It was a scorching day in the end of August. Time blazed faster than a forest fire consuming everything in sight yet remained encapsulated within the frozen water I struggled to drink. A grassy smell accompanied a salty taste in my mouth and I had just spent the past two days shooting goals and running around soccer fields to see if I could make the high school soccer team. Running for the season’s fitness decreased my confidence every time that summer since I was always last to finish. I felt satisfied with my performance after two long days of scampering around a blistering soccer field resulting in muscle cramps, mild dehydration, soreness and fatigue, but then the coach pulled two other kids along with me aside. Suddenly, my palms sweated as my chest sunk into a deep abyss of realization and horror. The soccer coach looked me in the eyes with nearly no emotion and stated, “You’ve worked extremely hard this week but there were a lot of kids who tried out for the team this year. I’m sorry to say this but we have to cut you three off the team due to a lack of space.”

I did not expect to cry being the “tough” freshman I was. As I silently marched home, I held in the built up emotions the disappointment brought me. I, resembling many upset teenagers, went straight to my room where I would isolate myself and then release my tears. I remained in there for a couple hours before inevitably coming out to consume large amounts of food then progressing on the school work I was behind schedule on. While “occupied” with my school drudgery, I decided I would go to the athletic director to see if there was anything else I could do. I attended Boy Scout meetings on Friday evenings and marching band rehearsals were on Tuesday and Thursday evenings but I sought after something to do right after school that would at least allow me to have some physical activity.

The next day the athletic director provided me a quick rundown of a sport called cross country. Initially, when I heard all they did was run miles, I was hesitant to join so I travelled home. After pondering over the decision that day, I finally decided I would join and just abandon the team if I disliked it. As expected, I absolutely resented it the first day. The coach had the team run up and down an enormous hill for nearly an hour. It seemed to have little consequences on the bodies of the other athletes while my legs were burning and I felt a painful squeezing sensation. At the time, I failed to realize the other kids had practiced for a week and ran throughout the summer since all I could to think about was that my lungs felt like dirty engines about to breakdown. Although I was a slower runner on the team and I loathed practicing, I told myself I would stay through the end of the season; I ended up staying for the rest of high school.

Cross country has had a large effect on my high school career. I had a greater desire to become a better runner than to try out for soccer again due to all the hard work I had already put in. I will never forget finishing my first five kilometer race and finishing in over 26 minutes. At that point, I felt accomplished for finishing without walking. By the time my junior year season ended, I could finish a five kilometer race in less than 19.5 minutes and earned a spot on varsity. I have gained many friends and many invaluable experiences from cross country. Most significantly, I have begun to understand there is a place for everyone if they work hard enough to achieve their goals.