Soon, however, I got the hang of it. And though I wasn't the fastest,
or the strongest,
or the amazing-est,
I could finish a race.
My dad supported me 100%. He was at nearly every meet, standing on the sidelines cheering me on, and taking about a thousand pictures of me with his gigantic camera.
He even paid for some excellent shoes that supported my feet and relieved my shin splints.
Now that it's been over a year since I've participated in this sport, I realize just how much I miss it. Running on my own just isn't the same. There's no one to push me but me. But I like to pretend that as soon as I round that next corner, my friends will all be waiting there screaming, yelling, clapping; telling me not to give up, to keep on going, that I can do this.
I learned so many valuable lessons as a runner. Lessons that I can apply to all aspects of my life, not just when I lace up my shoes and begin the run. I learned to push myself harder than I ever have before, I learned that if it's my best it's good enough, and that if I keep going even when it hurts, it will be worth it in the end. Oh how I miss being a part of this sport! It had such a huge impact on my life and it's a time I will never forget.