Running: a Family, a Love, And More Than Just a Sport

Growing up, I knew that I was destined to be a runner. My mom was a runner in high school, and she wanted me to be everything she wasn’t. She had and still does have such a passion for running, and in a way, she wanted to share that passion with me. 

Since the age of five (yes five) my mother had already had her eyes set on me becoming a distance runner. Over the summer in my town there was a track camp that was run by the high school athletes. Anyone from kindergarten to the age of 12 could go, and of course I was expected to go. My mom wanted me to love it, but the truth was that I hated it. I dreaded wasting my summer away to go run 3 times a week in the blazing hot sun for 2 hours. But I stayed with it anyway. I ran every summer until I was 12, and when I was in 7th grade, I joined cross country and track. There was no question of whether I wanted to or not, I had to, I was expected to.

Flash back to when I was eight years old, and my little brother had joined soccer. I saw how happy he was. I wanted to be happy. I didn’t want to be pushed into doing a sport that I didn’t love. So I joined rec soccer and I too adored it. As the years went by, my passion for soccer grew. I had joined a travel team at nine, and at 10, I joined an elite club. I was good, but not good enough. I barely ever played, and I started to hate playing soccer. Everyone made me feel so small, and untalented, and the girls on my team were some of the meanest people I’d ever met. At 12, I went back to my town’s travel team, but at this point I was also on modified xc and track. 

I remember the summer before 7th grade XC. My mom want me to be amazing. Because of this, she pushed me to run everyday over the summer. Being an avid runner herself, the workouts we did were very intense. Mid way through the summer I had tendinitis in both ankles. I couldn’t walk without limping and I saw all my hard work go to waste. 7th grade began and I was just recovering from my injury, but I was out of shape. I hated running, I despised every piece of it. I hated my mother for making me do it, and I hated the people on my team. 

The first time I ever loved running was my 8th grade indoor season. The high school coach had brought me and a few others up to varsity to train because we passed the fitness test and wanted to stay in shape for the spring. I was put in a group with two girls who were juniors at the time, and who were also best friends. I ran with them, and everyday they were nice to me. They asked me how my day was and we just would talk. Even the coaches were accommodating and supportive. I had never thought I would make so many friends in a sport, since, in soccer, everyone seemed to hate each other. I was friends with the other eighth graders that had moved up too. We would go get lunch and hang out at school. Never once had I believed I would ever be friends with those girls, but our shared pain and passion had brought us together.

Going back to modified in the spring was tough because all I wanted to do was be with my high school friends, and the other 8th graders had stayed at the HS level. I quit soccer for good that spring and focused on running. The distance group was always small, so I tried to be nice to the 7th graders like the high schoolers had been to me. I wanted them to stay with track and motivate them to find a love in it. 

Once I got to high school XC, it was insanely more difficult then anything we did at modified, but I knew lots of people already from indoor which also made high school itself easier. The friendships I made were like no other. I genuinely cared about my team mates. They were my best friends, and the only people I trusted. We went through everything together; hard workouts, relationships, and everything else. I realized that these people also cared for me too. I had friends from school, yeah, but they were nothing like my running friends, my real, true friends. 

I don’t regret becoming a runner. I love it. It was a rough start for me, and it took me a while to come around. People will call me crazy, and yeah, I am. Who else would go out in the freezing snow and run? Who else would sprint up a hill in 90 degree weather and sweat? Who else would watch their family; their sisters, fall, and bleed, and cry, and wheeze, for a sport that, to some is meaningless? I would. I’m a part of a family. A psychotic, crazy, insane family of people who love, support, care, and never give up, never fail you, and always make sure you’re doing okay. I love my family to a point that can’t even describe. I wouldn’t be where I am without them. Thank you mom, thank you coaches, thank you to my best friends and family all in one. But most of all, thank you to the sport that challenges me everyday to be a better runner and a better person.

- Anonymous