Two plates, one on each side. Ten reps, one set. An easy warmup. Add tens to each side. Same reps, same sets. A little harder. Add twenty-five to each side. Same reps, same sets. Way harder. My legs give out, and it happens in a blur. I open my eyes, dazed and confused, looking up at my friend whose panic can not be ignored. I slowly start to get up, but the blurred vision and dizziness overtake me again. As I sit down on the chair, my friend and I decide it is better if we go home. The whole drive feels dreamlike, as if the world was happening but I was an outsider watching in. A couple of days later, my mom took me to the doctor to see if there was a cause for what had happened. Months and months of hospital visits and testing before any results came in. I started getting worse, and going to school became difficult. The gym, my happy place, now seems like a distant memory. The place where I would go almost every day to destress and be surrounded by the people who shared the same interests felt impossible to go to ever again. Finally, after months of waiting for tests, I finally started to get some answers. I have Crohn's disease. Although I was happy to receive a diagnosis, it felt like it consumed me. It was who I was. I was no longer the young woman who went to the gym after school with her friends, or the person who would spend her entire Sunday meal prepping. It all still felt like a distant memory. Until one day, after being on medication, I started to feel better. Not how I used to be, but progress. Progress that once felt so far from becoming reality. A couple of days later, I went to the gym, and in a way, it almost felt foreign, like walking through the past of the person I once was. I started with the easiest exercise I could think of: walking on the treadmill for twenty minutes. And then the feeling crept its way in again. My legs became weak and my vision blurred. I decided to go home after ten minutes of being there, but in those ten minutes, I felt like myself again. I went back the next day, hoping to spend more time on the treadmill. And I did. A little each day until I was able to walk a full hour without feeling my legs give out from under me. I started to lift weights again. I was nowhere near what I was lifting before my diagnosis, but I found my home again and somehow felt stronger. I started with squatting just the bar, but every day I felt a little stronger, not physically but mentally. Going to the gym not only taught me to be physically strong, but also to push through mental difficulties. Without it, I would have let my diagnosis become who I was, my identity. But it is not. It is something I will deal with for the rest of my life, but it is only a small part of who I am. Without the gym and my community, I would have struggled to understand that. It taught me that you are in charge of your identity, and that although it is difficult, time will heal.

“To accomplish great things we must not only act, but also dream; not only plan, but also believe” - Anatole France. As a first-generation college student, college always meant more than personal achievement; it represents breaking through barriers and changing the cycle for others. Pursuing a college degree means not only accomplishing my goals, but also giving back to a community that shaped me. There were moments where my path felt uncertain or unattainable, and without the guidance of my family, I had to rely on determination and mentors to help me navigate unfamiliar paths. Their support showed me how imperative it is to have access to guidance and support. Due to this, I plan to use my education to help uplift other first-generation students through mentoring, academic advising, and career planning. College will help me gain the leadership experience necessary to create meaningful change for my community. Through my studies, I hope to be able to address the problems that face my community. I want to open up opportunities for first-generation students to succeed and have access to resources. I also hope to serve as an example that higher education is possible. Barriers feel less definitive when people see representation. By sharing my experience with others, I want to inspire others to believe in their potential and pursue paths that once seemed unattainable. For me, giving back is not defined by one specific moment, but a lifelong commitment to giving back to the people whom I once relied on. My college experience will empower me to transform my personal perseverance into community progress, ensuring that the opportunities I once had will be available to future generations.