Hot, burning sunlight mingling with an insufferable sense of hopeless hit me, and my pace got slower and slower as if the track was infinitely magnified and I could never arrive at the end. My sports shirt was sticky with sweat, while my throat was so dry I could not stop recalling how tasteful water was. I pushed the bangs off my forehead, panting like a dog in heat. Some of the fast girls had already finished their laps, but I did not speed up because I could hardly lift my legs and because there were still two girls behind me. “Just maintain this speed,” I thought. “Just don’t be the last one.” No such luck. My stomach cramped so suddenly that I almost wanted to give up. The heavy breaths behind me got closer and closer until the two girls passed me. “Hurry up!” the coach growled at me, “All the girls are waiting for you.” I forced myself to rush to the finish line, winded.
In my last semester in high school, my schedule loosened after turning in all my college applications. I moved my attention from academics to my physical appearance, starting with my weight. I wasn’t the only one. “Isn’t the track season starting at school?” My mom asked. “You could use the exercise.” I had heard that the track team’s daily practices were rigorous; however, I decided to sign up since I hoped to drop weight so that I could give a good impression to people in college. Unexpectedly, “embarrassment” and “torture” are the only two words that I can use to describe my first month on the team. All of the girls on the team were slim and physically fit – except me. Besides, they had known each other for a long time and were always talking and laughing together, while I stood by, lonely and quiet.
The whole experience felt unendurable. As the physical pain of pushing myself to run at impossible speeds was not enough, I also had to deal with the social embarrassment. I wanted to quit. I was desperate to quit. All I could think about was quitting. “I give in.” I told myself, “This is impossible. I’m just not made for this. I just don’t belong on the track team.” Thus, I started to look for reasons to miss practice, like going to the restroom when the other girls were running, and I found excuses (cramps, headaches, homework, tests) to avoid any challenges that I felt I could not do. However, my coach caught on to these little tricks. She had stayed in her coaching career long enough that she could easily figure out when I was playing a trick or telling a truth. As a result, she refused my many excuses. Meanwhile, she told me she did not want to leave anyone behind, especially me – because she believed that I could do it. She repeatedly encouraged me that I had potential and needed to try my best. Motivated by her words, though I knew she probably told everyone the same thing, I stopped making excuses because of my own growing desire to lose weight and because of my curiosity to see whether I had such potential.
Every day, I struggled to improve, and by participating in several track meets, I made friends with some girls on the team. I remember the last meeting of track season was held on a Thursday afternoon with a blue sky and moderate weather. The sports ground was crowded with athletes and volunteers. The audience broke out in cheers and applause when athletes achieved good scores. I was so nervous, and my palms were sweaty. I felt that people were watching me and they would laugh at me if I failed. A kind of impulse to take off my sports shirts and return home immediately was rising. “No, no, I can’t give up at this point. I’m not going to waste my effort.” I tried to calm down. “Girls! We are next.” Our coach gathered us, “I know all of you can make it! Get ready in a line.” Breath in, breath out, once, twice… “Ok, Gloria, you can make it! Even if you fail, it is not embarrassing because you try.” I comforted myself. After hearing the sound of the starting pistol, I put everything I had into sprinting for the finish line. Despite feeling as if I had just dragged my throat and lungs through rough concrete, it was worth it. Although I ended third-to-last, I wasn’t last! I cherished the feeling of progress and overcoming my doubts and physical limitations. My coach had been right when she told me all season long, “I know you can do it.” Yes, yes, I know that now, and I am so happy with myself for not quitting. If I could go back to my past self, that discouraged, red-faced girl puffing around the track, feeling deflated and negative, I’d like to tell her, “Keep trying! Stop making excuses. Your potential is so much greater than you think!”
This experience has empowered me to overcome challenges head on in the future—not to think “I can’t do it,” but “I will try my best and see what happens.” Maybe I won’t be the next Sanya Richards-Ross, but that doesn’t mean I won’t exceed my own expectations and achieve anything worth celebrating. Now, I stop doubting myself, but I work hard and try my best to achieve my goals in UC Santa Cruz. I am inspired to work in the health career, which requires specific volunteer experiences and skills of communicating with people. Instead of obtaining thoughts like “I’m not sure about my competency” or “I’m not a native speaker of English,” I practice interviews, contact organizations that may offer opportunities to me, and do all I can to improve myself. I do not know what the result will be. What I know is that if I give up in the first place, I will never succeed and never know my real ability.