When I run, I soar. I sing, I fly, I skip, and I dance in my head as I go. The feeling of flight is a freeing one, but it wasn’t always that way.I began running 11 years ago. I was not athletic; in fact, I was always the chubby girl in school who stood timidly in the back of gym class, praying the ball wouldn’t come near her because what would she do then? The only athletic thing I did that I liked took place in sixth grade: the dreaded mile. I told my friend Ashley, a skinny little thing, that I would run it with her. She walked halfway through; I finished without walking. The chubby girl beat the skinny girl. I screamed and cheered in my head, and I proudly walked to the curb and stretched like a pro, waiting for her to finish.

It was that feeling I remembered when, in seventh grade, my friend Kelly asked me to run track with her. Since the team made no cuts, I figured I had nothing to lose. So we plodded along during track conditioning through early spring. We both dropped out to help manage the baseball team, but that endorphin-stimulated high was intoxicating. And I wanted more of it.

So I went out for the cross-country team in eighth grade. I don’t know what convinced me that this was a good idea, as my coach was a strict, wiry man who was also my history teacher. He was of the intimidating and variety, yet he waited all those practices, when everyone else’s parents came to pick them up. He waited until I came straining and sweating up the hill… the very last one to finish my workout.

“Good job, Lusk. Way to finish,” And then he’d ride off into the sunset as I collapsed into the grass with pain throbbing in my chest, sides and legs. I barely waved bye before he was gone.

While he was strict, with high expectations, he always made sure to encourage us not to walk… no matter how slow we had to run. I clung to that training tip like a lifeline. And it did me good in the end. At the very end of eighth grade, I stood by his desk staring at the high school cross-country sign up sheet taped to the front. I heard rumors — scary rumors — about the conditioning and practice required to be on the team. A friend came up beside me and asked if I was going to run in the fall. I started to shake my head no…

“Of course she is,” Coach said, catching the end of our conversation. “She has to.”

Well. That settled it. My head shake quickly morphed into a nod, and I felt my hand sign the paper, the whole time thinking, OhmanIdon’tknowifIcandothis. I was easily coerced in my younger days. But it was the best choice I ever made.

During my four years of running cross-country and track in high school, I made it through grueling, seven-day camps, at which we worked out twice a day in midsummer heat. I made it through interval sprints uphill over and over and over. I made it through icy winter runs, conditioning for the spring season. I made it through crunches in the dirt at the park as we worked to strengthen our ab muscles and our backs. Sometimes I was sure I wouldn’t make it. Other times I nearly passed out. I logged my miles for every practice and every weekend run. Because of those years and my choice to take a chance, I have the freedom now to throw on my running shoes after a stressful day (sometimes week, sometimes month) and take off for anywhere I want to go. My favorite thing to do is cue up my iPod and set out on an unknown path, exploring new roads and trails. I love to wave at fellow runners as we silently encourage each other through mind messages: You’re doing well. Looking good. Keep it up; you’ll feel better when you’re done. I love to sweat, to hear my heart pound and to stretch long and hard at the end of a run. I love to feel loose strands of hair whip around in the wind. I love to feel the health in my bones and the flex of muscles in my legs, back and arms. I love to be outside in those rare moments where a rumbling storm is brewing on the horizon, the sun is just peeking into the day, or it’s drizzling just enough to give you a second wind. So while I never got a blue ribbon, I did acquire self-discipline. While I never experienced crossing that line first, I experienced the fruits of genuine hard work. And though I never earned a trophy, I learned to value my body, my health and my quality of life. While I can fly now, I had to crawl for quite some time to get here. Sometimes the outcome of your work is different than what you think it’s going to be. And you are more blessed because of it.

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