Failure

This is a long one, sorry. :) 

Gabby Mancuso is one of my favorite people. When I met her for the first time in 8th grade, she introduced herself, then immediately dove into a "pep" talk for my first invitational.

"Focus on the girl in front of you and think of different ways to break her bones. Pretend her legs are the chicken wings you want for dinner and run her down." 

That was one of her nicer talks.

When I joined the nordic ski team, then later the varsity cross country team, I found that I wanted to live up to her athletic standards. Gabby had a way of making our sports less fun and more serious. Freshman year, I discovered that cross country was no longer a game, but a competition. We all had to put everything into the sport and give it nothing less than our best. Our cult of nine changed my perception of competition forever. My teammates became my family and I found that I felt more at home running with them than anywhere else. As a result of this, I couldn't disappoint them, and above all, I couldn't disappoint Gabby. 

"The teams next to us, the stupid girls wishing us luck that really want us to fall and break out ankles. In the next moments to come, I want you to put their heads on the chopping block."

Everything she taught me helped me through my freshman year of cross country. I had an amazing season and only missed top 20 at States by .1 of a second. All of my hopes, however, were crushed when I found I had tendonitis in my knee. It didn't seem like a problem at first, so I continued training for skiing. Eventually, I was taken out of sports for a season, which ruined my track performance as well. I recovered over the summer, and went into my sophomore year with lower expectations. 

"You are about to chew this course up and spit it out, you are about to munch on those girls' Achilles as if they are chicken wings. Use their tears as salt for the remains of their bodies."

It was a terrible year. I dropped out of a race for the first time. The mental obstacle overcame the physical and I wasn't able to ignore the pain as I usually did. I immediately heard Gabby yelling at me to keep going and stop being a wimp, and felt ashamed of myself. Even though she had graduated, I had kept repeating her "words of wisdom" to the new kids: Don't stop. Don't slow down. Never walk.

"You need to get angry, you need to go hard, and you need to go for the kill."

I ended up making States that year, and was excited. My friends and mentor coach were going to be there and I had to make a good impression. The course at Vernon Verona was a mud bath, and it was cold. The day before the race, there was a flash blizzard, leaving the area soaking wet and grey for race day. Spectators could barely walk around the course. It was nearly impossible to run in it. So, of course, 400 meters into the race, a girl slipped. In an effort to avoid stepping on her, I lost my footing and fell, my knee landing directly on an exposed root. At this point, I had lost my running buddy, Naomi, and needed to catch up to her. I was not the "smart runner" Gabby taught me to be, and sprinted up to catch her. My efforts were in vain, because I fell over with an asthma attack. My race was over with a mile left to the finish line.

"Giving birth will be easy after the pain you're about to go through."

I had never felt so pathetic in my life. Sitting behind the finish line, watching everyone sprint through the chute, I was discovered by my coach, mentor coach, and friends. Their encouraging comments and hugs made me feel worse. 

Now I run with many more injuries, but I finally took responsibility and figured out how to keep them in check. A frequently asked question at sports events is, "What's wrong now?" Though a little discouraging, I have learned how to cope and use Gabby's words to help me stay focused.

"You have shown me that it is possible to stay optimistic in our sport."