A film by Justin Zimmerman.

Available now.

This is where it ends. In Chino. Just across the way from old Los Angeles, the city of angels. But no one’s flying in the 100-degree heat after six heavy miles. Feet pound. Hands shake. Sweat flies off hair, runs into eyes, stinging. Hot air explodes with every hard step. Lungs burn. The wall looms, dead ahead. Don’t stop. Break through.

You’re a cross-country runner, XC, and it’s nationals, 2005. You’re on the Western State College of Colorado team, and you have a lot to live up to. The men won seven out of their last eight titles, the women have never taken less than third. And yet, this year, injuries, sickness and defeat plagued your team. You haven’t won a single ranked event. It’s been loss after loss, and there’s added pressure. A crew has been filming the entire year, and with over 40 hours shot, you have one last chance to make your mark before the cameras turn off and your time is gone, forever.

So you churn toward the chute. Your body is in revolt. Someone goes down to your left. People are screaming. Don’t look. Concentrate. Is it possible for your heart to rupture? Everything is sharp, colors exploding with every step. So close. Breathe. Someone tripped over the finish line! They’re swaying, no, crashing! Gloved hands pull them up; they’re waving their paper number back and forth, screaming for someone to help them. You can see their number. You're almost there, you can make it!

And so you do.

This is where it ends.