After 14 years of playing a variety of different sports, by freshman year of high school I thought that I was all tapped out. I had tried a bunch of things but none of them stuck, nothing made me want to push myself to try harder, nothing gave me the feeling that everyone else seemed to get -- that excited high when they scored a winning point or won the championship game. I decided that sports were not for me and I would explore other things. Unfortunately, or so I thought at the time, my parents did not agree with this philosophy of mine. I was to play a sport or get a job, and as my 14 year old self saw the latter as pretty much the end of the world, I decided to follow in my older sisters footsteps and run track. I thought that I would be fine- running was easy, every sport I had played in the past required it, so there was no need to worry, but on the first day of practice I was in for a reality check.
The first thing we did on the first day of practice was a 20 minute "warm up" run. After about five minutes, I realized running was not nearly as easy as I thought It was. After struggling through the warm up, we did a workout, something simple, they said, a 4x800 workout. Once we were about 30 seconds into the first 800, as I was (what felt like) sprinting to keep up with the slowest runner besides myself and tasting what in my mind could only be the taste of my own blood, I decided I was going to quit. When I woke up the next morning, barely able to stand because I was so sore, I told my parents I was sorry but track was not for me, but they reminded me of the commitment I made and suggested I give it a little more time, so reluctantly, I did. After struggling for the first few months due to how out of shape I was, when I reached the starting line of one of the last races of the season, something felt different. I was no longer sore after every practice and I was able to make it through more than thirty seconds of running without feeling like death was upon me. Although I was certainly not good at running by this point, I was improving, and more importantly, I was enjoying it. I was starting to understand that high everyone talked about really was.
Fast forward to my senior year, after four years of ups and downs, (including being the first person to throw up on Lehigh University's brand new track), 11 seasons of track/cross country, I was on the starting line of the last race of my high school running career. Although I was still by no means "good" at running at this point, I was certainly better than I was four years ago. Running became something I loved, a drug which I could never get enough. I wanted to do well, I wanted to push myself, and I wanted to win. For the first time I understood what that "high" feeling really was and it was nothing I had ever experienced before.
