Sports Information asked senior Neal Holtschulte to keep a diary of his trip to the NCAA Div. 3 Cross Country Championship Race hosted by Ohio Wesleyan University at the Dornoch Golf Club in Delaware, OH to get an inside look at the race that likely would make Neal the first Eph male runner to earn All-America honors four years in a row.

Typical of Neal he delivered a lot more than just earning All-America honors for the fourth year in a row – he won the race. Now many people would say that Neal winning was no big surprise considering he finished second in 2004, but what most people do not know is all that Neal had to endure to put himself in position to win.

A conversation last summer with Eph cross country head coach Peter Farwell '73 revealed that Neal was not fully recovered from his injury-plagued 2005 indoor and outdoor campaigns and, in fact, his summer training regimen had to be greatly curtailed if Neal hoped to run this fall, not compete nationally, but to run in the fall.

Neal as a hard-charging first year

"Training hard has never been an issue with Neal," said Farwell. "Taking a break from training is not something he is comfortable with. What needed to be done in the summer and fall was to train as much as he could without aggravating his injury."

"I missed last years indoor season and have been struggling off and on with injury ever since," said Holtschulte. "An undetected asynchronicity in my stride caused by inflexibility in my right hip flexor caused compensatory strain in my Piriformis, Psoas, IT band, and knee. Basically my right foot was landing twisted out to the side with each step and this caused pain in my hip, butt, and knee." Other than one leg not working the way it should for maximum performance, Holtschulte was good to go, sort of.

Cross country is a very unforgiving sport when injuries occur. In some sports you can work your way back into the lineup by getting some brief appearances, but cross country does not work that way. Out of season training and in season training are equally important and no runner wants either training to be interrupted or altered.

Tough is the word that Farwell and head Williams track & field coach Ralph White use to describe Holtschulte. Tough in the sense that he will never, ever give less than 100 percent and he will never give up on his own notion of success. Think of the old saying, "It's not the size of the dog in the fight – it's the size of the fight in the dog."

At 5-feet, 7-inches and weighing 125 pounds, Holtschulte is not physically imposing, but most cross country runners are in the same boat. The toughness that Holtschulte has is an innate toughness that allows him to focus and compete at a level that is higher than many would expect and few can equal.

"We call him Big Neal, because he always performs his best in the biggest competitions," said White. White readily recalls a scene last winter at the New England Indoor Championships when an injured Holtschulte was relegated to videotaping duties for the day. "He put down the camera and took off his sweats and finished second in the 3,000 meters and that sparked our team to the win," said White. "I was a little concerned when I saw him out there running, but Neal knows his body well and he knows just what he can do so I just enjoyed watching him compete. In the spring he finished seventh in the 5,000 meters at the NCAAs with one shoe on – this kid is tough."

Neal winning a race at Mt. Greylock as a junior

"Neal was not a heavily recruited athlete coming out of high school," said Farwell. "When I wrote back to him I told him what I tell all of the first-year candidates – maybe by your junior year you will run varsity," said Farwell. "He asked me a lot of questions about our running program and our math department. When he told me he was coming I thought that was nice, but I had no idea he would develop the way he did. He said he wanted to run on a good team and he wanted a good math department so I thought it might work out for him here."

With all of the training he missed in the summer of 2005, his curtailed workouts in the fall and the fact that his injury was always a factor, Holtschulte had no business thinking about winning the Div. 3 race this fall. His injury affected his stride and he would have to make anywhere from 6,000 to 8,00 strides to complete the race. "I had Neal coming in among the top ten, maybe sixth or seventh," said Farwell. "I was prepared to remind him after the race that he was the first male at Williams to be a 4-time All-American and what a great accomplishment that was considering all he went through this season and then he just went out and ran the perfect race."

The 2005 NCAA Div. 3 Cross Country Championship race was held a mere 30 minutes from Marysville, OH, where Holtschulte grew up. Holtschulte had never seen the course until he showed up the Thursday before the race to run it with his teammate Stephen Wills and the Eph women's team. Family members, friends, former coaches, neighbors and a sports writer who covered him in high school, some 25 folks in all and one stuffed bear – T. Bear -- were on hand to see Holtschulte's remarkable run. In addition there were seven Eph women's competitors and coaches who were on hand along with a dozen or so members of the Williams men's and women's cross country team that drove 10 hours each way to support their Eph teammates.

Asked during the week of the race if he was feeling pressure to become the first Eph male to be a 4-time All-American Holtschulte responded, "Definitely not. I'm feeling pressure to win the whole race. After all, I placed second last year. If I find myself fighting for an All-American spot (35th place) it will have been a very bad day for me."

That's a mathematician for you. I finished second last year, the person who finished first graduated, so I should be first this year. However, the simple subtraction that Holtschulte performed to come up with the answer of him finishing first completely overlooked all the injuries he had to overcome just to compete as well as the training and commitment of the 210 other runners in the race. Or maybe it was Neal's innate toughness and ability to be completely focused that overcame his physical limitations and training adjustments and the rest was just a simple math procedure.

Here in Neal Holtschulte's own words are the thoughts of a champion.

PRE-RACE THOUGHTS

The Williams women's team, Steve Wills, and I arrived in Ohio on Thursday. We all went out to the course in freezing weather and jogged its loops to get a feel for the topography. The more we saw, the more we were pleased. It was uncharacteristically hilly for a Midwest course and this could only give advantage to our Berkshire-trained leg muscles. A few days before we left for Ohio Dusty Lopez '01, our assistant coach, asked Steve what his ideal race course would be like. Steve said it would be "up a mountain in a snowstorm."

Some parts of the course were worrisome for anyone. My mind fixated on the creek jump planted in the first half mile of the race. I worried about being crowded in a pack at that point and getting tripped or bumped into the water. The course also made optimal spike length difficult to determine. The men's course crossed pavement multiple times and even traversed a parking lot. On the other hand, the frozen ground could easily warm and turn soggy.

The next day at the banquet for the presentation of the Regional awards I saw the faces, some familiar and others unfamiliar, of the men we would be racing the following day.

Sawicki and Yuot were the names that I most worried about before the race. Mike Sawicki, the local boy of Otterbein College, placed third at Nationals last year immediately behind me. He knew more about the course than any of the runners and possibly more than any other human being alive. I'm told he ran the course at least four days a week over the summer, on top of his normal training.

Macharia Yuot I worried about because of his raw strength and endurance. Though his XC race last year at Nationals was not great I think it was mostly due to the fact that he spent himself trying to catch the leader, Josh Moen. In track, Yuot and Moen were the untouchables. Yuot won the indoor 5K and placed second only to Moen in both the outdoor 5K and 10K. I was prepared for Yuot to go out and possibly dominate the race from the start. If that happened I would have to make the tough decision of when to try and chase him down without breaking and getting passed by the rest of the field.

I thought about what Pete [Farwell] told us two years ago to ease my mind. "These are not gods, these are Division 3 athletes." I always liked that line. Steve comforted me like a parent with a child afraid of mice or spiders. "These guys are way more afraid of you than you are of them," he said.

Neal Holtschulte (l.) and Stephen Wills running together in the 2005 Purple Valley Classic

The morning of the race I stretched out. Steve and I ate breakfast and finished at approximately the prescribed three and a half hours before race time. We took a walk around the building to loosen our legs and get a taste of the weather. The air would warm rapidly. It would be a pleasant day, but the frozen water in the ground would melt and make the course muddy. I tried to push out all my worries, reign in any fidgeting, and breathe deeply.

WOMEN'S RACE

Steve and I saw some of the race while we warmed up. Watching our top four achieve All-American honors was amazing especially with Michelle Rorke and Caroline Cretti struggling with footing on the course. Liz Gleason had a huge race and Mallory Harlin passed hordes in the last mile to reach All-America honors. Our frosh Kristin Emhoff, Becky Davies, and Lauren Philbrook also had great performances at a challenging and nerve wracking race.

Steve and I also got to see what the difficult hills on the course could really do to a person. When Mallory passed us 300 meters from the finish line she was followed by the heart-wrenching sight of droves of women trudging up hill at little more than a walk as fatigue broke their dreams of All-American honors.

THE MEN'S RACE

The gun goes off and thankfully it is as if the gun had been loaded and the bullet had blasted all thought and worries out of my head. The start is too simple for thought. Run as fast as you can with 210 of your 'closest friends' all converging on the same narrow corridor. The box on the starting line that Steve and I shared with other individual qualifiers had an excellent position. Box 31 out of 38 was well to the right of center, looking out from the line. This put us in good position to avoid some mud and swing the first turn wide.

Leading up to the race day, I had visualized the race and multiple ways in which it could unfold, I had always expected to be jostled by elbows, slowed as people in front of me stumbled or stopped short, and generally packed into the first mile. Instead, I hurtled off the line with clear vision of the first downhill. The 3/8ths inch metal teeth in my spikes bit into the ground and propelled me forward. I hit the first choke point and the other fast starters closed in around me but I was with the leaders and we had plenty of space. I maneuvered away from slick mud as the first two rolling hills jolted our legs: up, down, across pavement, up, down.

I expect that Steve got out nearly as well as I did. I wouldn't have been the least bit surprised if he had been right behind me, but I didn't look back to check. The frontrunners and I hit the first turn and I swung it wider than anyone else. It is possibly the closest thing to a hairpin I have ever raced and Caroline [Cretti] had been adamant when insisting that we take the turns wide to avoid mud. Her advice was wise and helped throughout the race. The bottoms of her spikes were caked with mud after her race. The half inch recessed spikes she had in were invisible beneath it.

So I swung wide and when I came back in tight with the pack I still had space, which was about to be important as we came upon the creek jump. It was easy to one-step across the gap from one bank to the other but doing so in a race situation made me nervous. A single misstep, jostle, or miscalculation could result in a nasty and wet stumble. I stepped over like a deer and felt greatly relieved. The race was going better than I could possibly have hoped. I was rubbing shoulders with the leaders early, I felt relaxed, and I had navigated some of the most treacherous parts of the course. I had been mentally prepared to chase the lead pack for four and a half miles; I would have been overjoyed if I had been watching my own race. As things were, I let myself feel cautiously content. Four and a half miles of this race remained.

Up the first of many muddy hills I saved energy and let others ease past me. I followed tight around the turn and sought the good footing on the next straight away. We turned into the short trail and clattered across pavement with our spikes. We blazed through the first mile. I didn't hear my time. Next came a steep and very slick downhill followed by a long uphill. This downhill claimed many victims. Michelle Rorke fell on it and Steve told me that he basically caught Tufts' Matt Lacey when Lacey fell into him. The group and I ran along the right edge of this left hand down hill turn trading distance for traction. A few runners comically slipped through the mud moving faster over a shorter distance but losing their stride.

Next we climbed the biggest hill on the course. I, as always, slowed to save energy. By this time one or two runners had gapped our chase pack and taken a sizeable lead. As I saw the runners near me and heard coaches yelling out names I knew that I was exactly where I needed to be. Macharia Yuot, Mike Sawicki, Tim Finnegan, Owen Kiely. These were some of the names I heard and included the two that concerned me the most. I was confident that those who had leapt ahead of our pack would wear themselves out or be so dominant that they would wear out anyone who chased them. In either case, they were no concern of mine.

The back loop quieted as fewer spectators sprinted out to it and the pace slowed. After seeing the Williams fans do an encouraging "Bear Toss" by the side of the course, I briefly took the lead of the chase pack. Though I felt the wind in my face as I moved out from behind the runner I was drafting, I didn't mind. The pace felt too comfortable and it was worth a bit of wind to lead the down hills and choose exactly where to plant my feet. Up the next hill three runners passed me. A handful of us danced like this for most of the race. A few guys would move up and others would cut in behind them. A hill, or a turn, or a slip in the mud rearranged our order. Even when I found myself shuffled towards the back of the pack I felt relaxed. I had been expecting to chase these guys. Instead I could let them help carry me along.

Next our group traversed a short parking lot with much clacking of spikes. After that we crossed the same creek we had jumped earlier but this time, with the race more spread out, we used the narrow bridge. Having figured out where the mud was most slippery on the first loop, we approached the short trail a second time hugging the left side of the course with its heartier grass. Unfortunately, this brought us in to a sharp left hand turn from the left side. I swung out around the turn, carried by momentum, as others turned more sharply. I ran into Kiely and gave him a sharp nudge. This was probably the most contact I had with anyone the whole race, a marked contrast from the ruckus that was Regionals the week before.

As the race progressed my excitement built. Everything kept going well. As I charged through some portions of the course I felt as if I wasn't expending any energy at all. I felt confident in my reserves and kept hoping that I would be in a position to bring these weapons to bear when it counted. I kept waiting for someone to make the big move. Who would begin the final push into the finish that would truly test our mettle? Would I be the one to decide that the moment was right and the time for victory was now or never? More importantly, if someone else took the initiative, when would the big move begin? By the fourth mile Tyler Sigl, a sophomore from Wisconsin-Platteville, had taken the lead and put a gap between him and my group, the chasers. Pete told me afterwards that he thought Sigl was so far ahead that he would surely take first place. Dave Stroh [Neal's high school coach] clocked him at eleven seconds ahead of us at one point. In the fourth mile, however, we crept up on Sigl.

Just before the last mile began, as we were climbing the slippery hill we had come down twice already, Macharia Yuot surged after Sigl. I pepped up my pace as well, but didn't match Yuot. He pulled away from me a bit as I still wanted to save energy on these hills. At the top of the hill I put in a surge to match Yuot's own. He remained ahead of me with the gap he had extended on the hill, but we both caught and passed Sigl. I heard someone, I think it was the Calvin College coach, yelling, "This is the surge! This is the surge!" I felt flush with adrenaline. This was the big move we had all been waiting for. Calvin's Finnegan might have been close behind at that instant but Yuot and I were pulling away from him and the rest of the field. It would be a two-man race!

We swooped through the down and up hills of the trail and skidded around the turn on the other side. Yuot was still a few strides ahead. I bargained to add distance and move to the far right side to let my spikes devour the firm ground. I gained much more traction and watched as Yuot made the same decision a moment later and drifted to the right in front of me. The race was on now and I dreaded the moment when he would begin pulling away from me, drifting further with imperceptible changes in stride. It never happened as I tracked him around the curve and let out my legs on the downhill. I neared him. We shot across the bridge and the course was instantly thick with spectators screaming their heads off. I heard "Williams!" I heard "Widener!" I tread in Yuot's shadow at this point and I hardly dared to believe that I could win. A voice in my head was screaming, "Believe it, believe it." Another voice shouted, "Want it, want it." We rounded the final turn of the race and both struggled a bit in the mud. The harder you push off the more you slip.

One more steep hill challenged our path to the finish and was followed by a grueling 300-meter gradual up hill. As I had felt last year, elation and fear swam together in my veins. Would I have the guts to take this victory I had been dreaming of for two years? Would I have the guts to take it from a competitor who had dreamed of it for just as long and been tempted by three second place finishes in National level running competitions?

We started up the hill. Yuot was two strides ahead and to my right. I didn't follow up directly behind him because I thought the footing looked better further to the left. I charged up the hill holding nothing back for the first time on the course. I found myself advancing steadily. Just before the uphill took its first of two dips, just before we jarred our legs down on pavement, I passed Yuot. Visions of Williams mountains and chasing Steve Wills up Mt. Greylock flashed before my eyes. I crested the hill with Yuot right on my shoulder.

A slight downhill graced my feet before the gradual uphill into the finish. I milked the down hill for all it was worth. This was my now or never time. The down hill sparked the fire in my engine and I started sprinting all pistons firing. The fence that holds back the fans in the finish line area curves to the right. I cut the tangent as close as I could without hitting any of the flagellating arms of these screaming people. I couldn't hear anything over the din of their cheers. I feared Yuot rolling up on my shoulder at any moment. I feared his arrival in my peripheral vision; steaming indomitably to the finish. The fear made my fire burn hotter.

I saw the finish line detach itself from the wall of arms flailing like streamers and refused to let myself believe that I would be victorious. I left my distance sprint behind and ceased to land heel first. Up on my toes like a hydrofoil my calves carried their burden to the line and suddenly I was across. I was across first. I didn't know what to do with myself as the joy wracked my body like an electric current. Having drained my salt water sweat on the course I could only cry invisible gusts of crusty air. Pain couldn't enter my body in this state.

Eventually I stood after falling to my knees with happiness. I looked around for something to ground me and take away this energy. The first person I saw was Dave Stroh, my first high school coach. I wobbled over to the barrier and hugged him across it. Soon some of my other fans approached: Jaime Bisker, my aunt Sue Haban. Slowly the Earth rose back up to my feet again, but it stayed their precariously and kept slipping away from me leaving my stomach hanging and chills shooting up my spine as I floated weightless over the ground. Various things brought me to Earth before I floated back up. Steve finished. He was bent over with his hands on his knees. He thought he had cracked All American. I told him I won. We embraced. I floated. I felt sharp pain that I'm not used to feeling. I took off my shoe and found blood across my toes. It was nothing more than a war wound to be proud of. I floated. I somehow managed to sign a consent form for drug testing, as if I had a choice. One of the Ohio Wesleyan runners was assigned to me like a shadow to jog around with me, go wherever I went, but to never let me out of his sight until I was drug tested. Whatever, I floated.

I shook hands with the Wesleyan runners I know and the Tufts ones, and runners from other regions. My parents finally sorted me out of the crowd and hugged me. I took some time to pour out some excited energy into a reporter for CBS. I poured out energy for each of my local fans that had come to see me, many seeing me for the first time at a college race. I was a never empty pitcher pouring out happiness. I wound my way to the Williams camp. I beamed at everyone and hugged Pete. The Williams runners that had driven over ten hours to get to the race and would drive the same amount back before Monday bounded over with T-Bear in their arms and gave a shout of "Victory!" (it's actually something of an inside joke, try shouting it in a library and you'll be a little closer to the inside).

Steve and I changed shoes, chugged water, and munched on bananas. The goofy drug testing guards stood politely by. Eventually we got out on a cool down jog and I came down more solidly to Earth. Then we did the drug test. Nothing like being watched while pissing into a cup to bring you back to reality. That was interminable as we were all a little dehydrated. Annoyingly the awards ceremony wasn't delayed, or wasn't delayed much for the top three finishers as we all tried to force water through our bodies with will power.

Neal Holtschulte '06 -- NCAA Div. 3 Champion and Runner of the Year

The awards ceremony lifted me up again. It's never been so easy to smile for a camera before. I got chills as I accepted my All-America plaque and NCAA Division 3 Cross Country Athlete of the Year award. This was my wildest dream come true. No one could ask for a better capstone to a cross country career.

I can't thank enough my teammates, those who came out to see me, those who deserved to be racing that day with Steve and I, and those who supported us from afar in Williamstown. I also want to thank the only two people as nervous as I was, my parents. I want to thank my Coach Pete Farwell for tempering my enthusiasm at times and pushing me to run harder at other times. I also want to thank the men's assistant coach Dusty Lopez for his support and friendship this year and in past years. I do my fans a disservice by thanking them all in one lump but it will have to do. Thank you all.

Holtschulte will graduate in June with a degree in mathematics and a cognitive science concentration.

5 YEARS DOWN THE ROAD: "I have no idea what I will be doing in 5 years. Maybe getting out of grad school, maybe teaching, or coaching, or writing, or writing about running. I don't know what I will be doing running-wise either. I know that I will still be running, but at what level I don't yet know. Some people have asked me about Olympic Development. Some people don't realize that in the race in which I broke the Williams 10K record an Olympic Development runner lapped me one and a half times. I'm realistic about my limitations, that said, we shall see. Who knows what the future holds."