Mahala Norris: Staying Power

A DyeStat story by Dave Devine

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Mahala Norris is right where she wants to be.

Four kilometers into the 2021 Mountain West Conference championship cross country race — contested, somewhat incongruously, on March 5 due to COVID-19 delays — the U.S. Air Force Academy senior is locked into a lead pack of 10 runners. 

This is exactly where she thrives, in the thick of competition. Where her tenacity serves her best.

Latched on and ready to respond.

The pack expands and contracts as it threads into the final 2-kilometer loop at Craig Ranch Park in Las Vegas, Nev. The runners accordion around turns, congregate again on the flat, hard-packed straightaways. Holding the tension of all race packs approaching the finish:

When will we start to splinter? Who will break first? Who can cover?

How fit is the woman to my left? My right?

How fit am I?

If Norris’ competitors are sizing her up, if they’re glancing across at the 4-foot, 11-inch runner in the distinctive blue singlet, they can surely tell she’s ready to match the pace when it ratchets up.

Some of them probably know she’s already won a race on this 6-kilometer course in the pandemic-shortened season: the Silver State Collegiate Challenge, back on Feb. 1.

They might know she was an All-American at the 2019 NCAA Cross Country Championships, finishing 39th for an upstart, eighth-place Falcon squad.

Most of them probably don’t know that this is only her third season of cross country, that she didn’t even take up the sport until college.

And they almost certainly don’t know the distance she’s traveled, simply to be in this race. The circuitous path that brought her first to the United States, then to Roseburg, Ore., eventually to the Air Force Academy Prep School, and finally to the Academy.

The difficult choices she’s made along the way, obstacles she’s overcome, odds she’s had to defy.

The way she’s had to commit and recommit to this path. 

Mahala Norris? They certainly know who she is.

They can’t possibly know how far she had to come to be here. 

Mahala sat in the time-out chair, obstinate and unyielding.

She was 2 years old, given a “time-out” as a consequence for a common toddler transgression: slapping her mother, Teresa, in frustration.

Teresa recalls the moment vividly. 

“I said to her, ‘You cannot get out of that chair until you apologize to me.”

She laughs about it now, because she knows how this anecdote ends. It’s the kind of story a mother tells when she understands that it captures something distinct about her child. A snapshot that sheds light on the wider arc of a life.

Teresa and her husband, Doug, had adopted Mahala in 1999 from an orphanage in Port-au-Prince, Haiti, named God’s Littlest Angels.

The baby girl, less than a year old at the time, had been named “Mirlande” in the orphanage, but a woman in Maryland facilitating the adoption told them that she’d always loved the name “Mahala.” Teresa and Doug took a liking to the name, too, and so the newest member of the family became Mahala Naomi Mirlande Norris. 

Doug and Teresa already had a biological son, Josiah, at the time of the adoption, so there were now two young children in the house. The family would eventually grow to include four — two biological sons, Josiah and Elijah, and two daughters through adoption, Mahala and Alema, both from Haiti.

They lived near Coos Bay, Ore., until Mahala was 5, and then moved 70 miles inland to Roseburg, a small city along Oregon’s I-5 corridor.

“It was busy in those years,” Teresa says, “Always a baby into something.”

Which leads her back to that 2-year old in the chair.

She figured the time-out would be a quick corrective for Mahala, an opportunity for a remorseful toddler to offer a prompt apology.

After all, how long could a 2-year old remain in a chair?

Five minutes?

Twenty?

“Two hours that kid sat in the chair,” Teresa says. “And I am not exaggerating at all.” 

Mahala Norris almost didn’t make it to the Air Force Academy.

Like many promising high school students, she’d received a letter from the Academy gauging her interest in attending. Although she wasn’t sure if a military academy would be a good fit, she completed the enclosed questionnaire and mailed it back.

A three-time qualifier to the Oregon 6A state track meet for Roseburg High at that point, highlighted by a 1,500-meter bronze her junior year, Mahala marked down track and field as one of her activities on the Academy interest form. But running wasn’t even Mahala’s preferred athletic pursuit; she’d been starring on the soccer field since second grade.

“She was always incredibly fast on the soccer field,” Teresa says.

And despite that speed translating to impressive middle distance marks as soon as Mahala went out for track as a freshman, she still wasn’t sold on the sport.

“They had to talk her into running,” Teresa says.

It wasn’t much fun, Mahala informed her, unless there was a ball to chase. 

After Mahala broke the school record for 1,500 meters as a ninth-grader, the cross country coach asked her to consider running a few races the following fall, even if she couldn’t attend practice, but Mahala wasn’t interested. 

“Soccer was really my sport for the fall,” she says. “I wasn’t looking to run cross country.”

But she had checked off track and field on that Academy questionnaire, so when Scott Steffan, Air Force’s associate head coach for vertical jumps, happened to be in the area, he let her know he’d be stopping by Roseburg High.

Mahala nearly dodged the meeting.

Nervous about sitting down with a college coach, she didn’t respond with a time she’d be available time to meet. The next morning she reconsidered, called Steffan, and the two connected at the high school.

Ryan Cole, head cross country and assistant track coach at the Academy, was keen to hear his fellow coach’s perspective on the possible recruit.

“I asked Scotty what he thought,” Cole recalls, “and he said, ‘Well, she was kind of quiet, but a really nice kid.’”

Encouraged by Steffan’s assessment, Cole invited Mahala to campus for a visit.

After a weekend immersed in the Academy environment, the Roseburg runner decided to commit. But before entering the Academy with the class of 2021, she’d have to spend a year at the Air Force Academy Preparatory School, a program on the Academy grounds that offers aspiring cadets a pathway to joining the USAFA cadre. 

“You’re on the same base as the Air Force Academy,” Cole says, “but you’re not actually a cadet at the Academy. So, you’re not on the team, you don’t practice with the team. That presents some challenges.”

One of those challenges: the Prep School only offers a limited number of athletic teams. Cross country and track and field are not among them.

“So, there wasn’t a whole lot of training, structure-wise,” Mahala says of her time at the Prep School. “It was more kind of on my own.”

Without a coach or a team, she ran mostly by feel.

“I just ran,” she says, “and when I felt like I was done, I’d go to the gym.”

In the summer of 2017, Mahala was formally admitted to the Academy, transitioning to Basic Cadet Training (BCT) with the rest of the class of 2021. While she might have entered with limited mileage and unstructured training, there were — in the short term, anyway — more important things she’d gleaned from the extra year.

“The Prep School helped a lot with the basics,” she says. “Making the bed, marching, knowing when to talk and when not to talk — all that stuff. It was very helpful.”

The two-part BCT — “Beast” in Academy parlance — and the subsequent fourth-class (freshman) year, are both rigorous by design, formulated to push cadets to their physical and emotional limits.

“Honestly, it was really hard,” Mahala says, “but I also thought it was really rewarding. I met a lot of good people.”

If she struggled, alongside many of her classmates, with the dizzying array of academic and military responsibilities, she experienced almost immediate success in the sport she’d never attempted: cross country.

Mahala cracked the Falcons’ top seven in her first semester, finishing 26th at the 2017 Mountain West conference meet before an impressive 30th place at the NCAA Mountain Regional.

Cole was surprised at how quickly she adapted to the trails.

“Here’s somebody who had never run cross country before,” Cole says, “who had a year at the Prep School, not really training on a highly consistent basis, went through Basic Cadet Training in the summer — to run as well as she did, that’s pretty darn special.”

For Mahala, it was a matter of leaning on her greatest strength.

“The longer distances were definitely harder,” she says, “but it came down to the same idea of competing, and that’s what I do best.” 

Another memory from Teresa:

She and Doug were flying home from Haiti, having just completed Mahala’s adoption.

Mahala was squirming on her lap in the airline seat, growing fussy.

At the orphanage, Doug and Teresa had watched as all the younger children were served baby food, how the kids sat in a half circle while a caretaker moved between them, spooning a mouthful into each child from a common bowl. Teresa had been given several jars of the same food for the flight home.

Figuring Mahala must be hungry, she took out a spoon and uncapped one of the jars.

“Mahala looked at me,” Teresa says, “shook her head ‘No,’ and that kid never ate baby food again.” 

How many times, during the long autumn of her sophomore year, did Mahala mull the question?

Leave now or see this through?

How many tearful phone calls home did she make? 

How close did she come to concluding that this place, which she’d worked so hard to reach, might not be for her?

The first year had certainly been difficult, but Mahala hit her lowest point at the start of the second. All the freshman success she’d found in cross country and track had been difficult to match in the classroom. Overwhelmed by mounting academic woes, she started her sophomore fall on academic probation.

At the Academy, that meant almost no contact with her team. She couldn’t train or practice with her teammates. And unlike most universities, which offer redshirt seasons and the possibility of returning for a fifth year, the Academy offers no way for student-athletes to gain more time.

At USAFA, with few exceptions, cadets graduate in four years.

Mahala dug into her studies, accessed the academic supports, but the combination of challenging coursework and the loss of her team left her reeling.

“When I couldn’t run cross country that fall,” Mahala says, “that really took a toll on me. I think that was the lowest.”

Almost daily, she weighed the pros and cons of her situation, the advantages of remaining at the Academy against the opportunities that lay beyond the base walls. Found herself sorting through a swirl of pressures and expectations, opinions and advice, that always circled back to the same question.

Like that line from the old Clash song: Should I stay or should I go now? 

“Many times,” Teresa says, “she wanted to quit.”

There were frequent phone calls home, seeking advice.

“She’d say, ‘Mom, do you think I should come home?’” Teresa recalls, “And I’d tell her that had to be her decision.”

After a while, Teresa didn’t know what else to say. She’d remind her daughter to look back on why she’d started this journey in the first place, encourage her to recapture that initial spark.

In her dorm room, Mahala imagined texting Coach Cole about entering the transfer portal. Sometimes, she’d tap out the message and stare at it, assessing how it felt to see the actual words. There would be a finality to all of it. Wheels turning in a new direction.

“I would sit there with the message on my phone,” she says. “I’d just let it sit, and then I’d think, ‘Do I want that for real?’ And then I’d delete it and be like, I’ll be fine. But I went through that a lot.”

When things felt particularly grim she inquired about Form 34, the paperwork required for cadets to separate from the Academy.

How long would it take to file?

Who needed to sign it?

All the while, around the crushing doubt, she kept trying to become a better student, a more complete cadet. Returning, as her mother suggested, to what initially inspired this journey in the first place.

By the end of the semester, Mahala’s hard work and the Academy’s academic support had paid off. She was able to return to the team for the 2019 indoor track season.

Of course, some of the old questions still swirled — Is this the place for me? — but Mahala came back slowly, found her footing again, first in the classroom and then on the track.

More than two years later, her coach has a deep appreciation for how difficult that period must have been for his senior star.

How close Mahala must have come to leaving.

“It would have been very easy,” Cole says, “for her to think: Look, there are schools out there that will offer me a big scholarship. I don’t need to stay here. I could transfer, have an easier time academically, be a superstar on a cross country team, not have to do all the military stuff up on the hill — it would have been really easy to make that decision. And she didn’t. She stayed.” 

One of the first lessons at the Academy: expect the unexpected.

From the opening day of BCT through the ensuing fourth-class year, cadets encounter a daunting series of overturned expectations.

It might be a surprise Saturday morning inspection.

An unannounced march.

New knowledge to memorize. Base restrictions. Revised directives.

Learning to correct on the fly.

Cultivating the skills that translate into military leadership.

“As an institution,” Cole says, “we intentionally set up these situations, things like Basic Cadet Training, to help them figure out how to do all of that. And then all of a sudden, you end up in a situation like this…”

He trails off, his meaning clear.

When COVID-19 first emerged a year ago, the Academy kept the seniors — or first-class cadets — on campus for an accelerated commissioning. The lower three classes were sent home for distance learning. In the summer, they brought the entire cadet wing back, with strict protocols in place.

Cole’s distance group returned by the end of June, putting all of that flexibility and resilience to practice.

“It’s been different,” the coach says, “but compared to last spring when everyone was sent home, being able to come to practice with masks on, it’s been huge.”

For Mahala, it’s meant rolling with the punches. Again.

After her challenging sophomore year, she had the beginnings of a spectacular junior campaign. In only her second season of cross country she claimed that All-American finish at the 2019 NCAA Championships, crossing the finish line three spots and three seconds behind Air Force teammate and fellow junior Maria Mettler. That winter, she dropped a 4:41.65 school record for the indoor mile before COVID brought collegiate competition to an abrupt halt.

As the new school year opened, the fact that Mahala could train with her team in the fall of 2020 already meant it was better than her sophomore year, but those months brought their own difficulties.

“I really like to compete,” she says, “and only doing the training part, whether it be regular running or workouts — just doing that in the fall without competition really impacted me. It wore me down sooner than I would have liked.”

Mettler, her good friend and primary training partner, has also been sidelined with an injury, and Mahala has keenly felt her absence.

“It’s been really hard without her,” she says.

Missing Mettler’s day-to-day senior leadership, Mahala has had to step into that role as well. 

“It’s been a growing opportunity for her,” Cole says. “This has been almost like her senior capstone, and it doesn’t occur in a classroom. It’s occurring, unfortunately, because one of her teammates is injured, so she’s had to assume that role and really step up for our team, and she’s done a heck of a job with it.”

He mentions the quiet tenacity she brings to the team. Her mix of humility and competitiveness. And her disarming, seemingly effortless sense of joy.

“She's always smiling at practice,” Cole says, “it’s infectious on our team.”

Mahala can’t exactly point to where that positivity comes from, but she remembers being complimented on her smile frequently as a child.

“People would say, You’re always smiling, so when I’m around other people I try to keep that vibe. I mean, there are times to express yourself, and I try to keep that in my room, but when I’m around other people I’m aware of how the negativity can affect them, so I try to keep it up.”

If she’s struggled, at times, with Academy life, she’s also filled with gratitude for the growth she’s experienced.

She appreciates how the resilience and persistence so many have had to cultivate in the last year — the qualities this pandemic has demanded — are already embedded in the culture of the school she attends.

“The day-to-day here definitely helps with things like getting the news that another meet is cancelled. Or an entire season is cancelled. You’re just ready, and you’re used to moving on, whatever you might hear.” 

Eighteen minutes in, the race breaks open.

The pack of 10, persistent through the first four kilometers, has whittled down to five. On a tight left-hand turn, University of New Mexico star Adva Cohen injects some pace.

Mahala Norris is right where she wants to be.

She’s on Cohen’s elbow, covering the surge.

The pair draws clear, opens daylight on their pursuers.

It’s an appropriate final duel for the Mountain West title, a rematch of sorts. At the 2020 indoor conference meet, Cohen edged Norris by less than a second to claim the mile title — the last race either ran before the COVID shutdown.

Nearly a full year later, the conference rivals are hammering this final kilometer.

Mahala battles to stay in touch, allowing a three-meter gap to open, then closing it. Latching on and refusing to let go. With 400 meters to go she’s shoulder-to-shoulder with Cohen, neither ceding an inch.

Everything that got her to this point is contained in the tension of that moment. The same questions, applied differently.

What happens if I stay here? How much more will it hurt?

How much more can I handle?

She’s the 2-year old again, sent to the time-out chair. Refusing to budge.

She’s the second-grader, quicksilver on the soccer field.

The Prep School student, running by feel. Harboring a dream up the hill.

She’s the sophomore cadet, agonizing over a text message.

Hang on, or let this slip away?

Contained, in these final strides, all the ways her life might have gone differently, but didn’t. The way our choices dictate the things we get to do.

Things we get to experience or miss.

Things like this moment, on a cross country course in Las Vegas, when Mahala blasts away from Adva Cohen with 200 meters to go, opens a 5-second gap, and soars to the conference title.

The first women’s individual conference champion in Air Force history.

A victory that guarantees she’ll return to the NCAA Cross Country Championships on March 15, where she’ll shoot for another All-American finish. 

And while most years that would be a sufficient goal — one national championship race a season — in this strange, COVID-condensed year, Mahala has also qualified for the NCAA Indoor Championship 5,000-meter race, scheduled for Friday evening, March 12. She’ll race the 6-kilometer cross country race in Stillwater, Okla., only three days later.

The plan, Cole says, was always to race both if Mahala qualified.

“They’ve lost so many races to COVID,” he says, “To have two in four days — if they’re both national championships? Yeah, she’s pretty excited about that.”

In her understated way, Mahala agrees.

“I think I can do it,” she says. “Just get into the mindset that it’s a competition, and if I run the way I like to, which is to latch onto people and run my race, I don’t think it should be a problem.”

It’s another example of her positivity, even when things seem daunting.

Her coach is hoping, once her career at the Academy concludes this spring, that Mahala will be offered a slot in the Air Force’s World Class Athlete Program (WCAP), but even she isn’t entirely certain what the future holds.

A geospatial science major, she’s already received her post-graduate assignment from the Air Force: space operations officer in the military’s newest branch, the U.S. Space Force. There’s a possibility she’ll begin there after graduation, then seek future admission to the WCAP team.

But for now, she’s focused on the two races in front of her.

A pair of national championship meets that might have once seemed improbable. Two more opportunities to cement her legacy on the team she’s fought hard to represent.

One more chance to see who Mahala Naomi Mirlande Norris can become.

"I've always trusted,” she says, “in finishing strong."

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