This isn’t Trent McFarland’s first run at Ferry Field. He’s ran this storied maroon track at early sunrises where the infield grass is still glistening with morning dew, on late nights when it’s bracketed by the watchful lights of Revelli Hall and Ray Fisher Stadium. He’s ran here alone and with teammates, as a wide-eyed incoming freshman on his official visit and as the fourth-fastest 1500-meter runner in NCAA history.
In fact, this isn’t even McFarland’s first run of the day, he tells me as he drags his feet across the lane lines with an air of familiarity. He already came earlier this morning — just in case I wanted our scheduled workout to be relaxing and low-distance. But when I asked where to meet up for our late afternoon jog, he couldn’t think of anywhere else.
The defining performance of McFarland’s career may have been down in Winston-Salem, N.C., where he ran the 3:33:17 1500 that etched his name into the collegiate record books. Or maybe it was in Eugene, where he stood atop the Hayward Field podium with a national silver medal. Maybe he’ll be remembered most for his antics at Franklin Field in Philadelphia, gunning for the breakaway banner on the sport’s ultimate stage, his bedazzled block ‘M’ chain sparkling under the spotlight.
But it’s here — in the fateful patch of grass that saw the dawn of the Michigan track and field team 120 years ago and everything since — where McFarland builds the mindset of a champion. This is his center stage.
***
McFarland leisurely walks down the straightaway of lane one, stopping intermittently to lift his ankles for quad stretches. The outfit for his easiest run in years is nearly indistinguishable from his traditional race attire: a navy blue team shirt and matching athletic shorts.
The kids tossing around a football in the infield show no indication of recognition. It makes sense: McFarland is not rippling with muscle or seven feet tall — he is not, at first glance, blessed with the eye-catching look of a superstar athlete. These kids have never seen him race; they don’t know he’s faster than billions. His appearance will never emit the trappings of fame. His celebrity can only come from achievement.
Trent McFarland wasn’t supposed to become one of the greatest runners in collegiate history. It just kind of happened.
***
When McFarland was a toddler, his father recorded everything from Christmas celebrations to birthday parties, uploading videos of McFarland and his sister to a private YouTube channel for posterity. Even in diapers, McFarland loved the cameras. He’d run across his bed and sing maniacally, making a scene of every moment just to make his dad laugh.
“I was loud and obnoxious and just this crazy kid, but in ways I was similar (to how I am now),” McFarland told The Michigan Daily. “I like to be in the spotlight, and I like to show off a little bit.”
McFarland didn’t get much bigger by the time he was 13. As a guard for the Utica High School basketball team, he knew he’d always play second fiddle to more talented teammates. But just because he wasn’t the best hooper didn’t mean he couldn’t be the most memorable.
He was pretty quick on the court, and he knew he could shoot. So after a certain scrappy Michigan guard got drafted to the Warriors, McFarland turned every 3-pointer into his own Jordan Poole moment — a splash heard ‘round the world.
“He was my favorite Michigan athlete ever,” McFarland says in between lunges, mimicking Poole’s celebrations. “Every shot, I was letting people know that ‘I did that!’ and getting in their face. I was a decent bit of a trash talker, even for how little I was.”
Initially, McFarland was fairly uninterested in running. It wasn’t glamorous. He joined the team his sophomore year, but wanted to go to Michigan on an academic scholarship — track wasn’t even in the realm of possibilities. He recalls mentally checking out of cross country after he didn’t run well at the state meet and the Chieftains placed just 25th.
By senior year, McFarland was the fifth-best cross country runner in Michigan. Utica placed ninth.
McFarland may not have been the fastest, but from all those full-court sprints and marathons around his bed, he possessed a superb second gear. At the final stretch, in the most memorable part of the race, he was unmatched. If he kicked too early, he would fade out and lose. But he was never out of the running.
Weekday dual meets were McFarland’s first opportunity to shine. Against limited competition, he could win or place in at least four events. Once, he was sick enough to sleep all day and skip school — but not sick enough to miss the meet. He rolled out of bed and notched a messy win in the 3200. The meet was all going to plan, until it wasn’t.
Every athlete, at some point in their career, faces the same cold truth: there is always someone better than you. McFarland learned it earlier than most.
“Coming back in the (4×400 meter relay), I actually lost,” McFarland says, frowning.
“I was the anchor leg, ran like 54, 53, the guy that won ran like 52, 51. He runs at Oakland now.” McFarland furrows his brows, remembering every detail. “That was the only time that I’ve ever gotten outkicked in a race before. He was already in front of me, but I was closing the gap, and then I hit a weird spot in the track, lost my balance a little bit. He just took off.”
McFarland pauses his dynamic warmups and gazes down the straightaway. He was just 10 meters behind the runner crossing the finish line. It seemed more like miles. He could have won, but he wasn’t good enough. He doesn’t ever want to feel that way again.
Maybe he wasn’t supposed to become one of the greatest runners in collegiate history. But it didn’t happen by mistake.
***
When McFarland won the 800-meter state championship in 2022, the first thing he did was scream.
Then he fell spread-eagled on the track, robbed of the breath to celebrate after emptying his tank to hawk down Davison’s Brady McArdle on the homestretch. McFarland had spent the first half of the race without even sniffing top-four position. But he passed the leaders one by one on the outside lane — including future Michigan training partner Brendan Herger — until there was no one left to chase down.
“There’s things that just repeat in your head,” McFarland said. “Like ‘stick on him’, ‘stay with him.’ You got to match his moves and stay with him no matter what. And then when that time comes, I’m always thinking of when that move is going to be made.”
Charles McFarland’s phone camera is following his son’s exhausted frame, his daughter screaming ‘Let’s go Trent, let’s go!’ beside him. After his son crosses the finish line, Charles zooms in on his exhausted frame, before panning upward to show off the name ‘McFarland’ displayed atop the scoreboard.
When Trent McFarland finds the energy to lift himself off the blood orange rubber, the first thing he does is give McArdle a hug.
***
Like every other track and field recruiter in the country, Michigan coach Kevin Sullivan browses athletic.net for top prospects. He looks for athletes who meet his recruitment standards, elite performers capable of scoring points for his Wolverines on the national stage. But he also watches as many local races as he can — because as a former star, Sullivan knows numbers can’t tell him everything.
In 2022, Sullivan scouted a senior from Utica who wasn’t dominating at big-name meets like Nike Nationals and Junior Olympics. A kid who didn’t even seem all that interested in getting recruited. But something about him made Sullivan think.
“A lot of times, you get hung up on ‘What’s somebody’s PR?’ rather than ‘What’s their potential?’ ” Sullivan told the Daily. “(With McFarland), he was very much like, ‘Hey, I’m going to run my state meet, I’m going to do my stuff for my team, and that’s it.’ But the underlying thing that we kept seeing with him was just a competitor. He ran good times, but he didn’t lose a lot.”
When McFarland visited Ferry Field for the first time, he didn’t speak much. Certainly not to then-sophomore Miles Brown, who set three school records as a freshman in 2021 and heralded the beginning of a golden generation for Michigan’s mid-distance squad.
“It was funny because in (McFarland’s) class, he was not one of the slower 800 runners, but he wasn’t the fastest one coming in,” Brown told The Daily. “So it was definitely one of those things where I didn’t immediately write him off at all, but I also wasn’t like, ‘This guy is going to be my successor.’ ”
Fellow recruits John O’Reilly, Camden Law and Kepler Huntress all came in with faster times or higher expectations. A 1:52 800 wasn’t going to light the world on fire. But Sullivan saw something special about Trent McFarland.
And McFarland believed him.
***
After our warmups are complete, McFarland breaks into a jog and guides me down State Street. Except for the few moments where a fallen branch diverts our path from the sidewalk, he matches my pace stride-for-stride. We talk in between breaths, the conversation backdropped by the lulling metronome of soles against concrete.
Just a few minutes before we’d reach the U-M Indoor Track Building — where McFarland broke Sullivan’s 29-year program record in January — a spinning pointer finger tells me it’s time to turn around. We retrace our steps until the wrought iron gate of Ferry Field returns to view, and McFarland slows down to a gentle stroll. Our two-mile venture has taken 17 minutes.
If this had been a competition, McFarland would be waiting here nearly 10 minutes ago, leaning through the gate before I even reached the halfway point. He could muscle his way in front of almost anyone in the country, if he wanted to. But if there’s one thing McFarland understands, it’s how to pace himself.
“Some people start pretty high up, and they only get a little bit better every year,” McFarland says. He shrugs. “I’d rather start lower, because no one cares where you are when you start. It’s all about where you are when you finish.”
***
Trent McFarland can’t win everything. He realized that before he flew out to Eugene in 2025 with hopes of his first 1500-meter national title. Even though he wasn’t seeded in the top eight, he knew he had a chance — if he could just wait for the right moment.
Halfway through the race at Hayward Field, McFarland kicked too early. He had nothing left for the last 100 meters. The plan crumbled.
He knows it’s why he finished 11th. And he does everything he can to make sure it doesn’t happen again.
***
It’s April 25. Trent McFarland is at the absolute peak of his powers. He’s 10 meters from winning the 4×800 at Penn Relays, the oldest and most storied track meet in the world. His relay partners were neck-and-neck with Penn State — who’ve christened themselves ‘800U’ after placing three runners at Big Ten Indoor Championships — until Law handed McFarland the baton.
He torches the Nittany Lions’ Allon Clay down the stretch, on pace for a blistering 1:45 split. The Wolverines’ victory is all but assured. He lifts his arms in triumph. Then, within touching distance of the finish line, he spins his head and points at Clay with a cheeky grin.
The move adds a fraction of a second to Michigan’s final time. Penn State posts a school record 7:10:00 even without star Handal Roban, but the Wolverines’ 7:09.24 stands alone. It’s the No. 2 mark in NCAA history, 0.3 seconds behind the top spot.
McFarland bumps hips with O’Reilly seconds after the win. He’s mobbed by Herger and Law. He looks directly at the camera, his gleaming ‘M’ chain reflecting the limelight, and announces “800U who?” This wasn’t even his first mid-race celebration. For McFarland, it’s just another part of the scene.
But in the universe of collegiate track and field, it’s the point heard ‘round the world.
Track and Field News publicly admonished the move, writing that “McFarland’s theatrics likely cost the Wolverines the Collegiate Record.” When the clip is posted to FloTrack’s Instagram, McFarland is derided as “classless” and a “douche.” For better or worse, he is the center of attention.
When the chaos died down, the Nittany Lions’ Niko Schultz, a frequent McFarland opponent, posted a video titled “Responding to the Michigan Point” where he laughs it off and calls his friend a “top-tier troll.” Eastern Michigan’s Drew Graves, who knew McFarland from high school in Utica, thought it was awesome.
“I’ve always loved the moxie certain people have,” Graves told The Daily. “Like (Marco Langon) from Villanova, I love how he’s talking shit before the race, after the race, during the race. I really thought he was funny. And Penn State was supposed to be the premier university … I just really thought it was funny how Michigan came and mopped the floor with them.
“Those are the little things that make the sport better … It just shows that our sport can be fun, even though it’s just running and things like that, and that people do have emotions and feelings in our sport. We’re not just robots who run in circles all day.”
Six weeks earlier, when McFarland cleared the preliminary to qualify for NCAAs, he fist-bumped Brigham Young’s Carter Cutting as both runners pulled away from the rest of the field. They traded smiles.
These men run the same workouts, spend the same hours toiling for a chance at first place. They are too similar to imagine celebration as insult.
“In the 800, there’s not really that many douchebags to the point of problems,” Brown said. “The Penn State dudes, which I feel like we have the biggest rivalry with, they’re all nice guys. Obviously they weren’t happy when Trent hit (Clay) with ‘The Point,’ but I don’t think any competitor would be.”
What drives McFarland, behind the cameras and the thrill of victory, is the spirit of competition. He admits he’s not as close to his rivals as Brown and the rest of his teammates, but he loves and understands them. He knows they want to win just as much as he does. Somewhere, Sullivan is smiling from the sideline.
When McFarland knocked hands with Cutting in March, they may have been bluntly celebrating personal achievements. But they were also acknowledging the work it took to get there.
“It’s showcasing your personality,” Brown said. “I feel like in running, some people try to not do that, they try to push their personality inwards and not be entertained. … Football players will do well on one play and hit like four celebrations. One play out of, like, 30 in the game that they’re in? If you win a race, that’s the whole game. Win a race, you should celebrate. Even if you’re very good, it doesn’t always happen.
“At the end of the day, the sport is about entertainment.”
The Trent McFarland that kicked too early at Hayward Field has learned when it’s time to put his head down and get back to work. The Trent McFarland that lit up Franklin Field knows he’s earned the right to show off. Both of these runners are inside him: the little boy who understands how far he’s come, and the man who realizes how much farther he can go.
***
In June, when McFarland made it back to Eugene, his championship dreams were more concrete. He bided his time and flew past the field. It was all going to plan. Oregon’s Simeon Birnbaum, the collegiate record holder, was the only man between McFarland and the finish line. For a moment, McFarland started closing the gap — but Birnbaum pulled away. It was too much ground to make up. His kick wasn’t enough, and he knew it.
“The goal going in was to take the lead at some point and control it,” McFarland said. “So that I didn’t have to kick as hard, or I could just run my own race in front, and then wait for Simeon to make his way to the front and then challenge him for the win down the homestretch.
“But I didn’t really find myself able to get to the front like I wanted to.”
McFarland poses with the silver medal and smiles for the cameras. He celebrates with Herger, who’s been with him every step of the way. In his postrace interviews, he is measured. He reflects on turning 21. He praises Birnbaum. He won’t fully ditch the swagger — he never does — but he is realistic.
“He might beat me eight out of 10 times, seven out of 10 times, nine out of 10 times,” McFarland said June 12. “You know, if I ran a perfect race, maybe I beat him today. But he won this race, and so on the day today, he was better than me.”
McFarland hasn’t forgotten the cold truth. There will always be someone better than him. But now, he can count them on one hand.
***
Trent McFarland can’t win everything. He can beat me in a 100-meter dash, though.
After we work through a couple of cooldown strides, I challenge McFarland to a quick race, hoping that as a former high school sprinter, I still have enough gas in the tank to take him down in an unfamiliar event. McFarland raises his eyebrows as I prop my phone camera up against the cinder blocks adjacent to the track.
Now it’s serious.
His kick is almost muscle memory at this point. Even over such a short distance, I can feel the moment — around 70 to 80 meters in — when McFarland settles in and finds another gear. I accept defeat, shake my head and pick up the phone, trying not to smile. McFarland flashes a grin.
“I had an advantage ‘cause of the standing start,” he says.
“Yeah,” I say. “If I had a block start, I’d dust you.”
He’s laughing at the idea of that, slowly nodding his head. Apart from his bouts with Birnbaum, McFarland doesn’t lose very often anymore. Maybe he will bring down the fastest man in NCAA history before it’s all said and done; it bothers him that he hasn’t yet. Or maybe it doesn’t.
Yes, he wants to win. But not because he can’t stand losing. He wants to set Jordan Poole free. To express himself on the biggest stage. There is no halftime in track; there are no 3-pointers. There is the beginning of the race and the end. McFarland, before anything else, is an entertainer. He wants to perform. If he isn’t first across the finish line, how will he get the chance?
I say my goodbyes and head out through the iron gate. By the time I look back, McFarland is already jogging down Hoover Street. This wasn’t even his last run of the day.
McFarland hasn’t reached the homestretch of his career yet. He will be back at Ferry Field soon enough, training for his senior season. He’ll be chasing a third consecutive Big Ten Indoor championship. If all goes well, he will end up at Hayward Field next June. He’ll be chasing the men who circumstances have deemed his rivals, the only three in the country who stand between him and an all-time title. He is chasing greatness, the feeling of flying, The Point heard ‘round the world.
But for every 1500 he runs with the cameras rolling, he runs a hundred more here. Alone and with teammates. Early mornings and late nights. Wearing the same flashy chain he wore at Franklin Field. And for those miles, Trent McFarland isn’t chasing anyone.
