In my Junior year of high school it was my goal to run a half marathon. It’s something I had been thinking about for a long time but was too cowardly to really commit to. I had been running for the cross country team at my school and various other clubs for some years prior. Although I had never really ventured past the 6 or seven mile mark. One day on a wim, I signed up for the brooklyn half marathon. Forcing myself to commit to the distance. 

From a young age my parents planted a seed in my brain that stuck which entailed seeing how far I could physically push myself. That’s why the distance of 13 miles mattered to me. Could I do it? In the weeks leading up to the race I made sure that I was comfortable running three fourths the distance. I ensured I followed a strict weekly schedule of running 4 to 5 times a week. 

Two Nights before my scheduled half marathon some conflict arose. I was foolishly messing around on my skateboard trying to kickflip when I sprained my ankle. Not any ordinary sprained ankle though, it was an unable to run type sprained ankle. If I told my mom or dad this they would surely have pulled me from the race. So instead, for the two days leading up to the race I got up at 5:30 in the morning, 30 minute before my Dad woke up, and iced the hell out of my foot. Then when I got to school I would immediately get an Ice pack from the nurse, then another before lunch, and yet another before school ended. And finally before I went to bed I would ice it.  

All of this work paid off as the morning of my race my ankle was free of pain. As for the race itself, it was light work. I was overprepared. Finishing though I felt euphoric and also delusional at the same time because of how physically exerted I was.