The Time I Quit- A Runner's Perspective Anonymous

I heard the final call for my race. By now I should have been done with my warm up jog and run-outs and heading over to the check-in tent, spikes in hand, ready to run the 3200 meter race at the State Championship meet. Instead of pinning on my race number and taking my place at the starting line, however, I was sitting on the top row of the bleachers, watching the race from the farthest point away in the stadium. The first thing that ran through my mind was excuses: I had put everything I had into the 4x800m relay earlier in the day, finishing my leg seven seconds faster than I had ever ran before, and promptly throwing up after I handed off the baton. I had a gold medal to show for that effort, wasn’t that enough? My mile race an hour ago was embarrassing enough, coming in ranked third and finishing seventh. What would be the point of sprinting eight laps just to be disappointed again?

The regret of what I had done hit me before the race even started. When the final call rang out through the stadium, I wanted so badly to grab my spikes and take my place at the starting line. Instead, the missing hip number in the line-up of girls at the starting line agonized me. What opportunity had I thrown away? Had I not, just a...