"The one person who really believed in me was killed"

 Believe it or not, my cross country story starts back when I played softball. I was twelve years old, and one of my good friends was on my team, and her dad was the assistant coach. Of course, I happened to be a horrible player, so I didn't do much in the field. The head coach didn't really care or think much about me.

Well, my friend's dad, Buddy, (the assistant coach) pulled me aside one day and asked me, "What do you want to do on this team?" And I replied, "I want to pitch." So, he stayed after practice with me, and taught me how to pitch. He spent so much time teaching me. It really touched me, how much he cared for a clumsy 12 year old girl. He always told me to never give up. 

Buddy promised me I would get to pitch one game, but our head coach told us I wasn't good enough, despite how much effort and progress I had gotten through. Buddy told me I would get to pitch a game, no matter what it took.

A few days later, my mother pulled me aside and told me Buddy had been hit by a car and left in the road to die. I had never experienced death, so everything came rushing to me so quickly. The one person who really believed in me was killed. 

Long story short, I couldn't bring myself to play on that team anymore, and quit softball once the season was over. Middle school was coming up, and I wanted to participate in a sport. Just not softball, since it brought back bad memories and I apparently wasn't good enough. 

At Buddy's funeral, his sister told a story that brought me to tears. She said when he was born, the doctors said he would never be able to walk. Which I knew couldn't be right, because he walked perfectly whenever I saw him. Then she explained his journey to committing to practice moving his legs, and teach himself how to walk. And after that, he ran. And then he ran marathons. He overcame that obstacle, and never gave up. He was killed while out on his morning jog. 

There was a 5k held in his honor, and I, the little 12 year old, participated. I think I got last place. 

After that, I knew what sport I wanted to do. In middle school, I joined cross country, along with my very best friend, Ethan. He and I started out at the same pace, both of us were small and slow. But as we progressed, it was clear he was much faster. HE graduated middle school as our fastest runner, breaking all the records, and I was the 8th/20th fastest girl. Of course, none of us were that great. My mile time was probably around 8:30 by the end of 8th grade.

Sadly, my best friend and I split off to different high schools. My school was brand new, so we only had 15 kids on the team. For awhile, I debated whether or not it was worth it since Ethan wasn't going to be there anymore, but I decided to stick with it because it was healthy and I felt like I was going to let Buddy down if I didn't. 

So I stuck with it, and man I struggled. Remember how I was 8th fastest? Well everyone slower than me quit the team, leaving me as the slowest runner. It was hard to not quit, and be left behind everyone as they sped ahead on our trails, their bodies built for the sport. (I'm quite short legged) often I would just jog alone and feel bad, and doubt I'd ever get better. But my coach believed in me, despite how hopeless I seemed. 

I finished cross country my freshman year with a 16:04 2 mile time. Everyone on my team got their varsity jacket except me, because coach only took the top 7, and guess what? I was lucky number 8. 

It was devastating, believe it or not. Everyone knew me as the only girl who didn't get her jacket, and the only girl who didn't qualify to regionals. I had worked hard. I really thought something would've changed that season. 

Track season rolled around, and I had absolutely no motivation to do it, but my coach said I had to do it or I'd be kicked off the team. (I don't like running on the track. I feel like a hamster.) 

So I did it, I went through track season, losing meet after meet. I was always the last two or three racers. I was never in front. My teammates thought I was a waste of space. But all I wanted was to prove I was a runner, no matter my struggles. 

The third to last meet, my coach entered me in the mile run, which I had only managed to get in around 7:15. I didn't like the mile, but coach said he thought it might work today. 

I ran my hardest, and made it in 7:01. What a frustrating thing, to learn you were 2 seconds away from breaking 6. I remember my anger. 

The second to last meet, I don't know what happened, but I finished in 7:17, which made me even more frustrated. But I kept pushing. 

The last meet came, and I was no nervous. Everyone seemed so bored with me losing every time, and not being any help to the team winning. 

But I was confident. That last race, I pushed with all my strength, I used every breath of my body to push to the end. I started crying at the last 100. My teammates were screaming my name, telling me to run faster. I hadn't noticed, but I had made it to the front half. My body hurt so bad, but to see my team cheering me on brought me so much joy. I crossed the finish line, wiping my tears away as I ran to my coach. I asked if I had beaten my time. He looked at me with an upset face and said, "I'm sorry LeGrand, but you got 7:01." And I burst into tears. I really thought today was my day. 

Then my coach started laughing. "I'm just kidding , kid," He answered. "You got 6:58." I started crying harder. I hugged him, and I sprinted over to my team. I couldn't contain my happiness. I called my parents, I spent $10 on skittles, and spent the rest of the night feeling accomplished for once. 

That was my moment. That was the time I felt like all my work had been worth it, even if 6:58 isn't that good compared to some. 

I'm now training for my sophomore year of cross country. My best friend, Ethan, transferred to my school. Coach gave me the job of encouraging the slower kids, making sure no one got left behind like I did. 

I owe it all to a very special softball coach, who has inspired me to never give up.

- Anonymous