The spring of my junior year was one of the hardest seasons of my life. I had decided to join the track and field team for the first time, even though I was deep into the IB Diploma Program, one of the most challenging academic paths my school offered. I had never been a real runner before, and suddenly, I was sprinting, conditioning, and pushing my body in ways I had never experienced. My eating habits certainly did not help me either. Every day after school, I would head straight to practice, running laps, doing drills, and finishing workouts that left me exhausted. But my day didn’t end when practice was over. Oftentimes, I had to take the city bus home since both of my mothers had busy and conflicting work schedules. Sometimes I would take this journey with my two sisters who also had extracurricular commitments, which would make the trip fun. However I usually went alone—which eventually became easier as the season went on. Some days, I would sit at the bus stop, sweaty and sore, waiting for the 17 bus outbound while trying to read an assigned chapter. Other times, I would get home late, knowing I still had research essays to write or tests and quizzes to cram for. There were nights when I wanted to quit. But I kept going because I had made a commitment to my coaches, teammates, and most importantly, to myself. While always complaining about how hard it was, I refused to let the obstacles in my way stop me from finishing what I had started. What I didn’t realize at the time was that someone was watching me closely. My younger sister, who was fourteen then, saw everything I was going through. She saw me come home every day, drained but determined. She saw me juggling school, sports, and other responsibilities. One day, she told me, “I can’t wait to do track when I get to high school.” I remember laughing and telling her, “It’s not easy. You’ll have to work hard and balance everything.” She just nodded, already determined. Two years later, she joined the track team as a freshman. Unlike me, she had already set her sights on running competitively and earning a scholarship. Even though she isn’t in IB, she is still learning to balance academics and athletics, just like I did. She pushes herself at practice and comes home tired, but she keeps going because she has a goal in mind. Seeing her go through the same struggles I faced, but with an even stronger sense of purpose, makes me proud. Hester Richardson Powell’s story reminds me of my own family. Like her parents, my mothers have worked hard to provide for us, ensuring that we have opportunities they never had. Like Hester, I believe in the power of perseverance and leading by example. I didn’t run the fastest or place the highest at my track meets, but I finished what I started. And if my journey has helped my sister chase her own goals, then every tired night and sore muscle was worth it.