historical precedent wrote:
Look at UTEP's 1981 team that was composed of world class Africans. Today the foreign athletes come run in US colleges before they go pro or to the Olympics. Back in the early 80's the foreign athletes ran in US colleges after they ran or even medalled in the Olympics. For example, Suleiman Nyambui, had won a silver medal in 1980 in Moscow in the 5k before the ''81 season. It is way less competitive today!
Yes, I ran against that UTEP team. Very intimidating to face Nyambui, Musyoki, and other Kenyans in their mid-20s who were Olympians and world class runners when I was an 18-year-old freshman. They were men against boys. I wrote about this in my book, Running: A Long Distance Love Affair. That chapter is titled "Crash and Burn."
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00LKUQQJI?*Version*=1&*entries*=0
You can get my book for free on Amazon for just a couple more days. Here's an excerpt:
Crash And Burn
As I reach the four-mile mark, the leaders pass me going the other way. Today’s Western Athletic Conference (WAC) Cross Country Championship is on a large golf course in Idaho, and during the race we have to double back multiple times to cover the full 10,000 meters. The first runner I see go by in the opposite direction is 27-year-old Suleiman Nyambui of Tanzania, running for UTEP. Several months ago, Nyambui won a silver medal in the 5,000 meters at the 1980 Moscow Olympics, which were unfortunately boycotted by the United States. Not far behind Nyambui are several of his teammates, from Kenya. I think the second runner is 24-year-old Michael Musyoki, who recently finished second at the Commonwealth Games to the greatest of all Kenyan distance runners, multiple world record holder Henry Rono. Most of the other front runners in the race are also Africans.
As the lead Africans fly by in the opposite direction, I hear one of them say something to another in Swahili. The fact that they're talking during a fast race is intimidating. Before the race even started, I was in awe of the Africans. I couldn't help but stare at them on the starting line. They run as I only dream of running, their long, lean legs propelling them smoothly over rough ground, their ebony faces focused and tranquil during an all-out effort as if they were simply sitting and meditating under a blue African sky. I love watching them run. They are truly magnificent. But now, to be in a race with them, to even presume to be their competitor, suddenly seems ludicrous.
At the same time I admire the Africans, I resent them. Because of them and the American universities that recruit them, there are American runners sitting at home today without scholarships. While I certainly don't blame the African runners for jumping at their opportunities in America, I despise the universities that recruit them. Because of their participation, today's race is a farce. Not only are the Africans the most talented distance runners in the world, but they are often significantly older than the average American college runner. While the average American runner enters college at the age of 17 or 18, finishing four years of athletic eligibility by the age of 21 or 22, many of the African runners recruited by American universities begin their own collegiate running career in their early or even mid-twenties, prime years for a distance runner. The best example: in 1978, when he set all four of his world records, the great Henry Rono was 26 years old and on an athletic scholarship at Washington State University. Like Nyambui and Musyoki, he was literally a man among boys.
What makes me resent the Africans even more is that, while they are fed, sheltered, educated, and honed to a fine racing edge in American collegiate competition, when it comes time for the Olympic Games they will sweep the distance events and take their medals and glory home to Africa.
I actually ran with the Africans for the first mile. They were all around me when a timer called out “Four-thirty-nine, four-forty,†as I passed the one mile marker. But I was just a boy among men, because after that first mile I had to slow down, while they just kept going and pulled away. I don't know what got into me today. I know better than that.
I'm really dying now. And I'm so congested that I cough, hack and spit every hundred yards or so. Gradually, I'm passed by every one of my teammates. Glancing over my shoulder as I struggle through the last half mile, I see only a handful of runners behind me and realize I'll have to push even harder just to hold this pitiful position.
At last I stumble across the finish line, searching the crowd for Coach Jones and my teammates. I walk toward them through the fog of my fatigue. I am ashamed. I feel worthless. I'm on a four-year athletic scholarship, and today I finished last on my team. What's more, I ran a stupid race. If I were a dog, I'd be walking with my tail between my legs right now.
This is the last NCAA race I’ll ever run.