Running had never been something I was good at, let alone something I enjoyed. Prior to my Senior year of high school, I had avoided running at all costs. At this point in my life, running was probably the last thing I would ever voluntarily sign up to do. I was not good at running--I could not even run more than half a mile without stopping to walk. Despite the fact that I did not have any real athletic ability and absolutely hated running, I made a decision my Senior year of high school that would prove to truly change my perspective on life. I decided to join the cross country team.

I chose to join the team mostly in order to prove myself that I did not have to allow my heart defect to define who I am. As a newborn, I was diagnosed with left ventricle tunnel stenosis, which basically means I have a hole in my heart. In order to patch up this hole, I underwent 2 open-heart surgeries: one when I was 9-months old and another when I was 4-years old. Though the surgeries were very successful, my heart still could not support physical activity like a normally-functioning heart could. Because of this, I was never able to participate in sports, especially not ones that involved running. Even in gym class, my physical activity was limited. Though these limitations were upsetting, I was forced to accept them.

Though completing a cross country season was no easy feat, I knew it was time to stop accepting my limitations. Most nights when I got home, I would lay down in so much pain that finishing my homework was incredibly difficult. I was constantly sore and frustrated. For awhile, I felt so discouraged because I was the slowest person on the team and felt like I just couldn't improve. Meet after meet, I came in dead last. Practice after practice, most people had already finished their cool-down before I had finished the initial workout. There were countless days when it felt like my decision to run cross country was a complete waste of time. Why was I forcing myself to do something that continued to make me feel like a failure day after day?

Even though I definitely had times of doubt, the feeling of finally crossing the finish line always made my struggling worth it. I remember seeing crowds of people lining the final stretch, all cheering me on. I remember the adrenaline pumping through my body, pushing me to continue to run just a little bit longer and just a little bit faster. I remember the feeling of my pounding heart, my shaking legs, and my obnoxiously-heavy breathing. Though sometimes these feelings felt like they might never end, taking those final steps across the finish always made me remember why I ran each race in the first place: to prove to myself that I could do it, even though the world had always told me I couldn't.