It was the most painful splash I’ve ever experienced and I was bruised for a couple days on my arms and legs from landing wrong, but my pride was saved and I conquered something I was terrified to do.
This
was the exact feeling I had 10 months ago when I boarded a plane with a one way
ticket from Washington to New Mexico. I was terrified to be moving 1,512 miles away
from my family, my high school sweetheart, the mountains and my old team. The
fear of a new culture, living on my own, going to school, and getting my butt massively
kicked by women who were way better athletes than I was almost paralyzed me. But
I had to do it. I had to move across the country and follow my dream to be a
college athlete. Nothing else was or is as important as following that dream.
So I took a step up to the ledge and flung myself over.
No one had told me that we would have practice three times a day. A 6 mile run in the morning at 6 am, speed workouts in the afternoon at 3pm and weightlifting in the evening from 5-6pm. The miles racked up and every Monday I would end up running 13-15 miles depending on the workout. My booty wasn’t just massively kicked. It was kicked, chopped, cooked and then served back to me like a tenderized steak by every single teammate who was faster than I was. I started to think that my dream of running cross country and track collegiately was some masochist desire that needed to be treated with intensive therapy and counselling. Those first couple months until I really transitioned from a high school athlete to a college athlete were pretty darn rough. There were mornings I would run until my feet would bleed and then slap on all the Band-Aids, gauze and blister cream before going to class and then running all over again in the afternoon. I questioned every desire I ever had to be a runner. In the evenings when my roommate would go out and I was stuck lying in bed trying to soothe my destroyed muscles, I would look at my pile of running shoes and curse Nike, Asics, Altra, Hooka, Adidas, and every other running company I knew for contributing to this sport and thus ruining my life.
No one had told me that we would have practice three times a day. A 6 mile run in the morning at 6 am, speed workouts in the afternoon at 3pm and weightlifting in the evening from 5-6pm. The miles racked up and every Monday I would end up running 13-15 miles depending on the workout. My booty wasn’t just massively kicked. It was kicked, chopped, cooked and then served back to me like a tenderized steak by every single teammate who was faster than I was. I started to think that my dream of running cross country and track collegiately was some masochist desire that needed to be treated with intensive therapy and counselling. Those first couple months until I really transitioned from a high school athlete to a college athlete were pretty darn rough. There were mornings I would run until my feet would bleed and then slap on all the Band-Aids, gauze and blister cream before going to class and then running all over again in the afternoon. I questioned every desire I ever had to be a runner. In the evenings when my roommate would go out and I was stuck lying in bed trying to soothe my destroyed muscles, I would look at my pile of running shoes and curse Nike, Asics, Altra, Hooka, Adidas, and every other running company I knew for contributing to this sport and thus ruining my life.
Don’t let me fool you, even though I was suffering to the extreme, I still loved every minute of it. I look back on those first couple months and don’t regret any mile. But I’m not going to sugar coat anything, becoming a college athlete really stunk. Every day I thought I was going to die as my coach and teammates pushed me to my physical limits. Since those first months I have gone on to race for the XC LSC Championships in Texas where our team placed second, and in the NCAA Division II South Regional Championships in Colorado as the only freshman on the team. Sadly my track season wasn’t as exciting, I ran two races, both with subpar results as I struggled with a tibial stress fracture. However I became stronger than I’ve ever been and learned more about myself as an athlete than I ever have.
Coming to a realization the second semester of my freshman year, I knew I needed to transfer. I was unhappy, lonely, and constantly in GI distress from the ridiculously spicy food New Mexican’s love to eat. Seriously guys, hot chili peppers create loads of problems during long runs! I needed to go back to what was familiar where I would receive more support and feel more comfortable to live the PNW lifestyle I was so used to. After months of fear I decided to take another leap into the unknown and received permission to transfer to Central Washington University to run for the team and study pre-medicine. I am so grateful for the friendships and teammates I have made down South; as bittersweet as it is to be leaving them I am ecstatic to remain true to myself and move cross country yet again in pursuit of my athletic career and dreams.
As I prepare for my 13 hour flight back home in two days I now know that sometimes we have to do crazy, stupid things to chase down our dreams. I’ve always believed that if you want something you must go after it. No one is going to give you what you want except yourself. NO MATTER how terrifying this is, you absolutely have to take that step off that cliff, fling yourself into the unknown and make your life happen. We either have to choose to run our life or let our life run us. And since life isn’t stopping, I’d rather race alongside it. It’s idiotic to let fear stop you from accomplishing your biggest dreams and ambitions. Even if you get bumped and bruised along the way, every step and mile toward your goals are worth it. Because after all, there is no finish line.
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