At the line of a cross country race, everything is as still as a picture. All runners stand posed, frozen in time, ready to burst forth onto the course ahead. The whisper of the wind in the trees and the solitary cheer from a coach are the only reminders that this moment is real. As the starter fires the gun, we shoot off like arrows from an archer. My feet know their job, but my mind is unsure. Move up to Leslye, no, stay back and save energy. Don’t let her pass you. I push these thoughts away like pesky mosquitoes, but it’s not long before they’re back for blood. You can’t do this, they buzz in my ear, you’re slowing down too much. I do my best to ignore them but soon it feels as if they’re swarming my head. I push my legs through the last half mile and cross the finish with everything I’ve got left, but it still doesn’t feel like enough. After catching my breath I swat away the negative thoughts, yet I can’t help but feel the mark they’ve left on me, their negativity draining my energy and leaving me feeling defeated.

So far my cross country season has been pretty consistent. My race times have all been similar to past seasons, I haven't encountered any serious injuries, and I’ve been putting in effort during practices and workouts. Even my smelly, worn out running shoes know how hard I’ve been working. Yet I can’t help but wonder; why aren’t I getting faster? Why am I not satisfied? I was ready to admit defeat and settle for another average season until I stumbled across an article about the importance of mental health on runners. I took this article to heart and changed my thinking as I ran.

A few weeks later I was on the line again. I knew there were going to be mosquitoes on this course, but I had sprayed my bug spray and I was ready. When the gun went off, I knew exactly what to do. You can do this, you can do this, I repeated to myself. I pumped my legs and took deep breaths. The cheers from my coach and teammates pushed me through the first mile. Not long after though, I could sense the presence of a mosquito. You’re feeling pretty tired right now, it tried to convince me. There’s no way you can pass that girl in front of you, another one chimed. Instead of letting them suck my blood, I furiously batted them away. I am tired but I can still pump my arms, I told myself. Who cares about that girl in front of you, run YOUR race. Going into the third mile I was discovering the impact of repealing the mosquitos. Not only had I passed several runners, I felt like I was flying. By the time the last straight away came into sight, my mind and my body were on the same track. You’re almost there, give it your all these last few seconds, my mind cheered me on, so I did. I flew past another runner and into the shoot. After seeing my time I smiled, knowing that not only had I just achieved a new personal best, I had also made it through the race without any mosquito bites.

Non Runners often do not understand how tough cross country is. It’s much more than 3 miles or 20 minutes. It’s even more than the miles we put in for months beforehand or the food we devour. Running a race is both physically tough and mentally exhausting. I’ve learned how to push through the pain. I’ve learned to accept the bad days, rejoice in the good days, and never give up. I’ve learned I am strong. I am fast. I am capable of destroying any mosquito that tries to take me down.