My Underdog Story

“She won’t even make it to 8.” said a high school mean girl. She was one of the mean girls that was popular, but wasn’t the really fashionable one. She just had athletic talents, and everyone seemed to like her, despite her being constantly rude for no reason. It was 2:16 pm on a Friday, and I was sitting with my back against the dirty green and blue padded walls of the school gym. She was talking about me, loud enough for me to hear. We had only ever exchanged two sentences to each other, and from that she grew such hatred for me. I was looking around before I heard, and when I did, my eyes dropped to the floor, an ugly yellow tint, with an uneven layer of floor lacquer. At first I let this get to me.

She was referring to the Fitness Gram Pacer Test, one of the most dreaded aptitude tests in America, especially for kids with pretty sedentary lifestyles. I was one of those kids. I didn’t play outside much once I became a teenager, opting to stay in my room and sew, watch tv, read books or do anything creative. I liked being in my room, just creating. But apparently most of the other kids were out, riding bikes (which I still can’t do) and doing other super active activities. It’s not so much that I didn’t like to, I just didn’t have the urge to. But there was another hidden reason that I realized later that added to my disinterest in being active.

I grew up with severe Sickle Cell Anemia, and it affected me to the worst extent for about 7 years. Sickle Cell Disease is a disease where my red blood cells are shaped differently, so I at times wouldn’t be getting enough oxygen to my body, for it to function properly. From the age of four, I would be in the hospital with severe pain crises, and I would be in the hospital for weeks at a time. I was always a kid who bounced back despite the pain, and I was always happy and jumping around as soon as I regained the energy. Despite my bubbly energy, going to Sickle Cell Awareness day every year at my hospital put a bit of fear into me, after overhearing parents talk of articles of athletes with Sickle Cell Disease actually dropping dead when playing their respective sports. So after that, I was cautious about how much I participated.

When I got to middle school, I was the girl who wore bow ties and headbands, with pink and purple colored rubber bands on her braces, the one who got her hit straight in the teeth with a basketball at gym. Even though I wasn’t gifted at sports, I still wanted to try. My mom had many times offered to write the school a letter, so I could decide when I wanted to sit out during gym class. But I was determined to be capable of doing things just as everyone else was. So when I heard this mean girl talk about my inaptitude despite her not knowing my situation, I knew I was going to prove her wrong.

I have always been a person who defies what people think they know about me, and what I can do. Whenever someone ever told me I couldn’t do something, I did it with precision, quality, and or one hundred times better than they thought I would. People would instantly regret telling me what I could and could not do. So I went into school that morning, and walked up and down the stairs of my apartment building for school, and walked even faster than I usually would, just to get my body used to the exercise. I had also during the weekend opted to take a walk around my neighborhood, the the highest speed I could before going home and drinking three bottles of water. I was ready to do it.

We started the day with other tests like push up tests and so on, and I was feeling nervous about the pacer test. At 2 pm, they started to play the test's signature audio, and each girl in the class stood in the line. As the beep went off, I started to run. With each beep, sending the class back and forth, I looked only straight ahead at the line that was my goal to cross. By the 5th run, I was feeling tired, but I knew I had a long way to go, because I was going to push myself, despite what others thought. I did not have a goal in mind of how many runs I’d do, but I knew I’d make it past 12.

Most girls bowed out at 8, being that 8 was the standard to pass the test. I kept going. The beep sounded for the 12th run, and there were only about ten girls left, mostly those of the softball team including the mean girl. By 16, the mean girl was out. I was starting to heave, but I kept going. By 20, there were only 6 of us left, from what my blurry vision told me. I was going to keep going. By 25, I was the only girl left running. At 26, I heard a group of boys I didn’t know “woo!!” in encouragement. I finished at 28, and let myself collapse into the padded walls. I was dry heaving loudly, but louder than my breathing was the cheer from people around the gym, including the teachers. Everyone was cheering for the last girl standing.

I decided that believing in myself was worth more than the fear and judgment of others. Of course it is normal to have fear of failing, or judgement for what you create, but I am learning to not care what people think of what I create, because I am still going to show them that I can do what I do well. I’ve always been the type to prove people wrong when they say I can’t, and I still live my life in that way. I have accomplished great things in my career so far, because I believed I could. Every time I say I'll do something, I do it, and when I say I will accomplish something I will, because I said I would. And hopefully as I get older, I can inspire younger people to adopt this attitude, believing that they can do anything despite what people say, because the wins we achieve backed by our full confidence, are the best wins.