I don’t like to run, yet this past year I ran about 200-300 miles. Why? I’m actually still trying to figure that out. My whole life, I’ve been bad at sports, and cross country is no exception. I am consistently the slowest or second slowest girl on the team, never finishing races before 26 minutes. However, this is not why I hate to run. My perpetual slowness is actually one of my favorite parts of running. I never feel pressure to perform well for the benefit of the team. My race does not affect whether or not we make it to states. I only feel personal pressure, which can suck, but it can also take form in personal goals and growth.
Some of my best friends are also on the team. However this is not why I hate running. The slower people of the team have a bond, I cannot describe. We are all connected in our statistical failure. I like to think the fast people on the team aren’t as bonded as us, but alas, they probably are bonding over the plethora of victories they have, and how it feels to fly through a race in under 20 minutes.
This longing for speed is what makes me hate running. I feel myself dreading workouts because I know mine will take longer, purely because I go through it slower. I dread race days. My race will take 5-10 minutes of more pain than our average team finishing time. I dread talking about running, my “great race” of 27 minutes, which would absolutely destroy a varsity member if they had performed the same way. And although I know we are different runners, my stats, seen as bad in another runner’s eyes, will always make me feel worse than.
The first sentence of this blog was a partial lie. I love to run, but I hate it too. When I’m out of high school I will remember the friends I made, the runner’s highs I had, the amazing shape I was in, and my toned calves. I won’t remember the dread I felt in all the moments of self doubt, so maybe, just maybe, I will try to focus on it less now too.