2 years ago, I joined cross country. I can’t imagine life before I joined–life without running. Running through the blistering heat, with sweat pooled at the bottom of my neck and down my arms and legs. And I can’t imagine life without water. After every run, when my legs are buckling and my arms are sore, I reach for my gallon. My coach drilled into my team that we needed to bring a gallon of water with us to school everyday. Truthfully, at first, I thought it was a lot–just entirely too much. But eventually, I got used to it, because our mileage went up and so did my thirst. It was funny because I’d say hi to my teammates in the hall, and anyone could tell us apart within a crowd because of our sports bags and gallons. My coach jokes that all the staff at schools know who’s on cross country because we’re always holding water. Eventually, every other sports team–soccer, football, softball-began to carry one too. I say my team started the trend. 

By the end of the school day, I’ve already drank the entire thing. The weather has gotten hotter in the past couple weeks and the sun bears down, sparing no mercy. Before, and after every practice, my coach gives us the “Make sure you drink plenty of water,” speech. He’s right, and I listen. Lately, we’ve been doing sprints–which means shorter distances, faster times. When I run, I can feel the heat through the bottom of my shoes, hitting the ground in a pitter-patter. The sweat swims over my eyes and nose, and my throat constricts with every in-out breathe. “Breathe through the nose, out the mouth,” my coach says. Usually, near the end of the sprint, I begin to taste salt in my mouth. I flick my tongue up, and it sticks to the inside of my cheeks. My lips become coarse and dry, and the skin gathers at the edge of my mouth in white. And when I near the last stretch, I imagine my gallon, waiting for me beyond the finish line.  

If I didn’t have water, if I had to live without it, I think I wouldn’t have cross country. I wouldn’t have my gallon, nor my team and coach. After my runs, my throat would close shut. Without water, I’d drown in my sweat. I’d become a mess of salt, licking my lips desperate for any drop. Without water, my legs would buckle to the ground-my head pounding and knocking on my skull. Without water, I’d cramp up in my legs, unable to sprint past the finish line on the last stretch. I owe my life to water. It’s what drives and fuels me, what gives me the strength to keep pushing beyond the pain and beyond the heat. It’s what brings me and my coach together. I could never live without water, because then I’d live without running.