This is a story of pain. This is a story of sweat and water bottles and hair ties and short-shorts. This is a story of perseverance and the picked on.

This is the story of running.

.

Okay, so we've all been there. That moment when you're breathing hard and about ready stop so you can get a drink of water, race be damned, as you huff it up that last hill. If you're like me, you know that all fades away when you see the finish line at Leagues, leaving nothing but the burning need to puke, pass out, and cry your eyes out while lamenting you choice of sport.

Nobody ever said distance running, would ever be easy.

But what about everything that goes into that last kick?

Every team pasta feed, every extra mile, every drop of pain in the form of blood, sweat, and tears. Every pair of worn-out running shoes and every sweat-stained tee. Every late night cramming because you stayed a few extra minutes to get in that last thousand meters. All the weird sock and short tans, the "OMG why do you run so much?", the surplus of rollers and ice baths, the two lines of the last song you heard, the 'Oh God, why did I choose to run this season?'.

Every fight with your teammates about Varsity, all ridicule and, pardon my French, the shit pulled on you by jealous girls (or guys), the injuries and braces and tape.

I don't why we do it, but something inside every runner, young and old, calls us to hit the roads or trails, like a baying hound out for blood.

So what if we don't fit in with the other sports? So what if you're just a little crazy?

Every time I see somebody else out on the sidewalk, I know I'm not alone and never will be.

We, the distance runners of Cross Country and Track, will always have each other, not matter the distance, no matter the pain or drama or rivalries.

That's just what it means to be a runner.

I am Frey Daniels, and I am a running junkie. (Or a jock if you ask my friends.)