I'm not the fastest and that's okay.

I grew up as the middle child. I always felt lost. My older brother was the rebellious child and my parents devoted time to keeping him under control. My younger brother was always a stellar athlete - all-star baseball team, MVP basketball player, quarterback of the football team. I constantly felt as though I was competing for my parents attention throughout my preteen years, but everything changed when I entered sixth grade. 

When I started sixth grade I transferred to a new school. With that, I decided to try a new sport that neither of my brothers had attempted - cross country. I wasn't the best at it, but it was something that I could call my own. It was an outlet for me to make new friends at my new school and a haven where I felt that I belonged. That spring rolled around and I also ran on the track team. 

That summer I trained my ass off. I ran nearly every day, and that payed off big time when the cross country season began. The very first race of that season was the very first race that I ever won. I was elated. I was actually good at something that my brothers were not involved in, and I slowly but surely placed my identity in this sport. 

When I entered eighth grade, my younger brother tried out for our schools cross country team. At the moment, this wasn't a big deal. I was much bigger than him. Consequently, I was much faster than him. It wasn't until we both were in high school that everything changed.

The first race of my junior year, my younger brother beat me in a head to head race for the first time. He had stripped some of my records from me previously, but that I could deal with. When he beat me in a race, something inside of me died. I had identified as a runner and now that my little brother was faster than me, I didn't feel worthy to identify as that. I didn't run my junior track season. I was so pissed off that I could not even attend my brother (and my teams) track meets. I withdrew from the team and began to engage closely with friends outside of my team. My social group became my identity. 

This proved itself to not be a safe place to identify in either. Just after my senior year of high school began, one of my best friends passed away. I was lost. I didn't know where to turn. I had already decided to run cross country again my senior year, but after my friend died, I became more devoted to the sport. Running was an outlet for me; a way for me to cope with my loss. When I was running with my team I felt whole. I felt accepted. Running gave me goals and ambitions. Running allowed me to be something greater than myself. 

Flash forward to today and I'm now running at the NCAA D2 level. Through the transition into college, running was one of the few things that stayed static in my life. I now understand that I may be a runner, but that is not my identity. I am a friend, I am a son, I am a student, I am a runner, I am a child of God. I have learned that you do not need to be the fastest on the team to contribute to the team. Running truly has been a journey for me, but a journey that I am incredibly thankful for. I hope to spread the message that it is okay to not be the fastest on the team. I am not the fastest and that is okay. Running is about more than times and places. Running is about turning the miles into smiles and crating memories that will last a lifetime.

- Anonymous