When I ran cross country in high school, I hated the starting line. Absolutely hated. The nerves of beginning a truly competitive race aside, I didn’t want all of those girls so close to me—jostling their way to the front of the pack, cutting me off like a car in traffic and getting a little too close for comfort with those spikes. By my senior year, I threw my form to the wind, starting every race with my bony elbows poised like bayonets, spearing (read: bruising) any enemy who dared to try to push her way around me.
These Alaskan high schoolers—if they didn’t feel the same already—probably agree with me now. Keep your eyes glued to the left side of the screen.