I’m Training To Qualify For The Olympic Trials On A Treadmill In My Garage

by Jeremy

One evening, when I was 13, my dad asked me if I wanted to go on a run. 

I had never gone on a run before, but I figured if my dad could do it, I could, too. Dogs barked as we made our way down country roads. The setting sun was making the fields and trees golden, and the path seemed to have no end … and I didn’t want it to. I felt like my whole world was opening up.

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After that, I started running with my dad more often. Neither of us was any good, but never once did my dad stress about the time on the clock. We just went out and enjoyed ourselves. 

My mom said she wasn’t surprised that I loved to run because once, when I was 3, she took my brothers and me down to a park with a track, and I kept running loops nonstop. She said it seemed like I was born to do it.

Unfortunately, at age 15, everything came crumbling down while the innocence of childhood waned and mental illness crept in. I became anorexic in the ninth grade, and all of my ideas about who I was in this world felt meaningless compared to my only goal of disappearing. 

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