"I will always be a runner and I will always continue to work"

The crumpled figure of a scrawny freshman, down on his hands and knees, shuddering. Tears running down his face, dripping into the mud. He finished four minutes before, and a senior from another school he's never met sits down beside him in the mud and puts his arm around him.

"Listen man, it's okay, what grade are you in?" The senior says consolingly.

"A freshman." He replied, choking back sobs.

"Only a freshman? Listen man, I'm a senior, this is my last shot and I blew it. You've got three more years yet, you're gonna do great things."

I was the freshman, crumpled in the mud at regionals. I didn't run over the summer, I was the fourth or fifth guy on my team, I'd only run an 18:50 and I didn't even qualify individually out of Districts, my team carried me to regionals. I had no reason to believe I'd make state, but it was my dream and it broke my heart not to achieve it.

Today, on October 29th, 2016, I became that senior who I never knew.

It was the first year I'd ever been confident I'd qualify on. With a 16:32 at Districts, I would easily finish between 10th and 15th in the region. On the starting line I felt great, absolutely confident and fresh. The only thing that could stop me from qualifying was an absolute catastrophe.

I was faced with an absolute catastrophe. We line up in box 1 and the gun goes off. We have a straight shot down the tree line, perfectly positioned. I surge the first seven seconds and get exactly where I need to, in 20th place, planning to pass people in the latter half of the race.

Not a full 600 meters in and the catastrophe strikes. Rounding the first right turn on the course, I get bumped into a cone. In an attempt to avoid being DQ'd, I leap to the left almost out of instinct, causing a fair amount of bumping. As I land and take my next stride, someone clips my heel and I go down. I don't remember getting the spike wounds that are on my back, nor the one running along my neck. All I remember is ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty people passing me before I can manage to get back to my feet in the crowd. I'd only tripped once in my entire career before that race.

The next two miles were a blur and I made up almost forty spots, but that doesn't matter when you're trying to qualify on individually, as well as with your team. When 24 people get out, 25th means as much as last. When 6 teams get out, 7th means as much as last, (or 11th in our case).

I crossed the finish line mirroring my freshman self, collapsed, sobbing. It wasn't fair, I was one of the top competitors in the field and I'd worked for that race for four years, and it fell apart. There was no chance at redemption, I never ran at the state meet.

This sounds like an awful story, and I believed it to be. I wanted to scream at God, at the world, at nothing. There was nobody to blame, I couldn't have raced harder and I can't change what happened. But I do not regret what happened.

"I don't know why God didn't let me qualify to state, it makes no sense, but I'm not giving up. I will never run at state, but there's always one more race. Today's race at Pickerington Regionals will not defeat me, will not destroy me. When all seems lost and everything you've worked for crumbles, find a reason to fight another day. This race does not define me and I will never run at the state cross country meet, but I will always be a runner and I will continue to work, until one day it finally pays off, because that's how winning is done. By persevering through failure. Thank you God for not giving me success today, in the event I may not work for something greater tomorrow.

- @qhuggett ( Quinton Huggett )