For as long as I can remember, I’ve been running. My mom runs. My brother runs. My cousins run. So I ran. I never really cared how I did, until I started winning, and then I cared too much. Something that was supposed to be fun caused so much stress but if I stopped I would lose and let everyone down.

8th grade track was when my winning streak ended. I sprained my MCL and was still recovering when the season started, but something else was off. I couldn’t run like I had a couple months earlier, but at the moment all I could think about was if I could still win. A sad reality hit when my mile was almost 30 seconds slower than I had run it the year before. I blamed it on my MCL, but with each race I was getting worse. If I only knew then what I know now, I wouldn’t have just taken Advil to ease the pain and hoped for a better race next time. I wanted to quit by the end of the season and was losing the little hope I had left. My legs were sore all the time and I had no energy at practice.

Summer training for cross county started soon after school ended. High school is a new start, I kept telling myself. When everything was looking up again, the mileage increased and I got shin splints. I tried desperately to make them go away, but nothing was working and they just got worse. My hope for a new start was fading as my first high school race approached.

BOOM! The gun went off at the start line. It was 90 degrees and sunny on one of the hilliest courses of the season. I started out well and got ahead of the pack, but by the second mile I could feel my energy fading, and by the third I was just trying to finish. Crossing the finish line, I was being passed by people I knew I could beat. Feeling sick, I finished the race and fell to the ground as my vision went blurry.

The majority of the season went about as well as the first race. While my results were disappointing, I started to enjoy running again. I didn't just practice so I could win. I practiced because it was fun and I wanted to see my team. Even though I had accepted my place on the team, I still wanted to know what happened between 7th grade and now. I had a lot of tests done and everything came back normal, except my iron levels. Now that I knew what was causing my tunnel vision and fainting my season got better and I could run faster for longer.

“You're racing in states,” were the words that I had been waiting for the whole season. Even though I still wasn’t feeling 100%, I raced my best and ended the season feeling better than I started.

“You're only a freshman. If you keep wishing you did better, you’ll be the best in the world and still not satisfied,” one of my coaches told me after a bad race.

This quote stuck with me, and I think about it whenever my results are disappointing; I now realize that I’ve been focusing on the past when I need to look to the future and what I can accomplish.

Flash forward to now, and I’ve just raced my first high school track meet and am running like I could in the 7th grade. But most importantly, I don’t focus on results anymore. Although I feel better when I see my times dropping, results don’t determine my mood or how I view myself.

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