My greatest accomplishments are the ones least impressive on paper: Recognition as the Cross Country “Most Improved” Runner two years in a row, meaning that by the end of my second year, I had still that much room to improve. I can run ten miles at “grandpa jog” pace without stopping, and I’ve taken off more than ten minutes from my three mile race times. By now, it’s played such a big part in my development, I want to continue running in college any way I can.

   However, like most people, I hate failure. It angers me, and makes me question whether I’m working hard enough. With each new race time accomplished, nothing I run has ever been considered competitive. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve come a long way. Yet, I’ve never broken twenty minutes for a three mile course, which would be varsity status. That’s the sad truth – I’ve never reached the average varsity cutoff point, after running for four years. “Good enough” is what I’ve become. Yet, that in no way stops me from sweating at practice, being nervous before every race, shedding tears, and throwing up afterwards. But why? Why continue if I know I’ll never truly be great, after trying so hard?

   My best friend, a naturally gifted runner, even quit the team because she could succeed in other sports, instead of hoping to be great at cross country. So much pain, for so little reward. Cross country is all about pushing yourself past your limit and surviving, and during races, your muscles hurt in unimaginable ways. It is common scientific knowledge that the breakdown of muscle tissue causes it to grow. This has been an essential part of my training: I am a muscle. However, part of my journey has been yielding dreams of being an “athlete.” As my friend stated, there are simpler and less demanding ways to exercise. I trained in the off-season, ran six days a week and even took several “ice baths.” I improved, but to me that wasn’t the same as being an excellent, varsity runner.

   The only discernible reason I have for doing this ridiculous sport is something my coach has us cheer together at the end of each practice: “Pride!” After mentally collapsing and being physically strained by every workout and result, something finally clicked. Cross country unites people all over the world because of all runners’ commonality. We all cheer for each other on different teams, because we know how it feels. The only way you’re judged, I’ve found out, is by how much you push what you’ve been given: a pace, an opponent, or a naturally unathletic build. Even though the quest for record-setting greatness calls others, I act as though I am flying down that trail too. I can say as a senior that, now, I truly love running, and there is nothing about it I would go back and change. I’ve done the best I can. I think my old coach would’ve been proud. She had faith in a 13-year old, 140 lb. freshman who had never run less than a nine minute mile in her life. I will always be thankful to her.

   There is value in mediocrity: it brings the opportunity to have integrity. It allows you to accept what you cannot change and pursue the greatest self you can be. It is inevitable in life. We are never good at everything – that goes against being human. I hope to go on to medical school, where useful results are rare and ultimately replaceable in a few years. Looking on, as I prepare to graduate, I could never leave behind the community and mentality running has given me. I want to see how many times I can be “Most Improved,” at whatever comes down my trail, because it’s mine to run.