Maddie McClellan

ENGL 458

Dr. Kevin Brooks

16 September 2013

I am Brave. I am Strong.

I am brave, and I am strong. In sixth grade, this was not the case. I was afraid. I was the

kid who was smart, but weird. No chance of gaining access to the “popular crowd.” Not only was

I reserved and a bit of an oddball; I was a tomboy. I did not care what I looked like; I kept my

hair chopped off un-stylishly at my ears, I wore no makeup, no brand names, baggy jeans and

loose-fitting cotton t-shirts. I know what it is like to be that awkward, quiet kid--that girl who

does not fit in. Clearly, no chance of a boyfriend, only boys who were my friends because I was

more like them.

Reading was my joy. I read ravenously, tearing through the shelves of Prairie Wind Mid-

dle School Library. I devoured Harry Potter, A Child Called It, Gone With the Wind,

The BFG, Alice in Wonderland. I was Alice -- the books were my rabbit hole. I read, and

read, and read and kept my eyes hidden behind my bangs. I read before school started, read on

the bus, read during math class in my lap, read at lunch, and on the bus ride home. I even read as

I walked; I trained myself to guide my feet and my eyes simultaneously so I did not trip or col-

lide with anyone, to absorb the words on the page as they bounced and fluttered with the rhythm

of my footsteps.

While my brain was jumping through hoops, traveling the world and experiencing new

thoughts, emotions, and feelings, my body was stuck at a school where I felt no one knew me. I

had few close friends, and I often felt lost without a book in my hands. Running changed that for

me. Let me explain; my mother must have noticed my, uh, individualism, so she suggested I try a

school activity. Track, specifically. I didn’t know if I could even run for more than a mile; I had

never tried running on my own. It interested me slightly, but I had no desire to go to practice

with all the kids who made me feel as though my stomach hurt, my face flushed, my heart in my

throat. I did not belong there. But I agreed I would try track and took the activities fee check

from my mom.

The next day at school, I could not focus. All I could think about was that I had to go to

track practice after school. I felt shaky and out-of-sorts. When the final bell rang, I approached

my locker with a feeling of dread and lead in my shoes. I trudged so slowly that I was the last

person in the sixth-grade hallway. I removed the folded check my mother had given me from

deep within my pocket, squinted my eyes down hall to the open gymnasium door. I saw Kristina

and Taylor, Nick and Christa, all jogging around orange cones and laughing while Mr. Peterson

monitored with his hands on his hips. I did not belong. I tore the check in half, threw it in the

nearest oversized trash bin and walked home.

Although my mother was disappointed in my decision to avoid school activities, she let

the issue drop. She assured me she was proud of me, whatever I did, and always loved to hear

about my current book, which changed almost daily. “Wow, Mad. You are such a great story-

teller. Your descriptions are so vivid. Tell me more,” she would say. I gladly obliged. She en-

couraged me to talk about my love of my characters and their experiences, and did not laugh

when I expressed my own burning desire to become an author someday.

But that summer, a few events began to let the idea of track seep through me. Once, I

went running around the bike trail with my mom. I found out I actually COULD run over a mile!

We made it almost two, I think, and I felt good. That was the smaller of the two events. The sec-

ond was at the Relay for Life.

The Relay for Life is a walk for cancer that my hometown has every year at the outdoor

track. People decorate luminaries to memorialize lost loved ones or honor current cancer-war-

riors. I was at the Relay for Life with my church youth group, but I was walking around the track

alone. As I walked, I noticed a boy from my church, two years older than I, running. I was a little

confused, since most people just stick to walking for cancer. After a few laps, this dangerously

cute older boy began hollering at me to run with him. ME! I didn’t even know he knew my

name, but why would he want me to run with him? I avoided him until he asked me after five

more laps, and I started. This was the beginning.

The boy told me that he had made a bet with someone that he could run for four hours; he

was the type of person who would make those stupid bets, just to be funny or prove someone

wrong. Out of the shock of having someone so charming ask me to run with him, I agreed to en-

dure the bet along with him as long as I could. I ran sixteen miles that night, and I did it in

leather sandals. I still have the scars, but hey, so does Harry Potter, right? I have never run that

far since, and I do not expect to anytime soon.

That night, I gained much more than sore muscles and bloody feet; I gained confidence. I

found something besides reading that I could really be good at. Although the idea of joining a

team full of people who I had never been friends with, people who might reject me or laugh at

me, running sixteen miles convinced me to join cross country the fall of my seventh-grade year.

For all of you who are afraid to try something new, I know how you feel. I was terrified, but

sometimes you just have to jump in headfirst and show the world you have got guts. You will

never regret trying your best.

Running was not just a sport for me; it taught me how to work harder than I thought I

could work. I ran farther, longer, faster than my body told me I could. When my lungs screamed

and my legs burned, I knew I could conquer the world. But this was not so different than what I

was already doing with reading. I read more books than anyone in my school, I journaled until

my hand cramped and blisters formed on my fingers, I read until my eyes ached and my head

hurt, because I was engaging in something I truly loved. This same passion transferred into run-

ning; I excelled because I knew what it was like to be determined, to grab that motivation, that

dream and make it real. I knew what it was like to burn for something, to imagine the outcome

and want to reach out and grab it. I learned this from reading. My brain already knew the steps;

my body just had to follow. The lessons of running and reading stick with me; I am brave, I am

strong.