It always began the same way: at the finish line. For every one of my races I began where I would end. Throughout my running career I must have started at the finish line a hundred times. Once the tennis shoes came off and the spikes went on, I was a different person. Once I hit the track, my esteem soared. Once I came out of the blocks, I was focused on the finish line.
I never thought much of it, but I always got the same feeling. At practice it was just running and training; a routine I had to do every day. There were no nerves, no weak stomach, and no ruthless thoughts that consumed my every move. This all came the morning of, the hour before, and the minutes waiting to race. My dad used to tell me that nerves were adrenaline; that they were going to help me and it was normal that I felt nauseous, light headed, and weak. The truth is I never believed him. I wanted to, but I was too pessimistic. The only thing I knew was that I could run, but I was not the best and I was not the fastest. Every time I ran, however, I was amazed at seeing my body transform. There is nothing like knowing what your body is capable of. Every race was a challenge. Every second was an accomplishment. Every day was a new chance to become better.
It was hot and it was humid. It hadn’t started out that way, but by noon the sun was strong and sweat was working its way down my body. The heat, however, was nice. It was overbearing, but it was welcoming. The sun always made me feel more alive and helped to give me a sense of purpose. I was sitting in anticipation of a call to tell me to get up. As I waited, I fumbled to tie my spikes with rigid fingers. My spikes were blue, bright blue, and yellow. They had started to conform to my feet and once I put them on, I felt light as a feather. Most of all I felt fast. Somehow these shoes gave me confidence. I was nervous though. My stomach was sick and I was sure I was going to throw up. The thoughts began to come, as they always did. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t run. What if I fell? What if I tripped? What if I let my team down? There were too many thoughts going through my mind and I believed every single one of them. I would fail and I would make a fool out of myself. There was no way I could even get up. So, finishing my last double knot, I stood up. I made sure my legs worked and started to stretch slowly. It was easy in the heat to stretch my muscles because they were already warm. I put off going over to my team as long as I could until I heard a shout and realized it was time. I slowly made my way over to my team and didn’t say a word. I wanted to apologize and tell them I was sorry for letting them down, but I couldn’t. My throat was so dry and I wasn’t even paying attention now. I was somewhere else. It was another routine and my feet knew what to do and where to take me. I was out of my body and overcome with nausea and weakness. We started to walk forward to the starting line and we all went our separate ways. I was alone now. There was no turning back, I had to do it. I stepped onto the track and was immediately overcome with more nausea. I was beyond nervous and I was sure I was going to faint. I patiently took my place and prepared myself to run. I hit my legs, jumped a few times, touched my toes, and said a silent prayer. I looked back at the finish line just in time to watch the gun raise and fire. I jumped and suddenly froze in place as my teammate ran toward me, fast. I couldn’t run that fast. I couldn’t even make my legs move. I wanted to sit down, walk away; I wanted to do anything but run this race.
I said a silent apology to my team as she closed in. When she was just a couple feet behind me, I took off and reached back toward her. I grabbed the baton and took off. I couldn’t do it.
That was my last thought, “I couldn’t do it.” I thought nothing, absolutely nothing for the two hundred meters I ran. My legs carried me and my arms moved, but I didn’t think a single thought. It was over within 27 seconds and I was back where I had started: at the finish line. I gasped for air and my vision blurred. My legs were giving out and I wanted to sit down, but I couldn’t. I had to regain my breath. I sucked in air, grabbed at my chest, and watched as my vision cleared. The race was almost over and my team was in first place. Somehow I immediately became animated. I raced to the edge of the track and screamed with all I had left. I watched as she crossed the finish line, in first place.
If it’s one thing that I learned from that day it is to never underestimate yourself. Every morning is the beginning of a race and the chance to face your fears. I learned that during every race, I overcame a fear; the fear that consumed my mentality and made me think that I was going to fail. At that moment, before each race, I had to push through my fear of failure. I dreaded the time before a race, but after I was done, I was ready to go again. I hated it, but I would do it again in a heartbeat. Fear is a powerful feeling and often comes in many different forms. What I didn’t realize was that I overcame a fear every day and once you overcome a fear, you’re ready to go back and do it again. The feeling after you conquer a fear is exhilarating and addicting. Even though I knew the feeling I would get before every race I ran, I finished, and I overcame my fear of failure.
