Stump Day
by Drew Wartenburg
Edited from original version - September 2011
This week many people across the United States renew their pledges ‘never to forget’ the events of September 11, 2001. For the UC Davis Cross Country team, and now the NorCal Distance Project, September 10 will always represent an anniversary of a different sort. For lack of a better term, we call it ‘Stump Day,’ after the namesake athlete for whom this day is now known. Stump, the nickname for UC Davis alum and current NorCal Distance Project team member Sarah Sumpter, remains a difficult person to describe or define accurately in just a few words.
In her Flotrack interview with Kevin Selby from fall 2011, Sarah related the story of her 2010 cancer diagnosis, treatment and the return to competitive collegiate running that, in one sense, came full circle when she put on an Aggie singlet exactly one year after her initial diagnosis with a brain tumor. If you have never seen Kevin's video with her, it is well worth the eight and a half minutes that it takes to learn about Sarah's journey in her own words and to gain some of the perspective that can be gleaned from her comments. While the one year anniversary, and Sarah’s third place finish in a fairly competitive race that weekend, by no means represented a definitive end where either cancer or running is concerned, the day remains a milestone and a symbolic step forward is a continually evolving process.
As an inevitable, inextricable and willing player in Sarah’s unfolding saga, at times it become too easy to let the remarkable nature of this young woman escape me during the day to day routine of life in and around a group of middle-distance and distance runners in the throes of pursuing the peak moments of their careers. I long ago learned to identify Sarah’s willingly-shaved head as part of her persona rather than any sort of stigma or emblem associated with cancer survival. Instead of seeking ways to make certain aspects of training easier for Sarah, or wanting to protect her from hard efforts, I have allowed myself to follow her cues and mete out hard training, treating her as the high-level athlete that she is unless I am told otherwise.
It wasn’t always easy or ‘normal’ on the heels of a shocking diagnosis; a risky craniotomy operation; prolonged recovery; slow return to physical activity (walking, then shuffling, then ‘running’); weeks of radiation and chemotherapy; and the eventual resumption of training runs, workouts and some competitive track and road races during a redshirt season in the spring of 2011. At every turn, Sarah’s willing search for challenge and a longer leash left family, medical professionals, our sports psychologist, teammates and coaches wondering how to fit this outlier patient-student-athlete into a traditional model for what she was confronting on a daily basis.
Nobody needs to be told that vibrant, disciplined and accomplished 20-something year old distance runners are not ‘supposed’ to confront life altering adversity. I still have moments where I reflect on my initial reaction in the emergency room where Sarah and I awaited her mom’s arrival on September 10, 2010. Before the gravity of the situation and cycle of events to come had even sunk in, my early train of thought had me wondering how I was going to get her released from the hospital that evening in time for a good meal and full night’s sleep before our race the following morning. It seems laughable on one hand, but Sarah’s mind was in a similar place, and she went so far as to verbalize those thoughts when she remarked that the whole ordeal was really going to have a negative impact on her race the following day.
After days, weeks, months and now years of recovery, during which time Sarah returned to a full academic load, resumed daily practice for cross country or track and navigated a fluid definition of the 'new normal.' For an athlete that thrives on structure and predictability, life and training became an exercise in adaptabilty for Sarah, as we agreed to wake up each morning and see what that day held for her. Since 2011 Sarah forged ahead with life, riding the highs and lows that many collegiate athletes experience. In the spring of 2012 she was an NCAA 2nd Team All-American in the 10,000m, and in 2013 she missed qualifying for her second NCAA Championship meet by one spot at the West Regional meet in Austin, TX. In December of 2013, Sarah earned her degree from UC Davis, and just before the winter holiday she and I sat down to discuss a plan for the first steps in her post-collegiate running career. Within a week of returning to Davis in January of this year, doctors found signs of tumor regrowth that triggered a second operation, the ensuing recovery process and another gradual return to running.
As a lifetime coach and educator, it can prove difficult to see any athlete struggle, particularly when those trials do not fit within any part of the plan. One aspect of the gift of Sarah’s presence yields is that her existence is not outwardly defined by struggle, but rather from the quiet strength and resilience that she exudes. Her presence in our training group and in my life will forever shape the way I both coach and live, and it’s hard to envision my work with high-aiming athletes not including Sarah. Without trying to draw more out of the situation that can be warranted, Sarah's presence will always help provide some perspective each time I think I’m having a bad day. I suppose like many things, good and bad days are all relative.
I once worked with a very wise coach that told virtually every student-athlete that passed through the office that nobody has a crystal ball to foresee the future. Sarah and I have agreed that even if we did have that ability, we wouldn’t peer in to see what awaits. I guess instead we’ll just continue waking up every morning to see what the day has in store.