# Embracing the Challenge: My Journey into Cross Country Running
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Chapter 1: The Beginning of a New Adventure
On my first day of cross country practice, I realized that runners perceive distances quite differently. The initial challenge was a five-mile run.
As a typical kid, I enjoyed video games and basketball. While I wasn't the last choice during team selections, I certainly wasn't the first pick. Now, as I stepped into high school, I faced a decision: would I embrace the life of an athlete?
So, I signed up for cross country, thinking, "How difficult can it be? Just run!" I quickly learned that running requires more than just physical effort; it demands a certain mental toughness.
The First Run
I anticipated an easy introduction to practice: some stretching, light jogging, a refreshing Gatorade, and then home.
I was mistaken.
Our coach instructed us to begin with a mile warm-up. For me, a mile felt like an insurmountable challenge—a form of punishment. Yet, in cross country, a mile is merely the start. I tried to maintain my composure, but my heavy breathing and sweat gave away my struggle.
When the coach asked about my condition, I forced a smile and replied, “Not bad.” He could see through my bravado; I was a novice, fresh to the sport. He reassured me, “Take it easy today—just five.”
Wait, what?
Five?
Five miles?
I had never tackled two miles, let alone five. But this was high school—this was my moment. To my surprise, I found myself feeling better than expected.
Chapter 2: The Route
Having grown up near the coast, our high school was a mere two miles from the beach. The run was straightforward: head down to the shore, jog along the strand for half a mile to the pier, and then return.
Simple enough, right?
That’s what my teammates’ cheerful expressions suggested. As we started, I felt a surge of speed and confidence with each stride.
But that was an illusion.
The route to the pier was a gentle downhill slope. However, once I reached the strand, the flat terrain brought my confidence crashing down. I was exhausted. Upon reaching the pier, I raised my arms in celebration, only to realize I was merely halfway through the run.
The Return Journey
The return trip is a blur in my memory.
Pain.
Walking.
At that moment, I felt embarrassed to be walking, but in hindsight, I take pride in having made it back at all. I had covered more ground than I ever had before.
When my parents arrived to pick me up, I limped toward the car, feeling utterly spent.
Once home, I collapsed onto the couch, not moving for hours. The soreness was unlike anything I had experienced before.
I had never felt more exhausted.
Yet, I also felt an exhilarating joy—my legs and feet had traversed five miles without any assistance.
Six, if you count the warm-up.
From that day forward, my perception of miles would forever change.
