In some ways, cross country runners are the Rodney Dangerfield’s of the sports world.

“No respect, no respect at all… the other day I went downtown cruising the drag, stuck my head out the window and got arrested for mooning.”

That kind of thing.

Sports pages are often crammed with the “big” sports, while cross country running is likely an after-thought.

Quick, name the defending NCAA cross country team.

Just FYI, and I must admit my own knowledge, North Carolina State won the women’s team title while Northern Arizona University claimed the men’s collegiate crown in 2022.

No respect, no respect at all.

But in this quiet, scenic corner of Montana, that is not necessarily the case.

Oh, unless it’s the state championship for cross country, no evening newscasts leads off with the local cross country results.

Newspapers are not much better.

My goal is to change that and no better ammunition for such an argument was this past weekend’s Canal Run in Ronan, the host school for the first year event that attracted “harriers” (their long-time nickname), from throughout Western Montana.

On an otherwise serene road near the base of the majestic Mission Mountains, my favorite range on the planet, cars lined both sides of the street for blocks. Spectators huffed and puffed their way up the steep hill that is Emory Road, a scenic by-way if ever there was one in the rural majesty of landscape between Ronan and Pablo.

Their goal was to be among the throng of running moms, dads, kids and actual running fans who clamored on in search of a standing spot along the irrigation canal for which the race was named.

The 5,000 meter course (that’s 3.1 miles to us Americans) was laid out atop a grass service road that runs along the top of one bank of the canal, allowing access to those who for whatever reasons need to keep an eye on a canal.

At the end of the course, adjacent to Emory Road, colored flags marked the finish line while high tech battery-operated timing equipment let runners and fans know the participants’ times as they completed the course, often with one last burst of energy for the final several yards of what is cross country’s “stretch drive”.

Fans cheered them on, their faces showing the strain of a grueling athletic event that requires top runners to be in top shape.

No TV news cameras were present. If there were any other newspaper guys than me present no one would have known.

No respect, no respect at all.

But for me, cross country running is an amazing fascination.

I played some football, mostly as an offensive lineman. And as I always tell people, other than a big behind, I was a lineman because I many times don’t like to drive 3.1 miles, much less run that far to achieve a goal most people could only cringe or shrug their shoulders at.

But you could see in the faces of the competitors, from the first across the line to the last across in both the boys and the girls races, that determination, training and a love for running was on display for all to see.

I was happy for, along with somewhat surprised at, the size of the throng who came to watch and cheer.

There was no fancy stadium and only a few souls had folding lawn chairs they brought to the course themselves.

This is something in a person’s blood, I’m convinced, that makes running THE thing. It is obviously something XC runners love doing, yet when was the last time you saw a smiling jogger? Flashing the pearly whites while running along a canal would probably make the choppers look like a bug-splattered windshield of a cross-Montana car.

Perhaps the thing that makes me like this sport more and more is that even the last runner to cross the finish line did so after an energy boost only they have.

In many cases, the pedal to the metal effort is aimed at beating a personal best time for running 3.1 miles. In others, its for the team.

If ever there was a sport where trophies ought to be handed out for participation, cross country running would be it.

Ah, sweet respect. R-E-S-P-E-C-T, sock it to me, sock it to me.