Puddles dotted the track, glistening under the weak morning sunlight. The air was heavy with humidity, and I could already feel it clinging to my skin.
My teammates were gathered in small groups, laughing and chatting as Coach Ling prepared the cones and hurdles for today's drills.
I stood at the edge of the track, tightening my laces with deliberate care, hoping no one would notice the turmoil swirling inside me.
"Hey, Taryn!" Baihe's cheerful voice broke through my thoughts. She jogged over, her ponytail bouncing with each step. "You ready to crush it today?"
I nod. "Yeah. Ready as I'll ever be."
Baihe tilted her head, her expression softening. "You okay? You seem... distracted."
"I'm fine," I replied quickly, pulling my shoelaces tighter.
"Just thinking about districts. It's a lot of pressure, you know?"
"Yeah, but you've got this," Baihe said, her confidence unwavering.
"You're one of the best on the team. Coach says so all the time."
Her words should have been reassuring, but instead, they felt like another weight added to the pile. I mumbled a thank-you and joined the team as Coach Ling blew his whistle, signaling the start of practice.
The first drill was a series of sprints. Normally, this was my element—the place where I thrived. But today, my legs felt like lead.
Each stride was a battle, each breath a reminder of how out of sync I was. As the rest of the team raced ahead, I lagged behind again, the gap between us growing wider with every lap.
"Taryn!" Coach Ling's voice cut through the air as I stumbled across the finish line, panting. "What's going on? This isn't like you."
"I'm sorry, Coach," I said, struggling to catch my breath. "I'll do better."
Coach's expression softened, but his tone was firm. "You've got talent, Taryn, but talent means nothing without focus. Whatever's holding you back, you need to shake it off. Districts are two weeks away, and the team is counting on you."
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. The team was counting on me. But what if I wasn't enough?
Later that afternoon, I found myself sitting alone on the bleachers, staring at the empty track. The rain clouds from the morning had given way to clear skies, and the sun cast long shadows across the field. I traced the edges of my water bottle with my thumb, my mind replaying the morning's practice.
"Looks like you've got a lot on your mind." The voice startled me, and I turned to see Baihe climbing the bleachers, her usual smile replaced with an expression of concern.
"I'm fine," I said automatically, though we both knew it wasn't true.
"You've been saying that a lot lately," Baihe said, sitting down beside me. "But I don't think you are."
I hesitated, the weight of my thoughts threatening to spill over. "It's just... everything feels so overwhelming right now. Practice, school, my family—it's like no matter what I do, it's never enough."
Baihe frowned. "What do you mean?"
"My siblings," I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.
"Jia's this perfect student with her awards and leadership roles. Devon's already stepping up in the family business. And then there's me, running in circles, trying to prove that what I'm doing matters."
"But it does matter," Baihe said firmly. "You love track.
And you're amazing at it. Just because it's not what your siblings are doing doesn't mean it's any less important."
Her words brought a flicker of warmth to my chest, but the doubts lingered. "Tell that to my family."
That evening, I returned home to find Grandma and Grandpa gathered around the dining table, sorting through old photo albums.
The sight of their laughter and shared memories should have been comforting, but instead, it only amplified the ache inside me.
"Taryn, come look at this," Grandma called, waving me over. "We found some pictures from your first track meet!"
Reluctantly, I joined them, peering over their shoulders at the faded photographs. There I was, a younger version of myself, beaming as I held up a participation ribbon. My parents stood behind me, their smiles wide and genuine.
"Remember how excited you were that day?" Grandma said, her eyes sparkling with nostalgia.
"You couldn't stop talking about how much you loved running."
I nodded, my throat tight. "Yeah. I remember."
But as I stared at the photo, all I could think about was how much had changed. Back then, running had been my joy, my passion.
Now, it felt like another box I had to check, another way to prove my worth.
The sound of Devon's laughter drifted in from the living room, followed by Jia's voice on yet another video call. Their successes loomed over me, a constant reminder of how far I still had to go.
Upstairs, I sat at my desk, the gold medal from my last race glinting under the light. I picked it up, running my fingers along the smooth surface. It should have been a symbol of pride, a testament to my hard work. But all I felt was the weight of expectations—both my family's and my own.
The faint buzz of my phone broke the silence. It was a message from Baihe: "Tomorrow's a new day. Don't let today get to you. You're stronger than you think."
Her words brought a small smile to my lips. Baihe always seemed to know exactly what to say. But as I set the medal back on the desk, I couldn't shake the question that had been haunting me for weeks: Am I really strong enough to keep going?
I sighed and looked out the window. Outside, the world was blurred and undefined—much like the future I was trying to navigate.
The quiet buzz of my phone snapped me out of my spiraling thoughts. It was another message, this time from Coach Ling: "Take a breath, Taryn. Remember, the race is yours—not anyone else's."
I stared at his words, my grip tightening around the phone. The race is mine. Simple, direct—yet profound.
On the track, I had control. My legs carried me forward, my breath synchronized with my stride, my heart set the rhythm.
No one could dictate the pace but me. So why was it so different off the track?