There were 12 and a half laps remaining when Brenae Edwards looked toward Mike Rohl and asked him a question without saying a word.
It was May 2013 in Pueblo, Colorado, at the NCAA Division II Outdoor Track and Field Championships.
The final meet of her Mansfield career.
Twenty-five laps would decide the national championship in the 10,000 meters, and halfway through, nobody seemed particularly interested in deciding anything.
The pace was crawling.
Edwards and Mansfield teammate Jess Scordino had expected some caution. Pueblo sits more than 4,600 feet above sea level, and a field filled with runners accustomed to competing much closer to sea level had little interest in discovering what an overly ambitious opening few miles might cost them.
So everybody waited.
And waited.
The field passed 5,000 meters in more than 18 minutes.
Edwards kept looking toward Rohl.
Finally, coming around one of the turns, she raised her palms and shrugged.
Give me something.
Rohl did.
Go.
There had always been an understanding between them. If Brenae was going to go, she had better be ready to hold it.
So she went.
Around one turn, Edwards attacked.
She expected somebody to answer.
Nobody did.
"I never looked back," Edwards King remembers. "I was in my best flow moment of my running career. Nothing could stop me."
The gap widened.
One lap became another.
Then another.
Soon, what had been a national championship pack had become one runner out front wearing Mansfield across her chest.
And with several laps remaining, Edwards realized she had enough of a lead to do something distance runners rarely get to do before reaching the finish line.
She could take it in.
Her father stood near the 200-meter mark beside Rohl.
Her mother was in the stands.
Her sister was farther down the track, surrounded by athletes from another team, hanging on the fence and screaming:
"That is my sister! Go, Brenae, go!"
Her brother and sister ran along the straightaway cheering.
Rohl was yelling now, too.
Brenae Edwards was going to be a national champion.
She crossed the finish line in 35 minutes, 21.25 seconds.
Nearly a minute passed before the runner-up arrived.
Mansfield had its first individual NCAA national champion.
But the most important part of Brenae Edwards' story is not that she finished first that night.
It is how she ever reached that starting line at all.
A Place That Said Yes
Mansfield was not the plan.
Penn State was.
Many members of Brenae's immediate and extended family had gone there, and she naturally imagined herself following them. She knew she wanted to continue running in college and reached out about potentially walking onto the program.
At the time, it wasn't what they were looking for.
"To be completely honest, I was pretty bummed," she said.
She visited other schools.
Nothing felt quite right.
Then, as the time to make a decision drew closer, Brenae attended a college night at her high school.
Her mother noticed the Mansfield table because of a flyer promoting criminal justice, an area Brenae had considered studying.
They stopped.
They talked.
They took the flyer home.
That was it.
No dramatic recruiting story. No national expectations attached to her name. No indication that one of the greatest careers in Mountaineer history had just quietly been set in motion.
A few months later, Edwards connected with Mansfield cross country and track and field coach Mike Rohl.
She made the drive.
She saw the school.
She met Rohl.
Something felt right.
"I'd like to think once I made the drive, saw the school and met my coach, I knew this is where I would be."
She never did study criminal justice.
Brenae arrived undecided before eventually declaring mathematics and secondary education during her sophomore year.
Even she finds that decision a little funny now. Math, she admits, was not necessarily her strongest subject.
She simply loved challenges.
That would become something of a theme.
Brenae did not arrive at Mansfield as a finished product. She arrived with an opportunity.
What happened from there was up to her.
The Miles Between
Ask Brenae about Mansfield today and the memories rarely begin with medals.
They begin with people.
"I absolutely loved my time as a Mountie," she said. "My team and coaches all felt like my family."
At a small school, that mattered.
Some students commuted. Others left on weekends.
Her teammates remained.
And they ran.
There were miles in the fields across from Grandma's Kitchen beneath the blistering sun. Endless out-and-back runs at the Pennsylvania Grand Canyon. Easy days filled with laughter and tears. Grueling workouts completed almost entirely in silence because everyone involved already understood the pain.
Years later, some of the seasons and rosters have blended together in Brenae's memory.
The people have not.
Clarissa Cummings was one of the first runners Brenae wanted to follow.
Eventually, Cummings became a training partner and something more — someone Brenae credits with teaching her about running and life.
One long run remains vivid.
The two were at the Pennsylvania Grand Canyon when the rain became torrential.
Several miles from where they had started, soaked through and barely able to see, they looked at each other. Their clothes felt as though they weighed a hundred pounds.
They laughed.
They also wanted to cry.
They still had miles to go.
Then there was Mike Robinson.
A standout middle-distance runner for the Mansfield men's program, Robinson became an unlikely but important training partner during cross country season.
Looking back, Brenae understands he did not have to do it.
He did it because it helped her.
"Mike, 100 percent, did all of that purely to help me," she said. "Talk about selflessness. Truly, much of my running success was because of him."
Later came Scordino.
The two shared miles, workouts, milestones and eventually the national stage.
But when Brenae talks about Jess today, she remembers something more important than a result.
"Jess was there during the hardest, roughest time of my life," Brenae said. "She wouldn't know it, but she saved me from so much more than just tough solo miles."
That is one of the great contradictions of distance running.
One name appears beside the time.
One athlete crosses the line.
One person receives the medal.
But almost nobody gets there alone.
Brenae Edwards certainly didn't.
One More Season
Long before Brenae became a national champion, she nearly stopped running altogether.
At the end of her sophomore year, she sat down with Rohl.
She was frustrated.
Some of the best times of her career were still marks she had run as a freshman in high school. Years of training had not produced the progression she expected.
Running, something she loved, was beginning to hurt her heart more than it filled it.
So Brenae told her coach the truth.
One more season.
If things did not improve, she was done.
Rohl listened.
Then they made a plan.
He wrote her summer training.
He also emphasized another part of the program.
Ice cream.
Every evening.
Brenae returned to Mansfield that fall in what she considered the best shape of her life.
By the end of cross country season, she missed qualifying for the NCAA Championships by one position.
One.
It hurt.
It also changed something inside her.
"It lit a fire inside me."
The runner who had nearly walked away was beginning to discover what might be possible if she stayed.
In 2010, Edwards finished fifth in the indoor 5,000 meters at the NCAA Division II Championships, earning her first All-America honor.
A few months later, she finished third nationally in the outdoor 5,000.
In 2011, she became the first woman in Mansfield history to win a PSAC indoor track championship, taking the 5,000-meter title.
Then came cross country.
The Mansfield women climbed into the national rankings for the first time and reached as high as No. 22.
At the NCAA Division II Championships in Spokane, Washington, Edwards finished eighth in the country.
The conditions were miserable.
Temperatures hovered around 15 degrees. Snow fell heavily enough that visibility became difficult. Athletes were allowed to keep their warmups on until shortly before the gun because of the cold.
Brenae raced in long sleeves, gloves and an ear warmer.
She froze.
She could barely see.
When runners crossed the line, officials wrapped them in blankets.
Her mother had made the trip.
That mattered.
Throughout Brenae's career, her parents made financial sacrifices to follow her wherever they could.
Sometimes both could go.
Sometimes only one.
But there was almost always somebody there.
"I always looked for them first," Brenae said.
In Spokane, she became a cross country All-American.
She had already earned the honor indoors.
She had already done it outdoors.
Brenae Edwards had become the first female runner in Mansfield history to earn All-America honors across cross country, indoor track and outdoor track.
The runner who once wondered whether she was improving at all had become one of the best in the country.
And some of the people most responsible for helping her get there never ran a lap.
More Than a Coach
Mike Rohl recruited Brenae Edwards to Mansfield.
Eventually, "coach" stopped being enough to describe what he meant to her.
"I can't even imagine what my time at Mansfield would have been without Coach Rohl," she said. "He was so much more than just a coach for me."
Their relationship had everything a meaningful coach-athlete relationship usually does.
Good days.
Frustration.
Disagreement.
Trust.
Growth.
Nearly eight years after they first met, Rohl traveled to North Carolina for Brenae's wedding.
"He became very much like a dad to me."
One period of her Mansfield career helps explain why.
During a cross country season, Brenae became seriously ill.
She experienced severe swelling, high fevers and periods when she struggled even to walk. After months of uncertainty and a redshirt season, Brenae said doctors eventually traced the symptoms to a reaction to a prescription medication.
There were appointments.
Tests.
Questions.
And Rohl.
Brenae sometimes could not drive herself.
So he drove her.
Again and again.
"He never complained."
Years later, that means more to Brenae than any workout Rohl ever designed.
"He went way beyond his paid coaching duties," she said, "and that will always mean more to me than any award."
But the physical illness was not the only difficult period she endured at Mansfield.
As Brenae became faster, she also became thinner.
What began unintentionally eventually consumed her.
"I'd be lying if I said the level of running success I had at Mansfield didn't come at a cost," she said.
Behind the All-America performances and school records was a young woman struggling.
Eventually, those around Brenae became concerned enough about her health that she was pulled from running.
Years later, she understands why.
"Thankfully, I was surrounded by the most wonderful people."
Coach Sherri met with her, supported her and gave her grace.
"She cared deeply about me — more than just her job or me as an athlete, but me as a person."
The Farrer family regularly welcomed Brenae into their home for dinner.
She still remembers one important lesson from their table:
If salad was dinner, there had better be french fries on top.
Brenae felt almost like another daughter in the family. She grew close to Ella, Addy and Madison.
Jim still sends her a Christmas card.
"They made those last two years at Mansfield possible."
There were people outside athletics, too.
Dr. Linda Iseri showed Brenae patience in the mathematics program, and years later Brenae still felt comfortable reaching back out to her.
She continues to follow Howard Iseri and his athletic endeavors.
While completing graduate school, Brenae worked as a graduate assistant in the education department alongside Christina Fry, Beth McClure and Dr. Carico.
They worked around her running schedule.
They followed her races.
They celebrated her successes.
After major competitions, Brenae would return to find the office decorated.
She remembers Christina, in particular, recognizing when she was struggling.
"I knew she cared about me way more than just a student worker."
The records tell you how fast Brenae Edwards ran.
Those stories tell you why Mansfield still matters to her.
Belonging
At Brenae's first NCAA indoor championship in Albuquerque, she looked around and wondered whether she belonged.
Everybody seemed so good.
She felt lost.
Out of place.
Maybe qualifying had been a fluke.
While Brenae waited in the paddock area, a message arrived from Clarissa Cummings.
She deserved to be there just as much as anyone else.
It was what she needed.
Brenae raced.
She became an All-American.
With each return to the national stage, the surroundings felt a little less intimidating.
Eventually, she stopped wondering whether an athlete from Mansfield belonged beside runners from schools with larger profiles.
She began taking pride in exactly where she came from.
"I was so proud," she said. "I would see a lot of the same teams over and over at the big championship meets, and it made me proud to represent our small school. I guess in a way I'd like to think bigger didn't always mean better."
That pride became part of what drove her.
So did a remarkable ability to endure.
Brenae could talk herself out of being tired.
Literally.
During races, when her body asked her to slow down, another voice answered.
"Brenae, don't you dare slow down. All those hard workouts, all those hundreds of miles aren't for nothing."
She reminded herself of the work she had already done.
The miles.
The workouts.
How she would feel afterward if she gave in.
"I literally would talk myself out of slowing down," she said.
Her sister had another way of describing it.
"I'd always bet on you, even if all the odds were against you."
By 2013, the results spoke for themselves.
Six All-America honors.
Conference championships.
School records.
PSAC Top Ten recognition.
2013 PSAC Women's Track Athlete of the Year.
Seven Mansfield Athlete of the Year honors across her cross country and track seasons.
And there was still one race left.
The Last One
A few weeks before Pueblo, Brenae's shin began hurting.
She went home to see the orthopedic doctor who had treated her for years.
An MRI showed what appeared to be the beginning of a bone reaction that could develop into a stress fracture.
Her doctor knew what was coming.
So did Brenae.
This was the NCAA Championship.
Her last one.
There would be no next season.
The decision was hers.
They agreed she could cross-train aggressively and then race in Pueblo.
So she did.
That detail makes the scene at the beginning of this story mean something different.
When Brenae looked toward Rohl halfway through that 10,000-meter final, years sat behind that glance.
The season when she nearly quit.
The summer when they rebuilt everything.
The medical appointments.
The redshirt year.
The national meets where she learned she belonged.
The miles with Clarissa, Mike and Jess.
Her family in the stands.
Her final chance.
Rohl told her to go.
Brenae did the rest.
After winning the 10,000-meter national championship, she returned at the same meet and finished second nationally in the 5,000.
With Edwards and Scordino scoring on the national stage, the Mountaineers finished 10th as a team — the best national finish in program history.
The young woman who once wondered whether there was a place for her in college running had reached its highest level.
And she had done it wearing Mansfield across her chest.
Beyond the Stopwatch
Eventually, every athlete reaches a day when nobody starts the clock.
Brenae left Mansfield as a national champion and six-time All-American.
She held program records in the indoor 3,000 meters, outdoor 3,000, indoor 5,000 and outdoor 10,000.
She excelled academically, too, completing her undergraduate and graduate degrees while compiling a 3.85 cumulative GPA and earning numerous academic honors.
In 2019, she was inducted into the Mansfield Alumni-Athletic Hall of Fame.
Her place in Mountaineer history was secure.
Life kept moving.
After completing graduate school, Brenae moved south to Bryson City, North Carolina.
Leaving Pennsylvania was difficult.
It had always been home.
Then she looked around.
Mountains.
Maybe that helped.
Bryson City sits alongside Great Smoky Mountains National Park, surrounded by the kind of landscape that felt strangely familiar.
"I loved the landscape of Mansfield," she said, "and I'd like to think that's what initially made this new place feel as though I was still close to home."
Brenae became a high school math teacher and remained in education for nearly a decade.
She met her husband, Ben.
They had a son, Riley.
Then, in the fall of 2022, she took another chance.
Brenae left teaching and began running a small artisan-style bakery in Bryson City.
"Life can be funny sometimes."
Running eventually gave way to teaching.
Teaching gave way to a bakery.
Along the way came marriage and motherhood.
The setting changed.
Brenae did not.
"I think everything I do today is somewhat a reflection on how I was as a student-athlete," she said. "Whether it was in my time as a public school teacher, a mother or running an artisan bakery, I have done it to my absolute best. I know nothing worthwhile comes easy, and to me pushing through the hard times makes the good times so much sweeter."
That sounds a lot like the runner who refused to give herself permission to slow down.
What Mansfield Gave Her
There is an easy way to tell the story of Brenae Edwards.
Start with the national championship.
Add six All-America honors.
List the records.
Mention the PSAC championships.
Finish with the Hall of Fame.
Every word would be true.
And something important would still be missing.
Because when Brenae was asked what she hopes people remember about her Mansfield years, she did not mention any of it.
"I hope they say I was a kind, welcoming, hardworking person," she said. "Of course I loved running, but I would like to think I was more than just an athlete."
That answer explains why so many of the stories she tells about Mansfield contain somebody else's name.
Clarissa.
Mike.
Jess.
Coach Rohl.
Coach Michelle.
Coach Sherri.
Linda and Howard Iseri.
Christina Fry.
Beth McClure.
Dr. Carico.
The Farrers.
Her teammates.
Her family.
The people who shared miles when nobody else was watching.
The people who celebrated when she won.
The people who remained when she was struggling.
The people who knew Brenae Edwards before the rest of the country knew the All-American.
Those people are part of what Mansfield gave her.
The other part was opportunity.
Not a guarantee.
Not a promise that she would become a national champion.
An opportunity.
A runner who wasn't what one program needed found a place willing to let her find out what she could become.
A student who did not yet know exactly what she wanted to study found professors willing to challenge her.
An athlete going through some of the hardest years of her life found people willing to care about her beyond what appeared on a stopwatch.
And a young woman representing a small school eventually discovered that she did not need to come from someplace bigger to dream bigger.
Mansfield opened the door.
Brenae had to walk through it.
Or, in her case, run.
There is one more story she likes to tell.
During her freshman year at Mansfield, Brenae made a bet with her parents.
If she ever qualified for a national championship, she could get a tattoo.
Her parents agreed.
They laughed a little.
"Yeah, OK."
At the time, Brenae remembers, the chances seemed about as good as her parents winning the Powerball.
Three years later, she qualified.
A bet was a bet.
Against nearly every fiber in her father's body, Brenae got the tattoo.
"They don't make bets with me anymore."
They probably know better now.
Because somewhere between the young runner who arrived at Mansfield unsure of where the opportunity might lead and the woman running alone toward a national championship finish line in Colorado, Brenae learned something she has carried ever since.
Eventually, you have to bet on yourself.
"At some point I had to become the one to have the most faith in myself," she said. "It's easy for people to tell you to dream big or chase goals, but you have to do it for yourself, not someone else."
Sometimes that meant winning.
Other times, Brenae said, it meant failing to finish a national championship race and ending up in her father's arms.
Both mattered.
"Never give up," she said. "I never want to look back and wonder, 'What if I took that chance?' I'd be the first to say no dream is too big."
Mansfield didn't give Brenae Edwards her national championship.
She earned it.
Mansfield didn't give her six All-America honors.
She earned those, too.
What Mansfield gave her was a place to discover just how much she was capable of earning.
A coach who told her to go.
Teammates who ran beside her.
Professors who challenged her.
Staff members who looked after her.
Families who welcomed her in.
Parents who traveled across the country so that whenever Brenae searched the crowd, somebody she loved was looking back.
And a small school tucked into the mountains where one of the greatest athletes in Mountaineer history learned that small never had to mean lesser.
Today, Brenae King lives hundreds of miles from Mansfield, surrounded once again by mountains in Bryson City.
There is her husband, Ben.
Their son, Riley.
The artisan bakery she built after nearly a decade of teaching.
A life far removed from 25 laps underneath the Colorado sky.
But Mansfield is still there.
The miles are still there.
The people are still there.
And somewhere in Brenae's memory there will always be one final lap in Pueblo.
Her father standing beside her coach.
Her sister hanging over the fence.
Her mother in the stands.
Her brother running along the straightaway.
Mike Rohl shouting from trackside.
And Brenae Edwards, wearing Mansfield across her chest, running alone toward history.
She had been given an opportunity.
What she made of it was hers.
"I wouldn't trade my time there for anything," Edwards King said. "I loved my experience there and the people who I shared it with. I will cherish those memories and carry them with me forever."
Once a Mountie, Always a Mountie.
