By Grace Fellows, Armuchee high school cross country runner

Fire. Everything is on fire. No, I tell myself. Think cool thoughts. The sun beams down on me as I try to maintain my pace. Cross country practice is not for the faint of heart.  Why do I even do this horrible sport? I wonder. Sweat cascades down my face in great beads. I try to wipe it away, but it keeps rushing on like a mighty, sweltering waterfall. Everything burns. The muscles in my legs feel as if they are being shredded apart intentionally, slowly. My face and head are radiating pure flames. With every step I take, there is a stabbing pain in my knee from being worn down every single day. My lungs struggle to keep up with the laborious task of providing oxygen to my body. I pass a fir tree, and the disgusting scent of sweet, hot pine tempts me to hurl. I hold it in as best as I can. Still, the sun glares down, taunting me. My legs cry out as the trail inclines. I start to get dizzy. The heat is walloping; it presses down on me. My muscles are screaming in agony. Redness appears at the edges of my vision. It then turns black as it spreads to the rest of my eyes, trying to overtake them. I manage to see one last thing as my vision departs from me. There is finally a light at the end of this stifling tunnel: the shade. 

I cross into the cool shadows. It is as if a switch has flipped. The cool air rejuvenates my lungs and eases their burden. A reassuring breeze whispers across my face. Like turning off a faucet, the waterfall of sweat slows, and then drips to a stop. My legs sigh in relief as the hill eases downward into a little green valley, and then remains level. The black in my vision scatters and makes way for the beautiful sights of the woods around me. Birds call and chirp all around me, relaying their cheerful messages. Squirrels wind around trees, chattering and chasing each other. I smell the faint scent of leaves and rain, a small hint of fall. I hear the padding of my footsteps on the soft bed of pine straw beneath me, a bed that covers the smooth dirt beneath. I can almost taste the hint of earthiness in the air. A little stream runs beside me, and I hear an old bullfrog belting out his song. Maybe this is why I do cross country, I decide. But something still feels wrong. I feel so much better now, but does that make it worth the pain? 

Finally, I circle around to the pine benches, which signal the end of another successful workout. There waiting for me, I see Addie and Mannu with their understanding smiles and encouraging words. I see Caroline and Sophie, wonderful role models who always have a listening ear, waving at me. I hear Shelby, Marrissa, and the boys playfully shoving each other and bantering back and forth. I see Alejandra and Erene collapsed in a fit of giggles, and Coach Pierce rolling his eyes at whatever was said. I smell the sweat coming from everybody, but despite the stink, it's not a bad smell. It smells like hard work, pain, and victory. We all suffered, but we all suffered together. I look around, and I see a family. One big, imperfect, loving family. My family. Like a switch has been flipped, a lightbulb goes off in my head. Now I realize. This is why I do cross country. Yes, it is painful. Yes, most days I dread whatever new form of running torture awaits me. But in doing this sport, I found a family. A family I didn't know I needed. They are why I come back every day. They are what makes the pain worth it.