Fourteen years.

And seventy-eight days. 

All those days, upon months, upon years of waking up before the sun;  stretching my body out before pushing it to its breaking point–then further. 

Countless workouts that made me want to give up.

Not eating certain foods. 

Refusing to go to movies with friends because I needed to be at the track the next morning. 

Losing those friends, because they couldn’t understand why I needed to be at the track the next morning. 

Everything, the pain, the suffering, the fierce competition, the hard work. All for this.   

I looked up at the five big rings on the building in front of me. Shutting my eyes I pinched myself before I looked at them again. This was all real, I’d made it.  

“Come get your bag girl, I ain't carrying it for you!”

With a smile on my face I turned back to the bus that had just brought the three members of the USA’s women marathon team to the Olympic village in Paris, France.

“I’m coming.” I said as I ran up to grab my suitcase from Lilly.

 Lilly Marando was one of my teammates, her record time was 2:31:41.  I didn’t rank her as a threat.

“Aright laddies, we’ve got things to do.” 

Looking up, I watched as head coach Tenda Manta exited the bus. Tenda was the head coach of the women's American running team. She had been ever since she retired at age 37, after setting a world record in the women's marathon, at 2:13.49.

Behind coach Tenda came my personal coach John.

Tenda clapped her hands together along with her ever present clipboard. When John had first introduced me to Tenda he had told me that she kept a list of the top ten best female runners in America on that clip board. If your name was on the top of that list, you’d know you had made it. 

Mine was second.

Tenda surveyed me, Lilly and Daya, ”I’ve got you all down for a tempo run on the track this evening,then I’ve scheduled you all a massage from six to six-thirty.Then all of you are going to bed by nine. Understood?” 

“Yes ma'am.” 

Out of the corner of my eye I watched Daya as she said this. Daya's personal best time was better than mine at 2:17.56.  Right above my name on Tenda’s list sat Daya’s.

Tenda smiled, ”Thank you, Daya. Now get moving.” 

John jogged up to me as our team walked into the training center to get registered, ”Hey, we're here under the rings! Can you believe it?” 

“No, not really.” I said as our group got in line in front of some Korean athletes.

I’d been working with John as my coach ever since I graduated high school. I’d graduated with three state records and one national record under my belt and had decided that instead of accepting a full ride scholarship to the college of my dreams, Princeton,  I would dedicate myself to running and  go pro. John had been a top distance runner in college, though he never went pro in the marathon. His personal best was 2:28:23, so he had seemed the best choice to coach me. 

We quickly made our way through the registration line. Then before I knew it I was getting dropped off with Lilly and Daya at our apartment in the Olympic Village. 

The three of us walked inside. The apartment itself was tiny, and its white walls smelled of fresh paint. I looked at the view from our balcony and a jolt of determination ran through me. I was not going back to California without a gold medal round my neck. 

 I unpacked my bag in about ten minutes before I settled down to take a nap. After I woke up,the three of us made our way outside to the track where our coaches were waiting for us.The workout was grueling, with no mercy. Not that I was used to mercy anyway. After my massage our group made our way to the dining hall.

The moment I entered the hall full of chatting athletes the smell of food bombarded me. I walked straight to the pasta counter where I got a plate of pasta salad and a glass of water. I could barely believe, as I passed the drink station, that they had soda. I was even more appalled to see an athlete from Italy getting a cup of Fanta. At least I knew I wouldn’t have to worry about competing with Italy. 

I heard a voice yell my name. Looking around the crowded room I tried to find the source of the voice.   

It was Tristan Tryd, one of the young men on the men's marathon team, he was waving me over to a crowded table, full with the other athletes from the men’s team. 

Tristan, like everybody else in this room, was one of the best athletes of his generation. In his last marathon he came in at 2 hours and five minutes. Four minutes from breaking the world record. Pretty good, but then again he was still a whole four minutes off from breaking the world record. 

Lilly, Daya and I sat down by Tristan. He smiled at me,“Can you guys believe the legends in this room?”  

I looked around. There were sports legends who we’d seen on our TVs, now eating just a few tables away from us.

“It’s crazy.” I said, glancing to my side and seeing a Russian long distance runner I’d had a picture of in my locker when I was 15. Funny, I probably was faster than her now.

The rest of the meal went by in laughter and jokes. I noticed Tristan talking to me a lot. 

As I stood to leave, Tristan offered to carry my tray for me. 

“I was just wondering,” Tristan said as we approached the counter, “you’re staying here in Paris till the end of the Olympics right?”  

”Yeah,” I nodded. 

“So I just,” He turned red. I waited. ”I’m staying here too and after everything ends,” he continued, “I was wondering if you’d like to go sightseeing with me… or something after?”

My heart sank. I wanted to say yes. I liked Tristan. He was cute, funny, and he made me laugh. But…

” I’m sorry I’d really love to but.” His face fell. ”I just can’t have a distraction right now,” I’d worked too hard.

Tristan tried to laugh it off,” Yeah, okay I totally get it,” He bit his lip nodding, ”Okay, see you later, I guess.”  

Awkwardly, he walked away.

I was going to win a gold medal in a week. I couldn't let myself feel sad about this. That would just be a distraction.

Turning away to join Lilly and Daya, I promised myself to work even harder than I had in my whole life till my race. I was so close.

***

Wake up. Workout. Eat. Workout. Sleep. Repeat.

This was my routine.

 Until finally The Day arrived.

***  

On the morning of the marathon I felt oddly peaceful. This was the moment I had worked for since I’d laced up my first pair of running shoes when I was eight. The moment I’d worked for my whole life was today. 

After I ate my usual pre-race bowl of oatmeal John and I walked to the starting line. I stretched. I drank half a cup of water. 

Ten minutes before the race began, I was at the starting line. 

People lined the streets to cheer us on. I knew somewhere out there in the crowd was my family. I wonder if Tristan was in the crowd. The men's races had been held two days prior. Tristan, to no one’s surprise, had won gold in his race, coming in at 2:07:25. He was probably attending some fancy press conference, right now. 

Lilly walked up to me. ”Good luck,” she said and gave me a quick side hug. 

I nodded, ”You too.” 

I didn’t mean it.

The announcer called all athletes to the starting line. 

I stood there looking at the street in front of me, with my body on high alert. Everything I had ever wanted or worked hard for was going to come to pass in this moment. 

I couldn’t let myself down.

I wouldn’t let myself down.

“ One,” the announcer's voice rang into me over the loudspeaker. 

Deep breaths.

“Two.” 

I can win.

“ Three.” 

Concentrate.

“Go.” 

I ran.

From the first step I knew it was going to be a good run. 

Just like I did in my workouts I paced myself for the first few miles, but still made sure to stick with the head pack. 

At mile eight I took my first energy gel. 

At mile thirteen the head pack split off from everybody else. 

At that point the others behind us must have known that they had lost.

At mile twenty it was just me, Daya, and three other women who I’d been competing against for years on the international circuit. I knew their times like the back of my hand. 

At mile twenty-three all five of us were still together. 

At mile twenty-four I tried to break away from the pack, but the others stuck with me.

At mile twenty-five I lost one of the girls, but the other three stayed. 

At mile twenty-six I saw it. It took my breath away– the finish line. I was in second place. 

But I wasn’t going to stay there for long.

There was only one person in front of me, a woman from Kenya, who had beaten me in Australia. Her best time was 2:19.59. I could beat her.

Picturing the two women behind me right on my tail, I began sprinting. I ran like my life depended on it. To some extent it did. 

Ten feet away from the finish line.  

I was in first place.

Elated, knowing that I was going to win, I threw my arms open. That was all it took. 

The act of opening my arms threw me off.

I tripped over my own feet, my knees crashing to the ground, my face sliding across the gravel. 

I heard the gaps from the crowd, but it didn’t register. Dazed, I looked up as the woman from Kenya passed the finish line in first place. In my place. 

Before I could even push off the ground, both of the women who had been behind me crossed the finish line. I watched in shock as second and third place were stolen right in front of me. 

I could barely breathe. Still in shock I stood up and half walked, half jogged across the finish line. 

I looked up at the scoreboard where my name blinked in fourth place.       

Fourth place. 

It was worse than last. 

Every dream I’d ever had of Olympic glory was shattered.

***

I watched the podium ceremony on my phone by myself, alone in the Olympic  Village. 

When Daya received a silver medal, I sobbed. I thought about all I had given up to get here, the junk food not eaten, the friends not made, the dances not attended, the boys not kissed, the normal life I’d missed. 

Was it worth it?

I didn't know. 

And part of me didn’t want to know. Because what if the answer was no? Then what? 

The truth made my chest throb. I had worked my hardest and not come through. I’d failed. 

After I finished watching the ceremony I called my parents and asked them if they would pick me up in the morning to take me to their hotel. I had been planning to stay at the Olympic Village while I attended press conferences and talked with the media, but that had been back when I’d thought I would win.

When Lily and Daya both got back to our apartment, I pretended to be asleep so I wouldn’t have to hear them tell me they were sorry for my loss. I knew they weren't. 

I had thought that the worst night of my life had been the time when I was sick with salmonella poisoning at a competition in Rome. Now I would have rather had food poisoning a thousand times then have to go through another night of replaying that race over and over again in my head. I had so many regrets. 

Finally morning came and along with it my parents. The moment my parents unlocked the door to the hotel room I broke down, sobbing into my mother’s arms. 

“When are we leaving?” I asked through my tears.

Pushing my hair out of my eyes my mother sighed, “Well I was hoping to stay for at least a few more days here in France, would that be okay?”

“No.” I couldn’t imagine even one more day here. Everywhere I looked there were reminders of that horrible race. 

“ You haven't even been sightseeing,” Mom said.

“I don’t care. I just want to go home.” 

My father glanced out the window, “How about we make you a deal? You go sightseeing with us tomorrow and then we’ll leave the next day.”

“It might even make you feel better?'' My mom offered.

Nothing would make me feel better. 

“ Fine, whatever,” I finally said.

That night was just as bad as the night before. But in the morning, true to my word, I got dressed in the only non-athletic outfit I had. A pair of ripped jeans and black T- shirt.

We spent the day going around the city of Paris. It must've been beautiful, but I barely noticed.

At sunset we stopped at the Eiffel Tower where we sat at a small cafe, looking up at the architecture. 

My parents decided to take pictures in front of the tower. I told them I didn’t want to go. I stayed at the cafe sipping on a glass of water.

Picking up my phone I glanced at the screen. I had about a hundred “I’m so sorry” texts from extended family members and acquaintances, some of whom I barely knew. 

Sighing, I placed my phone face down on the table. 

“ Hey.” 

Looking up in surprise I found myself face to face with Tristan Tryd, he looked out of place in a pair of blue jeans and t-shirt. 

” Shouldn’t you be at some fancy press conference?” I asked him, thinking of the last time I’d seen him. 

He shrugged,” Probably, but I felt like I deserved a break.” 

“ Do you want to sit down?” 

“ I thought you’d never ask mademoiselle.” His French accent was terrible. And I almost laughed as some locals gave him the dirty eye as they passed.

“ I’m sorry that I was rude to you the other day,” I said, not meeting his eye as he sat across from me,” I was under a lot of stress.” 

He grinned, “Hey, no worries I get it. And I’m sorry about your race.” 

” I am too.” 

“ You know what, we should order some macaroons.” 

I stared at him, “I can’t eat those.”

“Why not?” He asked. ”Our races are over. We can have a break.  Besides, you don’t come to Paris and not try the macaroons.” 

I had been planning to come to Paris and not try the macaroons. I had also been planning to be wearing a gold medal. But before I could say anything he waved a waitress over and ordered. 

“ So,” Tristan leaned back in his seat,” What’s your plan now?”

I thought about it for a few moments, what was my plan? Would I go back to running?

“ I don’t know, I might go back to running. But...” I trailed off thinking of another four years of the intense life I was living. ”I might also take a break. I just want to live a normal life for a bit.  To see if all this hard work is worth it, you know?” 

” Yeah I do,” He nodded.” And it’s not bad if you want a break, everyone needs time to hang out with friends, go to movies, chill.” 

“ That’s the thing,” I bit my lip,” I don’t really have any friends. They couldn’t understand why I would skip their parties for practice.” 

“ I’ll be your friend.” He flashed me his bright smile. 

It warmed me, and for the first time since my race a real smile spread across my face. ”I’d like that.”  

Just then the waitress came back carrying a plate piled high with macaroons. 

Tristan looked at me, ”What’s your favorite color?” 

“ Pink, but I don’t want one.” 

Tristan selected the best looking pink macaroon and held it out to me. ”I’m not forcing you to take it, but one macaroon isn’t going to hurt you. It’s not worth it if every choice you make is about running. Sometimes you have to do things just for the joy of it.”

I stared at the pink cream filled macaroon. Maybe he was right. But literally every choice I had ever made had been about running. 

But maybe I could change that.

I took the macaroon and I bit into it. A real macaroon with artificial sugar and red dye in it. I ate it. All of it. And it was the most delicious thing I’d ever eaten. 

Tristan shoved one in his mouth and looked at me expectantly.

“ I guess you were right.” I told him, smiling.

And sitting there at that cafe I realized something. I wasn’t sure where life would take me. I wasn’t even sure if all my past choices had been worth it. But you always had another race to run, and maybe it wasn’t about the finish line. Maybe it was about finding joy in the process to get there.