(Continued from this post.)
At my first cross country practice, I was the second-to-last person on the team to finish the route.
I was tired, I was aching, I was... hooked. As I gasped for breath and glanced around at my new teammates during cool down, I knew two things: first, I had a lot of room to improve in the season ahead, and second, I really wanted to do it. I was used to lacking natural talent for athletics, but I had not felt motivated to become less bad at a physical activity since the heyday of my dance career. Running solely for the pleasure of it (and not, for example, to flee from an angry alligator in a bayou) no longer seemed like such a ridiculous thing, and I very much wanted to be a part of the easy camaraderie that was obvious among the girls.
Sure enough, run after run, week after week, I got stronger and faster. And there is no rush like stepping up to the starting line of a race, tingling with adrenaline and anticipation about the course to come. I wish I could say that I worked my way from back-of-the-pack to front runner, but I was mid-pack even at my best. (Although did score points for my team once when a poorly marked trail caused the fastest girls on both teams to take a wrong turn.) My pace was strong and consistent though, and more importantly, it was through cross country that I realized my ability to do hard things.
In addition to an appreciation for running and a confidence boost, the cross country team also gave me a very dear lifelong friend. I admired Allison from my first track season, as she was a stand-out runner as well as funny and kind. We grew close during cross country and eventually served as co-captains together our senior year. It was the perfect ending to high school.
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