Life sometimes hits you with a train; actually — scratch that: multiple trains over and over again. Like you are in the trolley problem, but in every choice, the train tracks are turned towards you. At a young age, I discovered that exercise was not only a freedom, but an instrument for learning how to endure all of life’s trains.
That conclusion actually took me much longer than you would likely imagine. Because no matter what anyone portrays in their athletic successes, progression is never linear. It’s really a funky doodle that kind of looks like a lob-sided fish. The same can be said for my entire relationship with running throughout my life.
I started running when I was about eight, training for 5Ks with my mom. Back then, my goal was simple: make mom happy. I didn’t know if I loved running, but she did — so I did too. Life was simpler then; I didn’t need to understand why.
Through middle and high school, I ran cross country and track and field. I began as a long-distance runner, but as I became part of a team, I realized I wasn’t as standout as I once thought. I worked hard, but never actually grasped the reason why. Running just felt like what I was supposed to do.
Everything changed when I discovered sprinting. I made varsity as a freshman and competed for three solid years, unfortunately missing a year due to COVID-19. My family didn’t fully support my athletics, and by senior year, I was racing mostly alone.
It forced me to rethink why I ran in the first place. What began as running for my mom had become running for myself — driven by my coach, my friends, and the thrill of competition. High school track and field taught me that I had to stop depending on my family’s approval.
In college, running became my identity more than ever. Competing on a D3 team, I lived and breathed with my teammates. It was no longer just a sport — it was a lifestyle. But when my teammates’ values clashed with mine, I began questioning everything. By my third semester, I stopped running. My academics were suffering, and I tried to refocus my goals to discover my self-purpose. Ultimately, I failed.
After a medical issue forced me to take a gap semester and undergo surgery, I finally had time to reset. During my recovery, I also suffered from a terrible cold. Instead of taking a negative outlook on it, I saw it as my body clearing out the old to make space for the new.
My gap semester helped give me space to shift my focus. I worked in business marketing, then took on a demanding lifeguard job, eventually becoming a manager. That summer, I lost ten pounds from the job, and I credit it for helping me gain new confidence in my ability to achieve success.
So, now, I am here. Yet, I am now for the first time, deciding to run and train on my own. Every run I do is painful. Every time I push myself, I feel sick and my face turns red. And, I have to ice bath outside in the cold, to help with muscle recovery. All of this is hard, so — why would I do it?
This is my honest advice: no one is coming to save you. You can’t rely on teammates, friends, family, or coaches to reach your goals — athletic or academic. Work is work. As simple as that sounds, I’m only now learning what it really means.
Comfort is a human instinct that does not always benefit you. And that human instinct is wired to primarily help only if you are in constant distress. It is not made to adapt to our current world. So, I decided to stop letting it rot me away.
I’ve always wanted to make my body stronger and push my limits. Sprinting was my comfort zone, just like my team and coaches were. They kept me secure, so I never had to push myself completely alone. Now, on my own, I have to do the work.
So, when my mind refuses to work with me, I choose to adapt it instead. It will never be easy. You’ll wake up not wanting to move, eat better, or keep going when it hurts. But the more I run for the simple fact that it’s me vs. me, the more disciplined and successful I become in everything else.
Training for a marathon isn’t just for me — it’s for the version of myself that wanted to give up; that thought life had no meaning. It’s for the voice that says stop after every lap. It’s for my body and mind to feel alive again. Because when I set a goal, I’ve learned the only person who can stop me is me. And it’s about damn time I show her just how wrong she is.