When my daughter told me she was running in the 5th-grade track meet, memories rushed back from a time in my life when running meant everything to me.
In high school, I ran varsity and was captain of my track and cross-country teams. Running was my life.
When I ran, I felt most confident in myself. I wasn’t just the daughter of an alcoholic father or a single mom doing the best she could. I was creating my own story. Running also kept my grades up and kept me out of trouble.
I have five binders of racing stats and newspaper clips, many plaques of recognition, and too many ribbons to count. I ran all year and thrived in the 400-meter dash, competing at the Empire State Games, Junior Olympics, and the New York State Meet my junior year. It was thrilling to see my name in the newspaper each week.
But then I gave it all up.
All I wanted to be was a collegiate athlete and get a scholarship
During senior year, in the 4x400m relay at the Section III Class A Championships, I ran my best time of 60.9 seconds.
I didn’t win every race, but I believed I could earn an athletic scholarship. I started marketing myself and emailing coaches through my AOL account.
When I opened the acceptance letter with an athletic scholarship of $10,000 to run Division II at New York Institute of Technology at the Long Island campus, I jumped on the living room couch so excitedly. I had proved I could make my own dreams happen.
Once I got to college, I suddenly didn’t feel like running anymore
When I visited the NYIT campus and met the coach, I believed this was the next chapter.
But as soon as I got there, my interest in running ended. Maybe I was burned out. Maybe something changed in me.
I lost my runner’s confidence and desire to push myself to run harder. I didn’t have my family nearby or an adult or mentor to trust to give me face-to-face advice on what to do. Maybe I wondered what was beyond the rigorous drills and workouts.
I emailed the coach, telling him I didn’t have it in my heart to run anymore. I lost the scholarship, but I stayed at the college and planned to switch to the Manhattan campus the following year.
This is where the road of my life splits.
I often wonder if quitting was a mistake
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had kept running. How much longer could I have done it? What would I have won?
When I look back on my life, I think I should have at least run for another year or two.
Sometimes I daydream about the races I would have run at a collegiate level, and the places and people I could have met.
Then I think about what I would have missed out on if I kept running
I wouldn’t have lived in the on-campus dorms in Brooklyn. I wouldn’t have met my best friend in the city. I wouldn’t have pursued modeling, written a book, or started my writing career.
Although I ended up marrying the wrong person and getting divorced, I had two amazing kids who I love so much and can’t imagine not being with.
I wouldn’t have been working at a restaurant in my hometown during the summer after my freshman year, where I met my college boyfriend, who I ended up reuniting with after my divorce. We wouldn’t be sharing our lives together now.
Maybe things happen for a reason, and I’m where I’m supposed to be
When my daughter asks about my running days, I remember tying up my flats and stepping up to the starting line.
Although I don’t run competitively anymore, I still carry everything I learned as a runner with me. I learned how to pick myself up after a defeat or letdown, to have courage when I felt like the underdog, and to believe in myself despite the odds.
That’s all I want for my daughter — no matter how far she decides to run.
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