "And many miles to go before I sleep..." on the back; "Amherst Ultimate" on a maroon sweatshirt. "Western Mass. XC Champions, 2000" on a fleece jacket. The racing uniform is a white tank with marroon and gold trim, shorts and silvery leggings.

Since we were only a club in that first year, there were no uniforms. In fact, there was very little in the way of running gear for girls and women, Kettle cloth plaid shorts, knee socks and a turtleneck was my uniform that year. In subsequent years the team would use the track uniforms--stiff polyester shorts that ballooned like diapers on some of the smaller runners, and heavy non-breathable nylon tanks. We took pride in eclectic training gear; anyone who showed up to practice in an outfit that "matched" was ridiculed (with humor). The best running gear was worn for the Halloween run, which started off with some of us wrapping locker room shower curtains around us and tearing around the track laughing hysterically at each other. Even seemingly quiet senior Cindy Hastings was out there--she may even have thought up the idea!

"Do you know what I have?" one runner asked Coach Keene. I had earlier heard a hacking cough from this small, slender girl. "Bronchitis?" was my thought and Coach echoed it.

"No! This!" She pulled out a laminated white card filled with brightly colored handwritten notes. "It's from last year." she said. I asked about the card's significance. "It's a power card" I hadn't heard of such a thing. "Well, usually they only have one saying or..." she searched for the right phrase. "An affirmation," Keene interjected.

"Yeah," she said, "An affirmation. But this one has more than one."

"It looks like you have lots of affirmations, which can be very helpful," I said. Her face was bright and confident.

"Don't worry about me, Coach, when I start to race, you won't know I've been sick." Another girl was concerned about foot gear, a stress fracture was bothering her.

"My mother specifically prohibited me from wearing or bringing my racing flats."

"Did you bring them? asked the Coach. A nervous giggle broke from her, "Well, yeah, I did." Another short laugh.

I asked the next important question, "Is your mother going to be here!?" She laughed again,

"Yeah, she is."

Coach didn't think that, given the circumstances, there was going to be much of a difference in which shoes she would wear, even if she had her orthotics in the flats. The footing would probably be more hazardous than the pounding on her foot. At least there wasn't any pavement to worry about. He promised he would to talk to her mother and arrive at a decision before the start.

When we got back to the tent, a few more Amherst girls had appeared on the scene, much to the delight of the group. I was struck the by the sight of two poles, thrust into the ground each bearing 2 waving red flags with a black square in the middle. "What on earth?" It looked familiar, but I was stumped. "Its the hurricane warning--the boys team must be here."

"What a great idea! "I exlaimed. "Why hadn't Amherst teams done this years ago?" My mind flew to a memory of prayer flags fluttering in the breeze at a holy location I visited in Inner Mongolia. Perhaps it was the bright sky, dry air and colors that brought it all to my mind. Here in front of me were the prayer, or more fitting, the "power flags" of the team. Now there's a powerful affirmation!

The night before state meets, our team established our own traditions. A tape player with Queen's inspirational Champions tune became mandatory. It seemed that no matter where we stayed in the Boston area for the State meet, we had rooms at a Suisse Chalet motel. Supper was always spaghetti, (Gotta get those carbos.) There always seemed to be a bowling alley nearby, so our traditional evening entertainment was flinging the big ten pin balls down the alley (or the gutter) to keep us relaxed. When a State Meet was held in central Massachusetts a few years later, there was no need for an overnight stay. Founding members of the team grieved the loss of a group night out on the town, but at least we still had our music.

I jogged down to the finish line where officials in bright yellow and red jackets were milling about. I wanted to see if there were any familiar faces. I found one face, Fred Warren, who I had met a year ago in a volunteer education program. We chatted briefly and then I saw a very familiar face who I called out to even before my brain consciously registered his name, "Randy!! Randy!!...Or should I say Mr. Crowley?!" He turned, looked at me as I peeled off my sunglasses.

"Marion Larson.... wow, I haven't seen you in years!" I gave the burly man a hug. Randy was the boys coach for cross country and track in the 1970's and 80's. He was also a long time official for Massachusetts and had been checking in with his colleagues. Though living in Florida, he was visiting his daughter in Massachusetts, and was impelled to see the meet. This year's boys team was favored to win it all, with their best runner a contender for first place.

As Hurricane harriers, our coaching experience was unique for that time and place. We had one of the top ranked women in the country coaching us for two years, Charlotte Lettis. She was an enormous influence on women's distance running both in the Amherst area and beyond. She ran in the Nationals as the only representative from UMass/Amherst. She and others started a women's running club, the Sugarloaf Mountain Athletic Club, after Mount Sugarloaf in Sunderland. She encouraged women of all ages and abilities to join. The club grew, and due to the support of many male runners, men were invited as well. We girls were also members.

For two years, Charlotte ran with us at all our practices, as did her husband, Tom Derderian who coached us in the following year. We sometimes spied Randy Crowely in his car, checking up on the boys. I later learned that some of the boys would sneak off course to grab something to eat or take a shortcut back to school. This wasn't something that had occurred to us and in any case, would have been impossible to do given that our coach ran with us. Sometimes we were joined by other area runners: Merri Cushing, a woman in her mid-thirties, who regularly ran the Boston Marathon despite the pressures of motherhood and work, Loretta Eiben, in her 50's, known as the Purple Punmaker because of her snappy purple sweatsuits (which she made) and her ability to come up with a pun about anything! She gave our minds a workout with her wit and punning skills.

Occasionally, when we did a track workout, we would see one or two college students, Dia Elliman from Smith and Sarah Hutchinson from Mt. Holyoke. Why were these women running with teenage girls? In hindsight, I believe this was one way for the women to run and work out with other women. There weren't very many women runners in the area so our regularly scheduled workouts provided an opportunity for them to run with a group. As teens, we had little understanding that we were part of a very exciting era, the infancy of women's distance running in New England. Until 1972, women were officially banned from the Boston Marathon! A few short years later, we girls viewed the idea of women's marathons as a normal, achievable goal for those of us who might be so inclined.

There were four races on this day: two for boys, two for girls. I shook my head in quiet amazement. "There wasn't a Western Mass. championship my first year in cross country, and all through junior high through high school; in 1979 there was only one girls State Meet race." Randy laughed and Fred Warren smiled at me. "And you aren't even an old lady yet!" Fred's first cross country experience was at UConn during World War II. I chuckled.

"It all depends on your perspective. One of the Amherst girls just asked me when I ran for the school and when I told her I had graduated in 1979, her eyes widened!" Joking with her, I had added, "Now I'm an old lady of 40." I remember when I thought a Master's age class was up there, but definitely not over the hill. Loretta and other area runners in their 50's and 60's had influenced my teen perceptions of senior citizen's abilities and zest for life. I know this and other changes in attitude and action are what Charlotte Lettis and others were working so hard for with their club activities.

It was close to 11:15. I excused myself from my companions and ran down to the starting line. A few Amherst girls were there, waiting and watching the other athletes. These girls weren't running, but because they were wearing Amherst running gear, an elder official (obviously from eastern Massachusetts) came over to tell them they had to remove their "head geah" and that shirts worn under tank tops had to be a solid color, otherwise they would be disqualified. Then he mentioned jewelry, "...but that's not until April."

The girls looked at one another in confusion. "Why would he tell anyone about no jewelry for next April?"

"Oh, that's a track regulation, replied another.

"But it's not April and this isn't track!"

More Amherst supporters appeared, then up jogged the varsity team. Coach Keene asked everyone to circle up and the girls formed an all female group, arms around each other's shoulders, intent on the coaches words and oblivious to the dozens of athletes milling around them. As I poked in my head to snap a photo, a girl looked at me, slid her arm out from her companionand asked if I wanted to come in the circle. "As long as you think it's OK." I looked around the circle, girls of all sizes and abilities, filled with purpose and commitment, regardless of whether they were running the race or not. Coach spoke of how hard everyone had worked, that this was a special moment and that they were all very special people. I don't remember much else because I was too absorbed observing the energy and excitement of these young women. Coach ducked out of the circle and it was time to sing. Before I could ask, my circle companion whispered that it was "Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes" by Paul Simon.

It turned out she signaled the beginning of the song and everyone chimed in. We sung only the chorus, but with some wonderful harmonizing. I was totally engaged with the group, with nothing but shining faces with clear, strong voices ringing out over the brisk air. As the notes died away, smiles of satisfaction gave way to shouts and whoops of excitement. Many of them sped away to find their spot to cheer on their team members. A few stayed behind with the coach, self- designated sherpas of the outer garments that were being pulled off left and right.

Coach Keene shouted a few more words of encouragement and we retreated behind the athletes, watching the officials in front of the restless line. The official raised his arms, with an orange flag in one hand. It was a long several seconds before he dropped his arms at the crack of the starters pistol. They were off in a thundering horde. After 10 seconds, we too started to run, each with our own cheering mission in mind.

It was a long straight course at the beginning and I watched the runners funnel down into a narrower track marked by mowing and spectators on either side. I ran up the hill near the Amherst tent, glancing at the warning flags fluttering in the breeze. A long slender line of bobbing stick figures wound its way across the field and came towards us for the first mile. After screaming at top volume "Go Amherst, go Hurricanes!" to each girl, I ran over the lumpy field and undulating landscape to the woods. The track was winding, with some stones and rocks thrusting out of the hardpacked trail. I found myself with a few other Amherst girls who had chosen their cheering posts with care.

"We're spread out all over," one of them remarked with a hint of pride. We spaced ourselves evenly over 100 yards of forest. I picked a likely spot for snapping some pictures. The first runner came by, far ahead of any other racer. She was from Lexington, the team Amherst needed to beat if they were to be State Champions again. Coach Keene had said it would be a tough duel because Lexington was clearly favored to win and had done very well in an invitational, beating Amherst just in the last few weeks. A few more runners came by, and then we saw our first Amherst girl. We screamed encouragement to her and the other Amherst girls following. I figured my pictures were going to be blurry from my excited movements. We waited until every racer went by, then jogged back.

Amazingly, the Lexington girl was already coming around a corner with only 400 yards to go. I tried tracking the Lexington and Amherst runners by place and realized that this was going to be close, depending on what happened in the last part of the race. I hustled down to the finish area, which was a mob scene. Eventually I spotted Amherst uniforms and watched the racers. Emotions of all kinds were in evidence: elation, disappointment, disbelief and of course, utter exhaustion.

This event taxes your body in a way a level track never can. There was confusion, concern, curiousity and excitement from supportive team members and the parents who were milling about. Suddenly I noticed another familiar face, Bob Rosen who married Loretta Eiben's daughter and was one of the early members of Sugarloaf. I knew he would have some rough results and he did. It looked like Lexington won, perhaps by 20 points. Some of the girls looked disappointed and glum. I tried to be encouraging, "Second place in the state isn't anything to be ashamed about." Coach Keene appeared, fairly sure of the results, but finding each team member and saying something encouraging to them.

One girl ran her best time ever on the course, she was ecstatic and her parents and friends were in a celebratory mood. One girl looked exhausted and unhappy. She muttered something I couldn't hear and her companion said,"You said that last year too. Don't worry, you did great." She hugged the girl and others looked on with sympathy and concern. Another girl was pulling on a shirt when suddenly her arms flopped down and were still.

"Do you realize that this was my last race ever?!" to her teammate. "I'm a senior, I can't believe it."

I spoke up, "Yes, it was your last cross country race for Amherst, but you have many more races to come in your life!" I realized at that moment that this was one way I could pass on the experiences and lessons I had learned from Charlotte and all the other women runners who ran for themselves and future generations of girls. The girl thought it over.

"You're right, it's not my last race, but you know what I mean?!" I certainly did, it's not every day you run your last race as a senior.

"Circle up!" came the announcement. Girls hustled to the clothing bag, pulled on warmer gear and huddled together. Coach Keene was once more in the middle of the circle. I prowled the circumference, shooting my last frames of film. He spoke of how proud he was of the team, that even if they didn't win, they ran their best. Though results weren't final, he was pretty sure Amherst was second. He asked that the team seek out the Lexington girls and congratulate them for a good race. There was a murmer of agreement. He then exhorted the girls to follow the Amherst boys team action of last year--they had come in second at the State Meet by 5 points and made a resolution at that moment to win it all this year.

He spoke even more passionately, and when one of the girls said something which seemed to interrupt his flow he said, "Oh, I am getting imperious, so I'll stop now." The girls laughed and he spoke quietly, expressing his pride and encouragement. There were cheers from the bystanders and he left the circle.

One girl happened to look my way, I think the same one who welcomed me before and she gestured me to join them. I slipped in between and looked around. There was a little conversation between some girls and then someone said, "Aren't we going to sing?" Others agreed and we sang the same tune. This time, as the final notes sounded, there was more depth and sense of finality in the tone. The circle parted more quietly, with applause from surrounding observers.

I stayed to watch the Amherst boys race. I had spoken with the coach who introduced me to the team. I promised I would scream my lungs out for them as well as for the girls. There were some reserved smiles at that. During the race, a couple of boys ran across the field from one point to another, holding the Hurricane warning flags aloft, much as flag bearers did during battles of old. Amherst's top runner crushed the individuals, and Amherst cruised to an easy team win. During the mob scene that followed the finish, I learned the banners also had a very practical purpose--they were a magnet for all Amherst people, racers and supporters alike. Randy Crowley was filled with pride, as much as if he was the coach. Rarely has a team from Western Massachusetts done so well, and he felt this was the strongest team to come out of the region in decades.

I had a final encounter relating to my early running days and again I spoke before I thought. Not only had Anne Mathieson been the driver for our team at State meets, she had been a steadying influence while I was struggling with the difficult emotional and physical demands of junior high school. Gym class was a favorite. Sometimes I would come banging into the locker room whooping and hollering. Sometimes I'd race up to the phys ed teacher's room and say hello to her and the other teachers. It was the one time during the school day that I could give vent to my feelings. "Mattie," as many of us called her, encouraged everyone to work hard to achieve their best level. When I joined the track team, on one of the first days, I ran with the long distance girls and beat most of them back to school. I still remember Mattie's surprise and praise. "Looks like you are going to be a distance runner. We'll start you at the half mile."

So many memories were part of this bright blue day. Memories of years past merged with newly created memories to be treasured in the future. I have been privileged to participate and to witness the phenomenal growth of girl's and women's running in this part of the country. I heartily thank and bless the women runners and leaders who came before me for the example they set in action as well as words. Running has helped me form friendships and tested both my physical and mental limits. I hope that the shining circle of girls I met on that bracing November day find that running or other physical activity with others will help them to become the strong, compassionate and spirited women I glimpsed as they raised their voices in song.

Thanks for the memories, Hurricanes!