I was a sophomore in high school and I had just finished a 5K race in the exact same amount of time as the year before.
I was devastated.
I was an anxious high school student, and nothing scared me more than failing.
So I overcompensated by throwing myself, fully and completely, into whatever I did, letting it consume me. I had a 4.0 GPA and stayed out of trouble. I was a good kid.
Nothing ever made me feel as absolutely beautiful as running did. I liked that I always surprised people when they watched me run, with my uneven legs and unsteady gait. Hearing my coach say I was good for the first time made me feel amazing. After that, I would do anything to keep being good.
I refused to rest. The summer before my sophomore year I ran so hard to guarantee my spot on varsity, I gave myself shin splints. I wore neon blue compression socks and carried a bottle of Tylenol around with me not knowing my unrelenting dedication was only making things worse.
Still, it surprised me when my times in races started to plateau and I stopped getting better. I felt so disappointed and angry with myself. I truly didn’t realize what I was doing wrong.
My hobby began to feel like a punishment once I stopped improving. I’d do anything to fix it except take a break. School was the second most-important thing to me after running, and when I didn’t do as well as I wanted in cross country, I pushed myself to do better in my classes to make up for it. It was a grueling cycle that was both physically and emotionally exhausting.
All at once I realized that I didn’t want to be good. I wanted to be perfect. But how could I be? I was a 16- year-old girl.
This sudden realization made me step back and evaluate my relationship with running and everything else in my life.
After that, I stopped taking everything so seriously. I started appreciating that the mistakes I made improved my quality of life so much. I continued to do well as an athlete and a student, but I no longer cared about being at the top of my class or whether I was going to compete in big championships.
Instead, I found new hobbies and started having fun with them rather than making everything a challenge.
And finally, I was able to rest.
Knowing your own limitations and appreciating them is hard but worth it. I’m now in a place where I’m not just unafraid of failing, but I’m loving it and everything that it teaches me.