“Heat 1, lane 4, from Sandburg, Nichols. Take your marks.” Okay, stay loose, you got this. Stretch a little, jump a little. Get down, one knee on the ground, one knee to chest, feet fully on the blocks. “Set!” Get up, keep your back flat, head down, eyes forward. BANG! The wind whipping through my ponytail, my arms pumping as hard as possible, my feet pounding on the ground, my bones aching but I keep moving, progressing, running.

When I was a child, I used to run wild for hours, and I never grew tired. My mother told me she was amazed by my endurance. I would come home from school, drop off my backpack, hug her, and I wouldn't return until the street lights called me home. Now, I am 19, and I competed on Varsity Track and Field for 5 years. Although I am no longer competing, running will always be a huge part of my life.

When I tell people that I run, I am usually combated with “Why?”, “Running is awful!”, or my favorite “How could you possibly think running is fun?” My explanation is simple: running allows me to be free. It is a pure jolt of energy as I push off the blocks, and the adrenaline that accompanies the race is addictive. Running unifies all of the atoms in my body to become one single, fluid motion and everything becomes right with the world. It is a conduit for peace of mind. I run when I feel anything- anxious, upset, stressed, or even happy. Running allows me to center myself when I have lost control, or to lose control when I am too tightly wound. Running is my escape from reality, it is my transportation to a safe haven.

On October 7th, 2013, I had one of the best runs of my life. It wasn't the best because I won a competition, it was the best because it was the most fulfilling and rejuvenating run I have had. That night, my world crumpled because I discovered my parents were getting a divorce. I couldn't contain all of the grief, sadness, and anger that was swelling inside me, so I grabbed my Nikes and headed out. I didn't come back until the sun kissed me good night. I ran every meter of my neighborhood, but I struggled. My breath was shaky and unstable because of my tears. Moving my arms to make my legs function, one foot in front of the other, as fast as I could carry myself away from the life I once knew. This can't be happening, it's just a nightmare, wake up, wake up, wake up! But I didn't wake up. It wasn't a dream, it was real. This was really happening, and it hurt like hell. So I ran. Down the sidewalks, around the cul-de-sacs, across the streets, over hills, and I did not stop until my tears subsided. My breath finally caught up to my body, and I limped to my old home- it's broken now, no longer mine- to where my mom and brother awaited me, and we left.

I run to feel something that I cannot find anywhere else. I run because it is my savior. I run to run.