There was a place where I was content; a place where I found serenity in fearlessly sailing through the air as my arms become propellers, thinning the atmosphere. I lived for the surge of adrenaline that rushed through my veins like an electric current, and I basked in the feeling of the cool gold medal touching my skin, sending shivers through my black and blue battle scars. When I looked into the crowd, my heart executed a flawless triple jump as my dad leaped from the stands to congratulate me. His smile was contagious and there was an unspoken acknowledgment that we were certain I made the right decision.
I made one of the toughest decisions of my life when I decided to leave behind basketball (after playing for eight years) and try something I had never done before: track and field. There was something about the unknown that beckoned me to track. For one thing, I had never tried it before, so it was all extremely foreign. I had grown up in a family fixated on sports, especially basketball. As a sophomore, I was going to be the starting center on the varsity team and my dad never failed to remind me that my hard work spent on the court would pay off. But behind the two hour practices, the convoluted plays, and the championship trophies lining my bedroom walls, my heart still felt empty. Apprehensive and unsure I was making the right decision, I decided to do the unthinkable: I jumped.
When I first started track and field and joined "the jump squad" (the small group of athletes that give life to the "field" part of track), I was both lost and revitalized. A sense of freedom electrified my soul because as a perfectionist who always strived to succeed, this was the one thing I had not yet perfected. During the first few weeks of winter track, I was haunted by the piercing feeling of the bar colliding with my spine while trying to learn how to high jump. I was forced to hold my head high after humiliatingly falling on the runway during my first ever triple jump at a novice meet. But I knew I had to prove to my parents, friends, and basketball coach who all believed I made the wrong decision that track was where I belonged. So I decided the best way to do this was to persevere through adversity for myself, not for anyone else.
A feeling of tranquility washed over me during spring track of my junior year of high school when I became the state sectional champion for triple jump. It marked the day I truly let go of basketball and realized I had found my home on the track. There is genuine beauty in being called an underdog, but his beauty radiates when the underdog defies everyone, including rankings because I was expected to come in 7th. I was not defined by gold medals, pristine plaques, and newspaper clippings, but instead made up of faded bruises, moments of adversity, and the unwavering strength to overcome them. When I jumped, I harnessed that feeling of serenity.
Today, as a freshman in college who made the decision to not continue track, I will admit that there are days when I miss it. But most of the time, it never crosses my mind. Evidently, life is always changing. You transition into different stages and seamlessly move on from the things that once defined your past. Looking back on those four years, I can say that I am thankful for the lasting impact track and field has had on my growth as a person. Now I know that with whatever I do in life, I will always remember that sometimes taking an extraordinary leap is fearless.
