Raised by hardworking immigrant parents, the value of success has been instilled in me from a young age. I was taught the words “efficiency” and “discipline” before I was old enough to know what they meant. As I grew up, those words, now with their meanings fully understood, ran through my mind all day. Whether it was cross country, music, or academics, I strove for excellence through middle and high school. However, throughout my adolescence, I struggled with my mental health. I had developed severe contamination OCD in sixth grade, began to self-harm in seventh, and started showing signs of anorexia in eighth. I was constantly paranoid and anxious that no one liked me, which inevitably caused me to be unlikeable. I was still able to be a straight-A student in middle school, but by high school, it was a challenge. I stacked my schedule full of AP classes, symphonic and jazz bands, musicals, and varsity running. By senior year, it had taken a toll. In my AP Calculus BC class, I never scored above a B on a test, and I struggled as the weakest member of my AP Chemistry lab group. My classmates, though friendly, made regular backhanded compliments about how I was talented at sports but not intelligent. I didn’t even believe I was a good enough athlete - to have my efforts constantly put down was devastating. I internalized this, and fully believed that I was not naturally smart enough to tackle real academic challenges. I grew hesitant to even try, anxious that my genuine effort, whether in athletics or academics, would amount to nothing. I relapsed into my middle school habits of self-harm.  Once I broke down in front of my whole calculus class one day, I realized that I needed to change - I had spent so much of my childhood and adolescence chasing excellence, and the one year I could not achieve it, I fell apart.  I started talking to the school counselor, who taught me the importance of intentional rest. I spent more time with friends and family instead of doing something that felt productive. I decided to apply to fewer colleges than I planned to, intentionally cutting my workload. I didn’t stop working towards my academics and athletics, though. Even though many of my goals were initially based on the idea of success and superiority, I realized that I truly had a passion for learning and training. I loved biology and learning how the world worked. I loved pushing myself to new limits in running. I even grew to enjoy calculus, even if I was never great at it. Life became more than being excellent at something; it was something to enjoy.  As I enter my first year of college, I am anxious about the inevitable difficulties as a student-athlete. The nagging voice that tells me I must be efficient, disciplined, and superior still rings through my mind whenever I take a moment’s rest. I know that I must work hard to learn, earn a degree, and eventually go on to help others who experience life similar to me. But now, I will use both self-discipline and self-care to accomplish my goals. In the same way that I push myself to study and train, I push myself to get enough sleep and to be kind to myself. Throughout the struggles that are to come, I am determined to succeed in a way that is best for me, and I will continue to prioritize my mental health throughout my life.

The only constant thing in this world is change, and I have been dong my best my whole life to develop and change with it. As a child, I struggled with countless anxiety disorders, from OCD to anorexia to generalized anxiety. I managed and recovered from each one, constantly learning to change my own perspective and beliefs and developing a stronger sense of self. However, it was my time running cross country and distance track that really taught me the importance of personal development, continual improvement, and balance. When I joined the cross country team in my sophomore year, I became a part of their community. We all encouraged each other's progress despite varying ability levels and performances. I quickly found I had a knack for long-distance running, and my teammates cheered me on as I had my first races. I relished in the light of being good at something and receiving attention for it. However, with this gratification came higher expectations from myself and my coaches. When I stepped up to the starting line, I was so anxious I was unable to speak. Nevertheless, I continued running. As I developed severe performance anxiety and undiagnosed anemia, I began to lose the biggest thing that motivated me to begin with: my status of “being good.” I was no longer able to fulfill my own expectations, even though I was trying my best. However, no matter how slow I was, my teammates still cheered for me. I soon learned that respect and community are values deeply rooted in the sport of cross country. Everyone runs the same course and deserves to be respected for the effort they put in, including myself. Between this realization and my team's support, the weight of my own expectations lessened at the starting line. After treating my anemia, I was not just emotionally free but physically so, and my new mindset and healthy body allowed me to earn a qualification to the CIF state meet that year. I felt proud of my accomplishments, but also for my effort to achieve them. At last, I was able to respect myself for what I had done, beyond the results I produced. It was this emotional expansion, this change in my perspective that has developed me into the person I am today. I highly value resilience balanced with self-respect, and that has enabled me to move onto the next stage of my life: college and D1 collegiate running. This personal development is incredibly important to me because it enables me to continuously better myself and keep up in this constantly changing world. I still struggle with pre-race anxiety and comparing myself to other runners. But I am better than before. I’ve had some good races and some bad ones, but I still enjoy it. I am opening my mind new levels of discipline, scheduling days based around my new training regimen. I have to constantly adjust my thinking to not be too negative and stay resilient despite difficulty. But this change is necessary to keep up with the world. It can be challenging, but I am happy. I am a little nervous but so, so excited to see how I continue to develop as a person.

Growing up, I struggled with resilience and expectations, developing anxiety disorders like OCD and anorexia. After spending the pandemic in recovery, I was determined for a change of pace. So, for my sophomore year, I decided to join the cross country team. As I attended practices, I became a part of the cross team’s community. We all encouraged each other's progress despite varying ability levels and performances. I found I had a knack for running, and my teammates cheered me on as I had my first successful races. However, with this new gratification came higher expectations from myself and my coaches. My anxiety, which I had seemingly overcome, began to hinder me again. My performance worsened in my junior year. With severe performance anxiety and undiagnosed anemia, I became the slowest girl on the varsity team. However, no matter how slow I ran a race, my teammates cheered for me. It was this unconditional support that kept me from quitting. That season, I learned that respect and community are values rooted in running. Everyone runs the same course and everyone deserves to be respected for the effort they put in. Even though we were all racing as individuals, we trained and supported each other as a team. There were cheers during a race, and a shoulder to lean after. This kindness began to trump my anxiety, and gradually, the weight of my own expectations left my shoulders at the starting line. After receiving treatment for my anemia, I was not just emotionally free but physically so, and my new mindset and healthy body helped me qualify for the California State Cross Country meet that year. Since then, I have continued running and have been recruited by UC Irvine as a collegiate student-athlete. I owe my success to what I learned being a part of my cross country and track teams. The kindness and motivation I received from that team enabled me to succeed during a difficult season, but also taught me how impactful being supportive to an individual can be. After my turbulent junior year, I was appointed as captain of the cross country and track teams, and did my best to provide the same support that helped me to the underclassmen. I supported the girls' cross country team by getting to know each and every runner, advising them on each and every course, and raising awareness for monitoring iron levels, as several of my teammates turned out to be anemic. I am proud to say that I was part of making a girls' cross country team that placed 13th in Division IV at the CIF Cross Country Championships - the highest a team has placed in our school's history. I employed the resilience and care that I learned from running to many other endeavors. In my time as clarinet section leader and president of our school's symphonic band, I worked with several students who struggled to play at the level of our group. With individual mentoring, a focus on progress, not perfection, and consistent effort, I used values I learned from running to help seven different students reach proficiency in symphonic band clarinet. Music and running seem unrelated, but it took the same things from me to succeed in them. As I move into college, I look forward to practicing the values I learned from cross country and track to live the most successful, fulfilling life I can. I am also eager to see what I will learn from collegiate running, to meet all kinds of new people, and hopefully have a positive impact on their lives.

Growing up, I struggled with resilience and expectations, developing anxiety disorders like OCD and anorexia. After spending the pandemic in recovery, I was determined for a change of pace. So, for my sophomore year, I decided to join the cross country team. As I attended practices, I became a part of the cross team’s community. We all encouraged each other's progress despite varying ability levels and performances. I found I had a knack for running, and my teammates cheered me on as I had my first successful races. However, with this new gratification came higher expectations from myself and my coaches. My anxiety, which I had seemingly overcome, began to hinder me again. My performance worsened in my junior year. With severe performance anxiety and undiagnosed anemia, I became the slowest girl on the varsity team. However, no matter how slow I ran a race, my teammates cheered for me. It was this unconditional support that kept me from quitting. That season, I learned that respect and community are values rooted in running. Everyone runs the same course and everyone deserves to be respected for the effort they put in. Even though we were all racing as individuals, we trained and supported each other as a team. There were cheers during a race, and a shoulder to lean after. This kindness began to trump my anxiety, and gradually, the weight of my own expectations left my shoulders at the starting line. After receiving treatment for my anemia, I was not just emotionally free but physically so, and my new mindset and healthy body helped me qualify for the California State Cross Country meet that year. Since then, I have continued running and have been recruited by UC Irvine as a collegiate student-athlete. I owe my success to what I learned being a part of my cross country and track teams. The kindness and motivation I received from that team enabled me to succeed during a difficult season, but also taught me how impactful being supportive to an individual can be. At my high school, I was also involved with the music program, acting as clarinet section leader and president for our symphonic band. I often worked with students who struggled to play at the level of the group, taking time to privately mentor them on technique and sound. I praised them by their effort, even if their output was lacking. It was my goal to motivate them to put in the consistent effort to reach proficiency, not just focusing on what they lacked, embodying the lessons I learned from my sport. I also had to dedicate my time as an individual musician. I committed to daily before-school rehearsals for jazz and played through five-hour long rehearsals for musicals. During this time I also took part in three AP classes. I struggled in my AP Calculus BC class, with regular C-level performances on tests. I continued to apply consistent effort, however, knowing that progress was not always linear. I refused to label myself as inherently bad at math, knowing that a set mindset would spell out failure. My studying brought me from a C-minus to a B-plus by the end of the semester. It was the worse grade I had ever received for a class, but the one I worked hardest for and learned to be proud of. My time as a student-athlete has taught me to be a hardworking yet kind person to myself and others, and I look forward to all the new lessons I will learn continuing my athletic and academic career.