"Far from the madding crowd," the Varsity cross country runner asks for and gets little glory. He spends the fall afternoons chasing wind-swept leaves along some deserted woodland path, over hill and dale.

His audience, depending on the size of the meet, is coaches and managers, his girlfriend or roommate maybe, and the usual sprinkling of cross country fans, most of whom see only the beginning and end of the race. For the four or five miles in between start and finish, the runner is on his own. There are no time outs or between-round intermissions in cross country. It's push, push, push, all the way.

Around the fourth mile, the average runner gets that "what the hell am I doing here" feeling. Usually about this time, the local bobby-soxer turns to her friend and says, "Hey, Margie, lookit what just went by!" By the time the runner comes laboring down the little aisle of spectator's grouped at the finish, he's practically ready to quit the sport.

It doesn't take long for him to bounce back, though. After he has eased his cough by sucking on an orange, splashed around for 15 minutes in the shower, and stretched out on the nearest bench of table, he is already looking forward to next week.

According to Coach Mikkola, Americans are pampered by people who are "afraid" of what they think cross country running will do to the young boy. In the relatively few U. S. high schools which sponsor cross country, the distance is generally 2 1/2 miles. In contrast, most of the British public (private) schools run 13 and 14 years-old boys across ploughed fields and brooks for five miles.

In cross country, where the premium is put on low scoring, the man who can compile eight points in eight meets has gone undefeated. Fifteen, the perfect score which coaches dream about, means that the winning team has placed five of its men ahead of the first man on the opposition.