I look out the window and see a massive statue of a man before this monumental occasion. As I stepped out, I read his epitaph: Jesse Owens, the greatest American Olympic runner. I’m at the Jesse Owens Memorial Stadium for the Ohio Track & Field State Championships, and I’m here for the mile run. 17 others and I line up at the starting line, the gun goes up, and... BANG! But let's not start here. Let's start before the mile-long races and the mile-high dreams.

After my brother became one of only three middle schoolers in our cities history to break 5 minutes in the mile and broke several other school records, I thought, "Huh. Running might be my thing too." At first, I was bad. Really bad. My first race was a two-mile course that I ‘finished’ in 18:02. Looking back, that time seems unbearably slow, but now, it makes sense; I was short and chubby and had no idea what I was doing. I had no discipline or motivation, training structure, or anyone to keep me accountable. Regardless, through middle school, I saw slight improvements through undemanding training, but I did not see major results until some major changes in high school.

I found myself at the bottom, with no expectations other than my brother being the fastest on the team. I began taking the strenuous practice more seriously and trained with faster runners. This resulted in drastic improvements: nearly a minute dropped in my mile personal best during my freshman year. Fast forward three years, countless miles, endless workouts, hours in the weight room, and multiple setbacks, including a global pandemic, and you get a 4:28 time and the fastest kid on his team. Time has lent me perspective on the discipline and routine that running has taught me, which have carried me through high school, beyond running. I obviously wasn't naturally talented at the sport like my brother and other runners, but I learned and drew motivation from them—motivation that allowed me to become the best, as no one was going to outwork me or my ethic.