Running Past the Fear

The vitamin pills were the size of horse tablets, and my mom swore they'd make me a cross country champion. I'd choke one down every morning with orange juice, trying not to gag as I laced up my running shoes. Another summer morning, another 5 AM wake-up call.

I was spending the summer at Uncle Jorge's ranch, supposedly to "train" for my first cross country season, but mostly I was just running away from the awkwardness of middle school and toward whatever version of myself I might find at the finish line. The backroads were dusty and empty, perfect for losing myself in the rhythm of my own breathing.

Three miles out, I saw it.

A massive bull was standing smack in the middle of the road, staring me down like I'd personally offended it. I froze. My heart, already pounding from the run, kicked into overdrive. The bull snorted, and I swear it was judging my everything – my shaky confidence, my ridiculous training plan, my entire existence.

I turned around and sprinted like I'd never sprinted before, my lungs burning, my legs pumping harder than they ever had in practice. I didn't stop running until I reached the ranch house, where Uncle Jorge was waiting on the porch with coffee.

"You look like you saw a ghost, mija," he said, setting down his mug.

"Bull," I gasped. "There's a bull on the road. A massive one."

He laughed. "Old Bessie? She's harmless. Mostly."

"MOSTLY?!"

"You ran faster than you've ever run, didn't you?" He raised an eyebrow. "Sometimes that's what it takes. Something to chase you, or something to run from. Either way, you find out what you're made of."

That afternoon, I texted my best friend Maya about it.

"Bullshit," she replied.

"I swear! It was huge!"

"Sure, sure. But did you finish your run?"

"No... I ran back to the house."

"Then it doesn't count. But hey, at least you got your cardio in."

I stared at my phone, annoyed but also weirdly grateful. Maya always kept it real.

Cross country season started in September. The first meet, I stood at the starting line, surrounded by girls who looked like they'd been born running. My stomach twisted itself into knots. I thought about that bull, about how scared I'd been, about how hard I'd run to get away.

Then I thought about running toward something instead.

The gun went off.

I didn't win. But I didn't come in last, either. And somewhere around mile two, when everything hurt and I wanted to quit, I remembered Uncle Jorge's words and picked up the pace. I crossed the finish line with nothing left to give, collapsed on the grass, and immediately reached for my phone.

One new notification from Maya: "😤💪" with a screenshot of my race time.

Later that night, I swallowed my vitamin pill without gagging. Some things were getting easier, even if running never would.