Running on Empty

My legs burned like someone had set them on fire, but I kept **running** anyway. Coach Martinez's voice echoed in my head: 'Push through the pain, Maya!' Yeah, right. Easy for him to say when he's not the one trying to qualify for state finals while simultaneously surviving junior year.

I was basically a **zombie** at this point. Three weeks of five AM practices plus AP Euro homework until midnight will do that to you. My best friend Tia kept asking if I was okay, and I kept lying. 'Totally fine! Just tired, you know?' But really, I was drowning in expectations—my parents', my coach's, my own.

Then came the papaya incident. My mom had started buying these weird tropical fruits because some article said they helped with athletic performance. So there I was, every morning, forcing down this slimy **papaya** while scrolling through TikToks of people my age actually having fun. The papaya tasted like nothing and everything at once—kind of how I felt about my life lately.

The breaking point happened during last week's meet. I was leading the race until my legs gave out. I finished eighth. Coach didn't even look at me afterward.

That night, I deleted all my running apps. I told my parents I needed to figure things out. They were surprisingly cool about it—probably because they'd seen me walking around like a hollowed-out shell for weeks.

Turns out, when you stop **running** from everything, you actually start living. I joined the school play (tech crew, thankfully—I'm not ready to be center stage). I started sleeping again. I even kind of like the papaya now.

Junior year's still hard, but at least I'm not a zombie anymore. And maybe that's enough for now.