They train in shadows, away from television lights and national headlines. They chase personal bests on dusty fields, lift in empty gyms, and throw into the open air where no crowds gather. For many collegiate athletes, the reward isn’t fame or fanfare. It’s more about structure, purpose, and a path forward. When that path is pulled out from beneath them, the loss runs deeper than a scratched mark on a roster. It shakes identity, derails academics, and leaves young lives scrambling for direction with no warning and no safety net.

Evan Berg had no plans to sit in on a Zoom call that afternoon. He was deep in the woods, surrounded by pine trees and silence, adjusting towing gear and earning summer wages away from the noise of campus life. He was content, working a job that spared him from clocking in during the school year, accompanied by his father and the steady rhythm of a forest project with the Washington State Department of Natural Resources. What he didn’t know, as he tightened straps on the equipment, was that a ten-minute video call would collapse everything he’d prepared for in the fall.

The message arrived on his phone with just enough signal to come through. It was from Brad Corbin, deputy director of athletics at Washington State University. The email was brief, unadorned, and left little room for speculation. It read, “Good morning, I am reaching out to request your attendance at a mandatory track and field program meeting TODAY at 1:00 PM. This meeting will be held via Zoom.”

Berg considered skipping it. He barely had reception and wasn’t eager to interrupt his workday. But something told him to drive—just far enough up a hill to get a stable connection. He returned ten minutes later, stepped out of his truck, and said flatly to his father, “I have to transfer schools.”

Chris Berg laughed out loud. “We’d just gotten his room and everything else taken care of down there at the school,” he said. “He’d already signed the lease and all that stuff.” There was no punchline. Corbin had informed the athletes that Washington State’s track and field program was undergoing a sweeping change. The university would now focus primarily on distance running, removing sprinters, hurdlers, and, without exception, all field athletes from the roster. Berg, a javelin thrower, had lost his spot.

“Everything was set up,” he said. “But they just took everything away from us, like, immediately.” He had made Pullman home. He had signed paperwork. He had plans. All of it gone in less time than it takes to throw a javelin. His father could scarcely believe it. “No, they didn’t,” he said. “That’s the beginning of sports, I mean, that’s the whole… you know, that’s the Olympics.”

The implications stretched far beyond the Berg family. Sudden eliminations like this can unmoor young athletes, disrupt academic paths, and extinguish hard-earned progress without warning. When institutions treat athletes like logistical entries on a spreadsheet rather than individuals, the damage rarely ends in a simple transfer form. For Evan Berg, the journey continues, but it might no longer be where he hoped it would. And this is not the first time such a scenario has unraveled.

UMSL track and field faces quiet collapse as athletes fight back

A certain silence lingered across the track at the University of Missouri–St. Louis, where, once the cadence of spikes and whistles signaled purpose, now there is only uncertainty. In March 2025, the university declared that both its men’s and women’s track and field programs would be discontinued following the Spring 2025 semester. The announcement marked the latest and perhaps most sobering entry in a growing list of collegiate institutions reducing or removing opportunities for athletes in the sport. What emerged in its wake was not merely disappointment, but a firm and vocal reaction from those who had built their identities around the program’s presence. One student captured the prevailing mood with a single, pointed remark: “That sucks.”

The university justified its decision as the result of a “thorough analysis,” ultimately concluding that support for cross-country would be strengthened by narrowing its focus. In the words of Executive Director of Athletics, Dr. Holly Sheilley, “By streamlining our offerings, we can enhance support for our cross-country teams while uplifting our 15 total sport programs.” Scholarships, they noted, would remain available to those affected, provided academic eligibility is maintained and, in some cases, continued participation in cross-country. Yet such provisions, however well-intended, have not quelled frustration. 

Brett Lynch, a four-year letter winner, has since launched a petition in an attempt to preserve what remains. The effort, hosted on GoFundMe, seeks not only reinstatement but recognition that the discipline and achievements of UMSL’s track athletes deserve more than a quiet departure. 

The closure of track programs does not merely end seasons. It disrupts the ambitions, training arcs, and life trajectories of young athletes striving to turn potential into purpose.