When I was younger, I liked to look at insanely tall buildings and imagine how those buildings were built before machinery. I was amazed by the pyramids and their history. Sure, people used carts and animals, but a lot of ancient civilizations were built on the backs of humans. I always thought it was extremely strange to think about people carrying such heavy loads, bearing the weight of something much larger than themselves in order to create something monumental. What interested me the most was that humans could have the mental capacity to pick up something so heavy again and again and again.

I come from a family of runners, so part of growing up was learning to run. I ran cross-country and track, and I ran on my own or with family members, exploring trails within my city. When I was younger, I used to have trouble running far. Running more than three miles usually felt like more of a punishment than anything else. I’m not saying that I now jump for joy every single time someone tells me to run. To be honest, I probably couldn’t go out and run a half marathon at the moment, nor would I really want to try unless there was some added incentive. I’ve learned, however, that if my mind is determined and steadfast, my body is much more capable.

So much of what we do on a daily basis is to second-guess ourselves. When I ran cross-country, I wondered if I could actually run for two miles at a fast speed. When I lifted weights, I wondered if my legs or arms could actually push a certain number of pounds away from my chest or shoulders. When I acted in plays, I wondered if my muscles could remember to move on cue. I second-guessed every single thing I did, making my mind work over-time and stressing myself out with worry.

I guess being on a rowing team has made some of that go away. There is no time to second-guess. When we row, we have to row together. I mean, we’re still novices, so 50% of the time we aren’t in sync, but we’re supposed to be. The intention is there. I sometimes sit in the boat and think about how much we depend on one another. If I were to get tired and drop out, the boat would start to turn another direction. That thought has followed me back onto land. If I don’t keep my arms locked when we carry the boat, someone else will have to carry more weight. If I don’t lift weights during the week with my teammates, I won’t be strong enough for them. If I don’t study for my next class, I won’t be prepared for my classmates or professors. This week, I had to perform a monologue for my theater class, and I realized how much I was second-guessing myself. I was afraid of forgetting the words so much that I forgot how much I could emotionally connect to my character, Catherine, when I wasn’t stressing. Before I stood up to perform in front of my classmates, I took a deep breath and reminded myself of dependence. I depend on myself to keep calm, and I depend on myself to connect with each character I play. For those two minutes, nothing mattered to me except how much Catherine and I depended on one another to tell her story honestly.

I like to remember that there are always repercussions to the decisions I make. There is a stream of thoughts in my mind: who will be affected by my actions, am I capable of this, will I feel good about myself if I quit now. So, when I run my fifth or sixth mile, I don’t say, “It's painful, but you should run further.” I say, “You physically don’t need to stop. You can keep running.” In the end, I remind myself to trust in myself, shut off cluttering thoughts, feel the wind against my cheeks, inhale the beautiful colors of autumn, and be the strongest person I can.