It is amazing how much courage is needed to fulfill a dream where you feel inferior to others. Whenever I saw cross country girls coming in from long runs I was envious of their perfect bodies and total confidence. I wanted their determination and self-motivation to do something for themselves that would pay off later in life by setting a healthy exercise foundation. However, when cross-country started in seventh grade I was being home-schooled, so I did not join. Then in eighth grade I was caught up in the idea, and later the act, of going to China, so again I pushed running to the “later” corner of my brain.

When freshman year started I told myself I was too old to join cross country, and even if I did I would have no idea what was going on or how things were supposed to work. I also told myself I was too fat and out of shape, and that there would be no way I could join without being the mockery of the team. With the dawning of sophomore year, not much had changed. I still hadn't run over the summer, I was still twenty pounds overweight, and I still had no idea what it would be like or if people would mock me for being slow. But this year something changed as I looked inside myself and asked, “In twenty years who will be laughing?” So I got all my guts together and signed up.

During the season I was the team slowest runner on the team, the heaviest girl, and often left to run alone during practice. I was the slowest on the team, I was the heaviest girl, and often I had to run alone. Before a race coach would tell us where she would be waiting with our current time, but by the time I'd gotten there coach had already left.

However, my greatest fears slowly subsided. Instead of laughing I only heard words of encouragement, when I didn't feel like part of the team someone would give me an unexpected high-five or girls would put their arms around my shoulders as we huddled for a team pep talk or pre-race chant. My times went down and even though my weight stayed about the same, I felt better about myself. I saw something called a muscle develop in my leg and instead of hiding myself I slowly became secure enough with who I was to smile after running instead of wondering if people were scoffing at the girl who came in so close to last or wondering if they were looking at my “jello” thighs. I stopped caring what they thought, after all, who had just run the 5K?