Triumph and Failure in the Frame
A thank you to the athletes finishing their season, and the people who made room for me on the course.
As the days drag and inch closer to league championships, I can’t help but feel an urgency within me.
I’ve had a week off from shooting, though it was still full of meetings, calls, and planning. I’ve been busy, but the missing component is fulfillment.
I miss the ritual of recharging batteries, repacking my gear, formatting memory cards, and double- and triple-checking that everything is in its place. There is a special sensation to waking up in the dark, making coffee, and loading the car, the sound of my trunk closing disrupting the morning silence before I cue up the day’s soundtrack and head out of the neighborhood.
Everything in its place.
The season feels both long and too short. My body wants a break, but my mind doesn’t want it to end. My heart needs triumph and failure in the frame.
My season is only halfway finished, with NXR and NXN still ahead, but for many athletes, this week will mark their last cross country race of the year, and possibly forever.
Four years ago, I began photographing this community through its peaks and valleys, documenting camaraderie, emotion, and grit. The freshmen from that first year are now seniors putting the final touches on their high school XC careers, and I plan to capture their final laps with every bit of the focus they deserve.
Fall 2023. Freshmen at the Olympia XC Invite.
Fall 2026. Seniors at the Olympia XC Classic.
I am where I am now because of the encouragement, the fist bumps, the introductions, and the trust I’ve received from athletes, parents, officials, and coaches. You have welcomed me into territory normally reserved for the team.
As you warm up before your race this week, take a moment to breathe the fall air, look around, and soak it in, because it is fleeting. Simply lacing up and putting on the uniform is emotionally complicated, and yet you are out there doing it.
Hands on a worn spike before the race. Hoka John Payne Invitational, 2026.
By the time you cross the line, whether you are the champion, barely on the podium, a mid-packer, or among the final string of finishers, remember what it took just to get there.
The front pack, every runner at the edge of what they have.
Let the victory surge through you, let yourself be upset if you missed a PR, and share a moment with a teammate. The real victory is rarely on the scoreboard; it began taking shape years ago because you kept showing up.
My son, moments after his Senior Night race. He missed winning his heat by less than a second and ran a huge PR the same night.
Three runners embrace after the finish.
Running is a gift, and it doesn’t end here. For many of you, it is just beginning. Whether you keep training through college or rediscover it in your mid-30s, you will always be a runner. You will walk away with stories to tell friends, family, and maybe one day, a team of your own.
Say thank you to the people who supported you along the way, no matter how small the gesture. Show your appreciation.
This is my thank you. It’s why I spend my weekends on the course. I see you, I know how hard this is, and I have the utmost respect for what I get to watch you do.
Keep going: Project 29 · State Watch · Race Galleries · The Infield
In one of these frames and want the full-res file, or want it taken down? Email me.
