Race Entry Student Scholarship

The seed of inspiration to run was planted in my mind after witnessing the euphoria that accompanies crossing a finish line. Whether it was a 5K, a 10K, or even a full marathon, the sight of runners pushing their limits, driven by their own goals, was awe-inspiring. But what truly kindled the spark within me was a desire to channel the same spirit into my own life.

However, the path to becoming a runner was not without its share of hurdles. Despite my affinity for various sports, running was an entirely different arena. I had to confront my own doubts and insecurities, especially as someone who had always considered himself a team player. The solitary nature of running posed an intimidating challenge, but I was determined to overcome it.

I embarked on my running journey as a proud resident of Atlanta, Georgia, a city pulsating with vibrant energy. Every stride through its streets, every early morning jog in its parks, brought me closer to a new facet of my city that I had never truly appreciated before. The camaraderie of the running community, the collective pursuit of personal records, and the unspoken encouragement exchanged in nods and waves added a layer of depth to my connection with my surroundings.

Living in a city known for its athletic prowess, I was no stranger to competitive sports. Baseball had honed my reflexes and strategic thinking, while boxing had sculpted my discipline and resilience. Yet, running introduced a different dimension to my understanding of athleticism—a mental and emotional challenge that went beyond physical prowess. The moments of doubt during training, the determination to push through the infamous "runner's wall," and the satisfaction of surpassing my own limits unveiled a level of self-discovery I hadn't anticipated.

The cityscape of Atlanta transformed into a personal playground, each corner and pavement holding memories of my struggles and triumphs. As the sun kissed the horizon during early morning runs, and the city lights painted a shimmering backdrop during late-night jogs, I realized that running was not just about physical exertion; it was a journey within, an exploration of my own capacity for growth.

Chasing personal records became my new source of motivation. I learned that, just like in baseball and boxing, consistent effort and perseverance yielded results. Whether it was pushing myself to shave a few seconds off my 5K time or conquering the grueling hills of the city during a half marathon, each achievement reaffirmed the importance of resilience, patience, and unwavering commitment.

The challenges I faced were not confined to the pavement. Balancing my dedication to running with my academic pursuits and work commitments demanded meticulous time management and discipline. Being a gym rat, a baseball player, and a boxer had already taught me about the delicate equilibrium between different facets of life, but running added another layer of complexity. Yet, paradoxically, running also became my anchor—a routine that provided clarity and structure amidst the chaos of daily life.

As I prepared to take on the biggest challenge of my running journey—a full marathon—I couldn't help but reflect on the parallels between running and the values instilled in me through my other sports. Just as I had learned to read an opponent's moves in boxing and anticipate a pitcher's strategy in baseball, I was now deciphering the language of my own body, understanding its cues, and strategizing to cross the 26.2-mile finish line.

The marathon day arrived, and the energy in the air was electrifying. My heart pounded with a mix of excitement and nervousness as I stood at the starting line, surrounded by fellow runners who had their own stories to tell. Each step, each mile, was a testament to the journey I had undertaken—from a gym rat with a love for team sports to a runner embracing the solitude of the road.

As the miles stretched on, I battled fatigue, doubts, and the temptation to slow down. But the unwavering support of the running community and the memory of every sunrise and cityscape I had conquered fueled my determination. The journey was a rollercoaster of emotions—moments of euphoria, moments of exhaustion, and moments of profound introspection.

When I crossed the finish line of that marathon, a rush of emotions flooded over me. It wasn't just about completing the race; it was about conquering the challenges, doubts, and uncertainties that had once held me back. I had transformed from a curious observer of running events to a participant who had embraced the grit, the heart, and the soul of the sport.

Through my journey as a runner, I have learned that the pursuit of excellence transcends the sport itself. It's about the unyielding commitment to growth, the determination to push boundaries, and the resilience to rise even when the path seems insurmountable. Just as I have carried the values of discipline, teamwork, and strategy from baseball and boxing into my running journey, I know that these lessons will continue to shape my path ahead.

As I reflect on my evolution from a gym rat to a passionate runner, I am reminded that the essence of a race goes beyond the finish line—it's about the story that unfolds along the way. I am immensely grateful for the opportunity to embark on this journey of self-discovery, resilience, and personal growth. My race story is a testament to the strength of the human spirit and the boundless potential that lies within us all. And just as the city of Atlanta continues to inspire and challenge me, I am eager to explore new horizons, conquer new races, and discover new dimensions of myself through the rhythm of my strides.

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This is around the time that my mom started to take running seriously. I had picked up my lifestyle tactics from my family and she felt we needed a change. She found some friends and they signed up for a half-marathon. The only thing is, the half was sold out! My mom decided the full didn’t look too daunting and signed up anyways. She had never run even a half, and she and her friends decided to run a full marathon.

I didn’t realize it then, but this was a pivotal moment for me too. Seeing my mom become so dedicated to running was inspiring. The even more inspiring aspect for me was her discipline day in and day out. I became proud to say, “my mom runs marathons!” My family began travelling for races and cheering my mom and her friends on along the different courses. She spoke to how much clarity she found while on her runs. She only worries about being better than the day before, not better than another runner. Running became a part of all of our lives that day.

I have come to value the ability for a child to observe their parent taking time each day to manage their health, both physical and mental. Knowing my mom had already went on a run and showered by the time she woke me up for school really impacted the way I view my health and aided in my understanding of discipline.

After a couple of years without playing hockey, I decided I needed to make a change for myself too. I was tired of coming home from school and watching reruns of Reba for hours. Don’t get me wrong - Reba was a great show, but it didn’t provide me with much of anything after some time. I decided to pick up soccer and began playing for my high school team. I was an average player. I didn’t make the most goals or play the best defense. I made two goals in the two years I played! I was just happy to be a part of a team and felt satisfied with my dedication to a sport. However, at the end of my second year I sustained a pretty massive injury.

In the first fifteen minutes of a soccer game two hours away from home, I broke my leg. It ended up being a compound fracture of my tibia and a complete break of my fibula. I will spare you some of the details, but short I thought the sound I heard was my shin guard against a girl’s shoe. I tried to stand but laid right back down after seeing my foot facing the wrong direction. A trip to a local emergency room, a medical transport back home, a night in another emergency room, and a surgery later, my leg was back in one piece (sort of). I had an internal fixator placed into my leg that is held in by five screws. I had never gone through a recovery for an injury before and really took a mental hit. I couldn’t do anything during the summer and relied on everyone for help, which I hated. In an attempt to give me something to look forward too, my mom convinced me to run a half marathon with her once I was recovered. And run we did.

I took to heart her training regimen. During the week, we ran before my first class started at 7:15 a.m. On the weekends we managed our longer runs through the Midwest winter. We trained and trained. Race day came around just two days shy of the one-year anniversary of my injury. In one year, I managed what is hopefully my biggest injury and turned it around to run my first half marathon!

I have run that same race every year since (excluding the peak COVID year) and have managed to beat my time each year. I have trained and travelled for races during the school year and summer. I have raced in Kentucky, South Dakota, Montana, and Wyoming. Trail running has become a favorite of mine and something I want to expand in my future. This upcoming school year I will be training for my first full marathon. My race is on October 2, in my hometown. I can’t wait to have my family and friends cheering me along the course.

Running, especially not on an organized team, is really challenging during the school year. I have classes at different times, work a part time job, and juggle other school related items such as the honors program. It some strange way, I feel that when I run, I become more organized in other areas of my life. Running is so much more of a mental game than a physical one usually. Making time to run forces me to start my day out strong, allows me time to think and reflection on the previous day or mentally plan out the coming days, and has connected me with so many people. I have been encouraged to work harder, go further, and be better because of my running and the community it has brought me. I am a better person for becoming a runner.

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The training was paying off; my dad was making good time with his workout runs, and he started signing up for qualifying races. He was finally going to do it, he would say; he was finally going to earn a spot in the Boston! Everything seemed fine on the surface, and he was on par with his goal; that is, until an unsettling decline in his mental health took over his life. He fell ill quickly, as well as quietly. The illness was something I barely noticed until it was too late; throughout my childhood my dad had always been keen on hiding any struggles he was dealing with, which made it difficult for me to pinpoint that something was incredibly wrong. On a dreadful night in August of 2017, I received a phone call that would forever change my life; my father was gone, from a swift and permanent decision he felt he had no choice but to make.

My father and I didn't run together, as we both felt and agreed it was more of a personal practice, but we would always talk about our runs, workouts, and races. He was my biggest cheerleader, and though I was never able to tell him, he ultimately inspired me to run my first marathon back in February of 2018, six months after his passing. Running a marathon was not something I ever thought I could accomplish, even having run multiple half marathons over the years, including my favorite and most challenging race, the Midnight Sun half marathon in Tromsø, Norway in the Arctic Circle. Losing one of my favorite people in such a traumatic way changed how I viewed many things in this life, including, and especially, fear; I felt I had lost everything when I lost him, so fear was no longer an emotion I genuinely acknowledged. I remember the night I made up my mind to commit to running 26.2 miles; in that moment, as I was jogging through the neighborhood where I grew up, my heart began to swell at the thought of running not only for myself, but for my dad. I vividly imagined him running by my side, something we never actually did together, but could now do, spiritually, any time I needed his encouragement. This image of us running a marathon together changed my entire perspective on my abilities to run such a distance, and I began to dream, just as my dad once did, about eventually qualifying for the Boston Marathon. I thought about how amazing it would be to cross that finish line, for the both of us, and how healing this would be for me and the grief that was holding me hostage.

My training was demanding, but successful, and the day came for me to stand at the starting line for my first marathon. It was The Donna, an annual run to end breast cancer and a huge race that was born and raised in my hometown of Jacksonville, Florida. It was February and the weather was cool and crisp, the sun barely visible through the overcast; it was perfect running weather, especially for how unpredictable Florida's weather can be on any given day. I felt amazing, energized and prepared, and was ready for the strenuous hours ahead. "You trained for this," I told myself; "you're ready." As the gun went off and my wave started, I was giddy with excitement and riddled with nerves; I had to keep reminding myself to maintain a slow, steady pace for the first few miles, as to not let the excitement cause me to gas out later in the course. I held a pleasant, powerful tempo and felt strong and controlled. I smiled inside and out, silently extending my gratitude to the cheering crowds. Unfortunately, my strength and good fortune didn't last; what felt like out of nowhere, an unfamiliar sensation in the lateral side of my right knee began to form. By only Mile 7, a dull tension was fully present in my leg, and it slowly increased in intensity as I continued. Knowing I still had slightly less than 20 miles to run, I became aware that this wasn't going to go as well as I initially felt it would. By Mile 16, I was in agony.

None of this occurred in my training; I had easily run 20 miles alone, nonstop, without water, without electrolytes or protein or other replenishments, without the race environment, and still felt incredible (I do admit, however, that it wasn't smart of me to run in such conditions). With each painful step I felt a deep and intense sadness, accepting the fact that I was clearly injured, and most likely wouldn't finish the race in a decent enough time to qualify for the Boston. By Mile 21 I had to stop running completely, as the pain was too much to bear; determined to cross the finish line on my own two legs, because I’m stubborn just like my father, I walked the remaining 5.2 miles. As people ran, as well as walked, past me, and as people hollered from the streets and their houses to cheer us on with their signs, water stations, fruit stations, and small parties, tears streamed down my face for the devastation of having worked so hard for this and to not finish the way I had hoped. I did, in fact, walk across the finish line, with bystanders yelling at me and encouraging me to run; they meant well, as they had no idea how much I was suffering, both physically and emotionally, but it was a difficult moment to endure. I went straight to the First Aid tent for assistance and immediately started crying; not just from the pain, but from the feeling of complete and utter failure, which was all I could call it at the time (I now know it most definitely wasn’t a failure). I felt as though I had not only let myself down, but I wasn't able to run the way I wanted to for my dad, and I certainly wasn't going to be running in the Boston Marathon any time soon.

I allowed myself to feel the way I needed to feel during that time, especially the guilt, as well as in so many little moments that occurred after losing him. Thankfully grief, at least at that point in my life, wasn't something to which I was accustomed, at least not in such a piercing and personal way. Losing my father to suicide was truly was the most difficult and painful thing I have ever been through, but it was the one event in my life that set me free and gave me the grit to go after what I wanted from myself and my life. I eventually learned to forgive myself for missing the signs of him struggling, and for somehow injuring myself during the one goal I wanted to achieve back then; following that, I felt it was also time to let go of my being so hard on myself regarding my efforts, which is something I’ve always battled. I began to create a new life and pursue my goals with a healthier perspective, and have since given myself a little more grace, the kind of grace my father would've given me had he been there on the day I finished my first marathon.

Now, four years since his death, I have changed careers and currently practice as a Post Anesthesia Care Unit registered nurse; I moved to New York City for a couple of years and fought through the pandemic as a Covid ICU nurse; I was able to travel the world; I met the love of my life who is now my husband; and I’m starting my first semester in pursuit of my Ph.D. in Nursing this coming August. In keeping up with this busy schedule, I haven't run a single race since The Donna; and maybe a part of me also felt an essence of fear creeping in again after such a delicate event. But, my dad's spirit is still with me, each and every day, and I'm reminded of what he, and his passing, taught me. I knew my love for running wouldn't stay dormant for long, and I know how resilient and motivated we runners can be. It excites me to say that I've just signed up for my next half marathon, the first one in many years; I’m running the Urban Bourbon in Louisville, Kentucky this coming October. It feels like the perfect start to getting back in tune with my marathon training, as I know my heart is ready to try for another 26.2 in the future. Whether I happen to qualify for the Boston Marathon with my next full marathon or I simply make whichever one I choose my final one, I know my father will be by my side to cheer me on and send his encouragement, just as he always has and always will.

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After this complete change in my life, my father- who has been trail running since I was in middle school- signed me up for a race in Moab, Utah. This racewould be my first 5K in more than a decade. I was incredibly nervous. Besides walks and hikes, I didn’t exercise at all. Somehow I had convinced myself that Iwould never be an athlete- certainly not a runner. Not only would it be my first race, but it was going to be in a completely different environment thansoutheastern Wisconsin! But I wasn’t going to let my dad down, and I knew this race was presenting me with an incredible adventure. Determined, I took to runningthe streets around my parents’ house. I was too nervous to hit the trails. What if, somehow, I failed?

Here was my depression and grief roaring at me: you will fail, you don’t deserve any of this. A voice shouted back: I can do this, and I will. That voice wastiny and shook with each word, but it was there. I laced up my shoes and dug up a pair of shorts. I found some music and went outside into the bright springsunshine and ran. Whether it was a mile or three miles, I don’t recall. Regardless I felt triumphant. The little voice inside me was elated. I wondered what mysister would say if she saw me walk back in the house, soaked in sweat and smiling.

Sometime after her death, one of my sister’s friends shared something with me. It was an email my sister had written to herself when I was in middle school andshe was in third or fourth grade. The email was written in curly-cued font and every bit the voice of a nine-year old growing up in the early 2000s. She wasbored, she was going to find something to do. It must have been summer. “Aley n dad just got back from a race,” she noted. I was transported back to that timewhen my dad and I would wake up early in the morning to get to our races. My sister even did a few. Filled with nostalgia and sadness, I wept over that email. Iwas going to run for myself and for her.

After a couple weeks pounding the pavement I was getting bored. I had to eventually wander onto the dirt trails and through the prairies. Soon enough I waschallenging myself on an eight-mile trail full of challenging hills (with colorful names such as Asthma Hill and Gut Buster), creeping tree roots, and rockyterrain. Week after week I returned. Slowly, with nothing but the sound of my breathing, birdsong, and the wind, I found myself reflecting on the death of mysister and all the changes in my life. My sister is gone and I never had a chance to fully build our relationship. She won’t be physically present at my weddingor be an aunt to my children. Every time I realize this I feel a pain in my chest, a fresh wound, a sudden reminder that I’ll never see her face again. But in thewoods, slipping through mud and squinting in the sunshine, I felt her presence. I believed she was proud of me. We both struggled for so long with beingcomfortable in our own skin. Here I was, finally coming to terms with my body and the essence of myself.

I built up my confidence so much that I completed three 5Ks and a half marathon before I even flew out to Utah with my father. Those races raised my spirit and confidence to levels I’ve never known before. Finishing the half marathon was huge for someone who was once sure she could never accomplish such a feat. It was also at that half marathon that I became engaged to a man that shared my newfound zest for life and for trail running. I was coming to understand what it felt like to truly live and not simply to exist. The time spent in various terrains allowed me time to not only reflect, but to absorb the beauty of the land around me and my place in the world. Somehow, being surrounded by tall trees and imposing sandstone arches helps me remember how fragile and small I am- but also how incredibly capable and strong I am. I no longer run away from my feelings. Instead, I carry them with me, processing and feeling and healing amongst the natural earth that I too will one day return to. And through it all- the injuries, the sunburn, the frustration, the joy- my sister is with me, cheering me on.

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Even though we slept with three people in each bed, my mom always told me, “be grateful we have somewhere warm to sleep this winter,”. Yet, I didn’t feel very grateful. I wanted to be free from the constant shushing and the clamoring quarter operated washing machines and being too scared to go to the bathroom barefoot, thus risking being greeted by your friendly neighborhood cockroach. I wanted to run away. So that’s exactly what I did. When my mom dropped me off for school one morning and I began the long journey towards my secondary personal prison, I felt myself being swallowed by all of the anxieties that the motel constantly caused me. I felt heavy and miserable. I let those dark thoughts corrupt the possibilities of better days and when I looked up, I realized that I was nowhere near my school. It was 12 pm and I had walked almost two miles just from allowing myself to mull in my own thoughts. Though it was deafeningly loud outside from the hustles and bustles of my city, it felt good to have a space to just think and reflect in peace. On my walk back home, I felt like I finally had a way I could remove the barriers that homelessness had placed around my true being. Within just a few hours, I found more peace than school could ever provide. This became a routine for me – an outlet for the constant depression and despair I had gotten used to feeling. This was until I was slammed with the worst news a person that had just tasted free will could hear. If I missed another day of school I would be failed automatically. That meant no more playing hooky for my morning jogs. I was shattered. My teachers noticed. My parents noticed. I had lost all motivation and my grades paid the price.

That was until my Spanish teacher slapped a registration form for the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure 5k on my desk one tiring Tuesday morning. She was a 2-time breast cancer survivor and fighting her 3rd battle. “I want all of my little chickees to be there cheering me on. That includes you William. No excuses!” I’m not sure how she knew how much I needed that push, but to this day I thank God for instilling her with such faith and love in me. My teacher wrote a countdown on the board every day as we were all gearing up for the big day. Seeing her come to class Monday through Friday with a giant smile on her face despite how weak her chemo treatments made her was the motivation I needed to get back to what I loved – running.

I knew that it would be a challenge to break the crippling habits of sloth and dread I had taken on; but when I felt like my body was too sore to train anymore, I would just think about how strong my teacher had to be everyday to give her students the best pieces of her no matter how much she was hurting. When I felt like the pressures and stressors that came from living in a hotel were controlling my thoughts again, I’d run. I’d dig deep within myself and borrow the strength of my teacher to push myself to run. Though I didn’t have access to a Planet Fitness like my peers, all I really needed was my shoes and my headphones. That was the least I could do for my own sanity and to give my teacher the support she deserved. I knew that my family certainly couldn’t afford to pay the $30 it took to participate in the race, so I did odd jobs for people in the motel and foraged the laundry room for spare quarters on wash days. I wasn’t going to let a small thing like money be the hurdle that stopped me from achieving my goal.

When the day of the race finally arrived, I walked up to my school beaming with excitement. On the bus ride to the site of the race, everyone was buzzing happily as they painted each other’s faces with pink stripes and pink ribbons. We laughed, we sang, and we talked about how hard we had trained. Everyone glared in awe at how big my calves had gotten over the weeks. It was strange to allow myself to feel joy and genuine support after months of forced silence and discouragement at the motel. I enjoyed warming up my muscles with my peers at the start line. There were women, men, and children of all ages lined up alongside us. No one thought of any limitations that could hold them back from finishing or the troubles that waited for them at home. We all understood that the goal was to keep pushing forward as we raced for the cure together. With a loud BOOM! everyone took off laughing and smiling. Once I took off, I felt like I was running with purpose. For once, I was running toward something instead of running away from everything. When I felt tired or defeated, there was a volunteer dressed head to toe in pink ready to give me a cup of water or a high five. Some of the cheerleaders at the local high schools volunteered to be cheer squads with their bright pink pom poms. I knew I’d be sore and sweaty at the end, but it felt good to run while fueled with determination. I could feel myself sweating away my miseries and fears. I finished the race at about the same time as my teacher and we gave each other scarily tight hugs as we celebrated our victories. I truly felt that moment was a metaphor for the support and motivation that we gave each other as we fought our personal battles every day.

Not long after, my family was fortunate enough to move out of that motel and into a home of our own. Even though my environment no longer oppresses me, I still make sure that I get my daily run in. Now I run for a different reason. I run because I know that I have beautiful opportunities that I must run towards. I no longer run as a way to escape because I know that there are people who support me no matter how big my battles may be. Though I am not a fan of the circumstances, I am so thankful that I was introduced to the joy of running and I will continue to use it as a tool for my healing.

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Meanwhile, I was working with a student I have always been close with, who I will call William. William has severe cerebral palsy to the degree where he is quadriplegic and mute. For the longest time, he could only converse through yes-or-no questions, and never had the chance to express himself. However, his sixth-grade year, he received a computerized device that had an eye-gaze. What did this device do? Well, it allowed him to leaf through a system and ‘select’ words so he could speak. While socializing with William one day, I waited patiently while he typed out a five-word sentence on his device; Carissa, I really missed you. Upon the completion of the sentence, he began sweating profusely and seemed tired. That’s when I learned that the amount of effort it takes for him to type one sentence is equal to the amount of effort it would take me to run one mile.

I was absolutely floored. How could something like talking, something I absolutely took for granted, be so difficult? I truly struggled with this information. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. I had to do something. One day I even tried to not talk at all – to the utter frustration of my teachers. I socialized more and more with William, learning that we could work on his ‘endurance’. One day, in the middle of summer, it hit me. Maybe I could run for William. If it took us the same amount of effort, surely there was something I could do to level with him, to make the universe seem fairer. So, I signed up for cross country. Every time I would talk with William, I would count the number of sentences he had made and would run that distance in miles after practices and on weekends. When I started to win races, I would give the medals to William. But as hard as I worked to level myself with him, I realized there wasn’t a good way to. People don’t tend to realize how lucky they are to be able to achieve something as seemingly simple as breathing and speaking, and I didn’t know how to spread that message.

It wasn’t until I was a junior in high school that I came up with a better idea. My business club decided to host a color-run-fundraiser to raise money for the March of Dimes foundation. I was planning on running the race in William’s name, just as I had always done, but then it hit me; William was affected by cerebral palsy, a condition caused by a premature birth (the focal point of March of Dimes). Why not celebrate the individuals cherished by March of Dimes during the race? I called up every child in the school district affected by cerebral palsy (there were four!) and asked their parents for permission to take them through the fun run. Then, I gathered volunteers willing to help me in the journey. We agreed to help get the kiddos to the starting line, push them through the 5K, earn them a medal, and clean the wheelchairs afterwards. Finally, the day of the race came upon us.

It was a chilly September morning, and William was very nervous. He had never gone very fast in his wheelchair, in fact he had never run before at all. To go faster than one mile an hour would be totally new to him. When the race started, he was very nervous – his whole body was clenched in fear. So, while the other wheelchair racers sped ahead, William and I pulled off and had a heart-to-heart. If he wanted to race, then we would. We would go as fast or slow as he wanted, and we could stop whenever. We could do the race out of order, we could only go through one color, or we could stop right then and there. Together, we decided to keep going. We made it through the first color – green. Smiles were wide on the color-thrower’s faces as they carefully sprinkled green all around William, being careful to avoid his face. I asked William if we were good to go and he nodded – off we went, up a huge hill! My calved burned the entire time, but I knew I had to get this kid up the hill for the both of us. As we went through the race, we went faster and faster, getting doused in every color of the rainbow, and William’s smile grew bigger and bigger. At the last hundred yards, he was finally squealing with excitement – as we passed other runners, and as we went through the very last color. We finally cross the finish line, and William was absolutely elated.

This time, it was different from me running a race and giving him the medal. This time, his courage to pursue something he never experienced before earned him that medal – it was all him. His bravery was stupendous, and I finally realized how much I truly asked of him. I was so proud of him, and absolutely nothing can take that feeling away.

It’s been three years since that race, and I still think it was the most important race I’ve ever run. I know the wheelchair-race has continued at my high school and become a tradition for all the kids affected by paralysis of any kind, and that makes my heart truly smile. I still run for William, only now I determine my mileage by email. William has been working hard on being able to send entire emails while I’m away at college. Sometimes it takes him a few days, but all things considered I don’t mind. I still count up the sentences and use them to determine how much I run every week.

William really taught me how much we take for granted, and I wish more people would learn that same lesson I did. William’s wheelchair tends to scare people away, so socialization is very difficult for him, even with his ever-improving endurance. My career goal is to work with special-needs kids now. I think that if I’m able to teach others about how special these kiddos truly are, and if I can give them more chances to show the world what they can do, maybe people will stop focusing so much on what they can’t do. After all, like Dr. Seuss said, if you judge a fish on its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing it is stupid. Nobody deserves to think that they are stupid, or not worth an experience because it’s too difficult to deliver to them. It’s time the rest of the world learned that too.

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When people ask why I chose this ambitious endeavor, I often give lackluster responses, such as “It’s a great way to see the United States!” or “I love running half marathons!” While those statements may be true, I use them as a defense mechanism to avoid the harsh criticism and judgement that I am afraid I would face if I were to share the real reasons. The truth is, I embarked on this journey to pull myself out of a deep-rooted depression that I found myself in after spending a restless night on a cold hard jail cell floor. After hitting rock-bottom that night, I had a choice – either continue down a path of self-destruction or forge a new path of reflection and self-discovery. I ultimately chose the latter and developed a passion for running along the way. As I continue my journey running across the United States, I want to use my story to show that your mistakes do not define you as a person.

So how did a former straight-A student, goody two-shoes end up in jail? The short run-of-the-mill story is a DUI. However, my situation was far worse than having one drink too many and teetering on the edge of the legal limit. I was highly intoxicated and crashed into a construction zone while merging onto the highway. I blacked out right before the crash, and did not even grasp the gravity of the situation until a construction worker was banging on my window asking if I was ok. Although I totaled my car, I walked away without a single scratch on me and was fortunate enough to not have injured anyone else. Police eventually arrived at the scene, and gave me a series of sobriety tests that I was destined to fail. I was hauled off to jail in handcuffs, and my life was changed forever as I knew it.

I spent the night in jail internalizing what had led me to rock bottom. The most obvious, was drinking and driving. But why did I drink so much that night? Why did I choose to drive? And why was I so careless with my life? The answer to those questions was depression. The debilitating effects of depression and mental illness permeate my family, and unfortunately, I was not spared those genetic traits. In the months leading up to the crash in the summer of 2010, I was going through an extremely difficult time, mourning the loss of a friend. At that time in my life, I had not come to terms or understood the symptoms of my recurring depression and turned to alcohol to cope and self-medicate. The more I drank, the further I fell deeper into my depression, until I eventually hit rock bottom with the DUI.

The consequences of a DUI were extremely costly. I depleted my savings, lost my driver’s license for a year, and had to attend a series of AA meetings and alcohol education classes. In addition, I lost my freedom, independence, and the self-reliance that I prided myself on. While receiving the DUI would end up being a blessing in disguise, I spent the first few months of my probation hating myself. I moved in with my dad to save money, and had to rely on family and friends to be my chauffer.

I started to see light at the end of the tunnel with the help of my mother. Two days a week, she selflessly drove 30 minutes to pick me up and take me to the gym. She let me spend hours there, as I worked out my stress and anxiety exploring different weight and cardio machines. In the beginning of our gym excursions, I despised running and avoided the treadmill at all costs. However, after a particularly hard day at work, I decided to challenge myself and was surprised that I could run a mile without stopping. From that day on, I kept pushing myself to run faster and farther. As my mileage and speed increased, so did my confidence. Six months into my probation, I decided it was time to move out.

My roommate and I found an apartment close to a metro station outside of Washington, DC so that I could regain my independence. One day when walking to the metro station, I discovered a running trail called 4 Mile Run. At the time, I had only run on a treadmill but decided it would be a good way to explore my new neighborhood. The next day after work, I put on my running shoes and ventured out for what I thought was an out-and-back four-mile run. Unfortunately, I was sorely mistaken and found myself on an 8-mile run, where I was racing against nightfall in the woods. I joked with my friends that it was a 6-mile run and 2-mile walk of shame. Although I was being modest, I knew I had accomplished something to be proud of.

From that day forward, I was on the road to recovery. Running became my outlet for managing my depression and feeling good about myself again. Growing up, I dreaded running the mile in P.E., and here I was running several miles a day. While I still felt the stigma of having a DUI, each month I was getting better as I got closer to getting my driver’s license back. By the time the big day came, I had successfully turned my life around, living on my own and pursuing a new career path in graphic design.

After spending a year focused on putting the DUI behind me, I needed something else to focus my efforts on – and that became running a half marathon. After some research, I decided to run the Marine Corps Historic Half Marathon, which was held in Fredericksburg, Virginia in May 2012. Growing up near Fredericksburg, I often visited scenic areas of the course and was looking forward to participating in an event associated with “The People’s Marathon.” I spent the winter of 2012 researching different training plans and tips for novice runners. I eventually stumbled across Hal Higdon’s Novice 1 Training Plan and thought it was a perfect match for newbie runners like myself.

During the 12 weeks of training, I was committed to not missing a day. This was especially challenging while training during the tail end of winter. Finding the time to run five days a week was also a struggle. There were many early morning and late-night runs that left me feeling tired, exhausted, and cranky. When I was training, I also had to focus on fueling my body for long runs. I learned a few lessons the hard way, including my body cannot handle Mexican food or a large bag of kale before a long run. But I will keep the details of those disturbing incidents to myself. Although I was not the fastest runner, by the end of my training program, I was ready for the big day.

The night before my race, I was very anxious wondering what the hell I got myself into. I carefully laid out my new neon yellow running gear and bib to ease my nerves and settled in for a restless night sleep. I had come a long way since my last extremely restless night, which was spent on the cold hard floor of a prison cell. I knew that no matter what, the next morning would be better than waking up in a lonely jail cell having to face the disappointed look on my parents’ faces.

On race day, I woke up at 5:00 am, while most of my family and support crew slept. My mom once again was my selfless chauffer and drove me downtown to the starting line. I anxiously waited for the race start, and was energized by all the adrenaline and nervous energy in the air. I had only one goal that day, to finish the race. Once my coral started, much of the race was a blur. The first eight miles, I remember feeling nostalgic as I passed by the streets and shops I visited while growing up. I also recall a group of spectators handing out tequila shots, and holding back vomit at the shear thought of drinking alcohol. I started struggling at mile nine, when I reached the infamous “Hospital Hill.” I debated taking a detour and checking myself into the hospital, but was motivated to continue by all the service men and women cheering us on. Although I spent the remaining 4 miles alternating between walking and running, I did not beat myself up – all I wanted to do was finish the race. The last half mile, I spotted my dad at a street corner eagerly waiting for me. This would be my favorite part of the race. My dad spent the remaining portion of the race running along beside me through the crowds, cheering and encouraging me to finish the race. Once I crossed the finish line, I was overcome with emotion and shed a few tears. The grueling 12 weeks of training had paid off, I had successfully run my first half marathon.

In the weeks that followed, I became eager to run another half marathon. My aunt, who ran a full marathon in every state, introduced me to the 50 States Half Marathon Club. After reading some inspiring stories, I decided to make it a personal goal to run a half marathon in every state as well as DC. Five years later, I have 15 races under my belt with two more scheduled in the coming months. I have come a long way in the past five years, from starting my own freelance business to pursuing a Master’s degree. After each race I complete, I push the shame of the DUI further behind me and become more comfortable in my own skin. I can confidently say that running saved my life and helped me see that my mistakes do not define me as a person. Although I made a terrible mistake the night, my DUI does not define me.

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The campus is a beautiful, historic place where I walk through and still visit on a weekly bases. I started my training weeks before while I was working full time at my present job. Three weeks before I educated myself with running techniques and ate healthy. It took me just over three months to complete my training. In those three months I learned more about myself than in the previous years or in the five years since. I trained on my own and got advice from the Manhattan Running Company on running techniques and healthy food to eat before the big day. There is nothing which can compare. I knew the route before the actual day of the race, I wanted to be prepared. I needed to work hard but smart, luckily I was given a raise at work during my training.

I financed the training with extra money that I saved during about six months of my decision to run in the 5k. My last six months before the actual day, working 40 hours per week on top of my full-time training schedule, I was determined to reach my goal. Run the 5k for the first time in Manhattan, Kansas, a town I live in and love. This was the first real goal that I ever made for myself, and reached it alone on a warm April morning. Before that April morning, I read books on running and the techniques of running they all helped me tremendously.

The lessons from the training are ones that have affected me in everything I have done since. Because of those three months, I see training and scheduling differently, in a way they are sometimes impossible to explain to someone else, though I will try. Planning an event with help of a group of people is one thing but scheduling my own training time was just as detailed in my opinion. I succeeded and trusted my training when race day finally came. Working, training, reading, eating, thinking, and stretching on a daily bases were all very difficult.

My training was very challenging when I had to work all day, but I found a need to put myself through the difficulties of training life. Just like any professional athlete the proper training can make you a success or break you. From this time, I gained an appreciation for the little things, like energy water to drink, a balanced diet full of carbohydrates and plenty of rest (all of which were sometimes lacking). I met people from all around town and some from nearby towns like Junction City, Wamego, and Fort Riley, as I crossed paths with those whose backgrounds did not resemble mine, a skill I have used often in the military. I have found talking to people, like minded strangers, really improves on who you are and all those you meet.

While I was running all of the training came together in one instant. My breathing was in step with my strides, and my energy was focused on my goal, just to finish. I realize I am not a marathon runner but my will to overcome my agony will give me the will to fight for my next goal, whatever that may be. I was breathing clean country air and using that to gain energy with every stride I made. Everyone around me seemed to be a serious runner but this was my first 5k so I was running against myself not everyone else. I thought to myself many times through the entire run, “Just keep going one more stride the goal is yours just finish, I can’t fail if I attempt to finish, I see the finish line I am almost there”, I thought to myself.

Now I have improved on every aspect of my life. I no longer have to worry about health and well-being now I worry about my next 5k. I have traded my flight deck boots for running shoes and haven’t looked back. My military training has improved my responsibility my running has improved my overall outlook of life and health. Yet, somehow, everything I did before the 5k run applies to what I have done since. Whether it’s working at my job, meeting new interesting people, or sitting down with a good book, the lessons are not all that different. I learned how to better schedule my time, my health, and my own everyday life.

Though my two tours in the Navy, I wandered back into the real world and again onto the training path that will lead me to my next adventure. I know that if I can prepare better my need to train for my next 5k or even a 10k, will be a little easier. If I train one person to run better because of my experience, then I have accomplished an adequate goal, I have my previous experience to draw from. Because I have been there, I have a common bond with other runners and training for something that changed me forever. Throughout the world and the special bond to all of my Navy shipmates, that bond is over but never forgotten. I am still amazed at how my former life as an employee with no education turned into a world traveler has better prepared me for life as a disciplined runner.

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One year ago, my life was miserable. I weight over 512lbs and everything hurt. I can remember not being able to fit into chairs and the constant worry that one would break as soon as I sat down. I can remember working my night shift Pharmacy job and practically crying and crawling through the front door of my home eight hours later after only having worked one night. I can remember being miserable and depressed. Something needed to change. I was finally sick and tired of being sick and tired.

Then something truly amazing happened to me. My mom sat me down one day and said she was so concerned for my health and safety that if I chose to have weight loss surgery she would pay for whatever my insurance didn’t cover. That shocked me for some reason. My mother was willing to pay thousands of dollars just to get her son back. It floored me. In another instance I had one of my best friends sit me down and tell me how concerned he was for me. He explained how, when I was in high school and we had first met, I was full of life. I could make anyone believe I could do whatever I set my mind to, no matter how crazy. “You were magnetic. People were attracted to you because they just wanted to be around your energy,” He said. He spoke with me candidly saying that he had slowly watched his best friend die a little inside each time my weight increased until he honestly didn’t even recognize me as the same person he become friends with 17 years earlier. At this point, I hadn’t fully realized I was a shell of the person I once was. I was capable of so much more and I had let it all slip away.

Those conversations started me on the leg of my journey that would lead me to surgery. I went through months of researching the pros and cons. I researched the procedures and agonized over which one would be right for me. I researched the doctors and who would take my insurance. Who was the best? But mostly I researched the process beginning to end, front and back. I wanted to know everything.

The biggest thing I was concerned about, and probably spent even more time studying than anything, was the diet and exercise requirements post-surgery. I knew my life would be changing, but I had no clue even then just how drastic. The typical weight loss surgery patient will be on less than 600 to 800 calories a day to start and over time work it up to about 1200. You need to realize that after surgery my stomach was the size of a shot glass. It was tiny. With so few calories going in, I was also required to do some physical exercise for an hour every day. This poses a very special problem in that I can only take in so many calories in a day due to the size of my stomach and a most all of those calories plus some are being burned through exercise. I needed a way to track every bit of food and exercise I was doing every day, if I wasn’t careful with that fine balance of calories in verses calories out, I would get light headed, dizzy, and feel really sick because I had pushed too far without proper nutrition. On the reverse side of things, I needed to keep my calorie deficit as high as possible so I would be able to lose the weight rapidly. This has been my dance every day for the last year.

The other great key to my journey was goal setting. During the weeks leading up to surgery, especially the two weeks prior where I was only allowed liquid, I immersed myself in what could be. I began to think of goals from the mundane to the insane. A mundane goals for me was simply being able to walk down a flight of stairs like a normal person instead of one at a time while holding tight to the rail for fear of falling or hurting myself due to the pressure on my joints. Insane for me was the simple one. I wanted to be an Ironman. I wanted to be one of those guys I saw on TV crossing the finish line and doing what very few people could because I had mastered my body. I decided on pursuing all the things I never thought I could, but wanted to try as a way to show myself what I was truly capable of. I spent hours upon hours watching every Ironman race that I could get my hands on. I watched recordings of the Boston Marathon and cycling events. When I wasn’t watching people achieving the dreams I wanted to pursue and reveling in the emotions of their victories, I was researching equipment and training techniques. As I lay at home recovering from my surgery this was my routine as well, but here I began peppering in planning. I had my mundane goal which I reached about two months out from surgery and when I did, I sat at the bottom of the stairwell and cried. Going down a flight of stairs may not be much to some, but to me it was everything. I also had my insane goal. Now the key was to plan all the baby steps in between.

Since I started this amazing journey, I have lost almost 210 lbs. In the last year and a half I have gone from couch potato to athlete. I have walked a 5K and a 10K, got my first road bike and my longest race to date has been 38 miles, and I have done a ¾ mile swim in the Ohio River and placed 6th in my age group. I have run my first 5K and 10K ever and even participated in the half marathon at the Flying Pig in 2015. I have said many times now looking back, I feel as though I was in a bad dream and am just now waking up. I want to run my first full marathon at the Walt Disney World Marathon in 2016, to finish my first Olympic triathlon later this year, to finish my first half Ironman race in 2016, and my first full Ironman race in 2017. I also want to document a trip bikepacking the Colorado Trail in Denver. It is a 585 mile single-track mountain bike trail that I want to ride before the end of 2017.

The reason I want to do these things is to prove to myself that my body is amazing and is capable of so much more than I ever thought possible. Every time I finish a race and feel as though I have pushed my body to its limit, I realize that I am not dead. I am still alive and could probably push a little more next time. I spent so much time neglecting it that I now want to see what it is truly capable of. I also want to do this to prove that anyone out there can take back their lives, it just takes a choice. I am no one special. I am just some regular guy that made the choice to get healthy and if I can do it, then anyone can. I want to motivate others to greatness. The running has been an amazing tool that has helped me on my journey and I know it can help you no matter where you find yourself.

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The following year, I traveled to Nairobi and Malindi in Kenya to work with Touch Africa International to help the children benefit from their education and medical resources. At the Lea Mwana Orphanage where I helped out, the children showed me that it is important for everyone to come together and help one another because although everyone feels lonely, no one is alone. That really struck me because when I was first diagnosed, I felt like I was the only one who had Diabetes and thyroid problems. Turns out that as I started maturing and realizing that I could not blame these things on myself because I had no control over them, there was a huge number of people my age who were also suffering from similar medical problems. We would bond through online forums and help each other out whenever any of us had a problem because we all felt like we had experienced similar situations. Only this time, there were others behind you who had gone through and felt what you were feeling, to support you through those tough times. I do not think it was a mere coincidence that while I was working at Lea Mwana, I found out that a few of the organization directors were also suffering from diabetes, and did not hesitate to share their stories with me. The children at the orphanage also showed me that even when you do not have much, it is essential to appreciate what you have and always be happy living in the present moment. It was truly the most rewarding and life-changing experience I had ever had!

By the time I entered college, I was swamped with work and found little time to relish in movement. Although exercise is important to my health, the most I could do during the school year was bustle back and forth between my dorm and the campus building. I was always sitting in front of the computer and could only find time to exercise my mind and fingers on the keyboard. My love for movement is the reason why I chose to study motion media design. I transferred the movement that my body constantly yearned for, into my animations and motion designs. In the future, I hope to make interactive motion graphic animations for the people who have had their livelihood robbed from them, especially the children who have lost their families. I hope the joy that these energetic animations have brought back into my life, will reignite in their hearts and inspire them as much as my experiences have led me to be the type of person I am today.

I run and walk in charity marathons not just because it is good for my well-being, but also because I have never wanted anything more than to stop suffering for all people. The pain that I felt when I was first diagnosed was unimaginable, and I do not wish for anyone to have to go through that. The history of my diseases has been trailing along my family line from my grandparents to my great-grandparents, and I cannot imagine what they had to go through back then. The fact that they were diagnosed at a much later age than my early adolescence only worries me more! The charity runs that my family and I participate in help to raise funds towards research for a cure, but it also benefits those who just show up and walk along with the groups who do it for the cause. The cause does not just target a specific audience, but it supports the well-being of everyone because these diseases have the potential of hitting just about everyone. These walks/runs encourage families to come out and defeat and prevent disease together as one, and there is nothing more important than working through a difficult time with people by your side.

Through my experiences, running and enjoying movement has not just been a hobby, but it has become a lifelong necessity that I enjoy with the people around me. It has shown not only through my health, but through my potential career path of working in the amazing motion graphics industry. I am so happy that movement has grown into such a big part of my life!

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