I am currently a College Cross Country and Track runner. I recently got 2nd and 3rd for the indoor conference 3k and mile races respectively. My team qualified, so I ran at Cross Country nationals. I will be making a push to qualify for Outdoor track nationals in the 3000m steeplechase. This is all to say I am a pretty good runner. One of the most inspiring people I’ve met in my running journey is not a good runner. He was never meant to run. He has decently severe scoliosis, and has other health issues making it easy for him to add and keep weight. He is also six feet and four inches tall. He is overall, a large man, with multiple health issues. All this takes away from his ability to run fast. But he’d be damned if he would let it take away from his ability to run. This friend of mine was on my high school team. He was never varsity. Not close. But training groups were assigned in amount of running done, not speed. He was always the top group. Nothing was going to stop him from being the absolute best he could be. He was never going to quit. I realized he would never quit very quickly. My very first race, his last first race, was a cross country meet. It was 5k at a camp ground. Simple enough. I had the goal to break 20 minutes in my first race, which I did in a time of 19:58. I was ecstatic. The last 2-3 minutes of that race, the sun went away, and it absolutely started pouring. The final hill became a river. What were my last 2-3 minutes was my friend’s Endish middleish section. I ran 19:58; he ran 27:58. I ran in the rain, just I started to kick, the finish line in sight. This guy ran in the rain just as the race got to its hardest. Alone, fatigued, with no idea how much more he had to go. There were many people way in front of him who stopped. Some people got worried about my friend. Coach stopped them. Coach knew my friend. Coach knew he would quit. Just as the rain became it’s heaviest, my friend rounds the final turn. I’m in dry shoes and clothes in the bus. He’s running as fast as his body will let him, through the quagmire the homestretch had become, his clothes soaked and sticking to his exhausted body. He crossed the line, collapses, with the biggest grin on his face. He didn’t care he was last. He didn’t care everyone knew he was out there by himself. He didn’t care that the conditions for his last first race were terrible. He didn’t care how much pain he was in. All he cared about was getting the chance to race. And he cherishes that time. He lived in those moments. Those 27 minutes and 58 seconds weren’t moments of misery and pain. Sure, he was suffering. But he was doing what he loved. He was living. He was present. He persevered. He makes me so grateful for the gifts I have. I get to run everyday. I’ve been given another 4-5 years of competing for a team than he did. I get to race, and race fast. I am absolutely living the dream. Yes it is hard. Yes I miss out and give up on things other students couldn’t imagine. But my friend would give anything to be where I am. I’m not going to let it go to waste.