The Race That Reminded Me Who I Am

This is the story of the race that reminded me who I am. There is a moment in every runner’s career where the doubt gets louder than the desire. For me, that moment stretched across an entire season. I was coming off injury, my times were not where I wanted them, and I started questioning whether I belonged at this level. That is a dangerous place to be as a D1 athlete because the competition does not care about your mental state.

A Season That Knocked Me Down

Indoor season was a grind in the worst way. Week after week, I watched the travel squad get announced and my name was never on it. There was one meet in particular — the Valentine Invitational in Boston — where I was certain I had a shot at making the trip. I waited all week for the Sunday night schedule drop. My name wasn’t there. I stayed in Baton Rouge while the rest of the guys were competing at one of the bigger indoor meets on the calendar. That kind of thing eats at you.

And then before I could even get a real outdoor season going, I got hurt in the fall. Eight weeks out, completely. That cut short what was supposed to be my first cross country season at LSU. Every morning I was up early going straight to the trainer to grind through bike workouts and rehab while the rest of the team was at practice. When they’d come back to the dining hall around 9:00 or 9:30, everyone was buzzing off a good workout. I had just done an hour on a stationary bike. That contrast wore on me more than I expected.

Finding Speed Again

Coming into this outdoor season, the one thing I knew I was missing was speed. My first races back threw me into a 600 and a 4×4, and they didn’t go the way I needed them to. I had a time expectation in my head, and I came in well short of it. That knocked my confidence down. I talked to my strength coach, picked up some drills I could run right before doubles to keep my form sharp, and kept working. You still have to be fast to be a distance runner — especially when it comes down to a kick.

The weeks leading up to this 1500 were methodical. Speed work, race-pace intervals, focus on the close. The training was there. But training and racing are two completely different animals, and I knew going in that this one was going to test more than my fitness.

Race Day

My parents drove in the night before. I got a haircut, not because my hair was long, but because I believe in look good, feel good, run good. I even went to chemistry class on race day, which if you know my history, is not something I can say often. I went through my pre-meet routine: beet shot, pre-workout, drills, and the mental piece I’ve been building on all season, going to the line with no second thoughts.

There’s a quote I keep coming back to from fighter Anthony Smith after he fought Jon Jones. When your coach tells you to cover a move, you just do it. No hesitation, no internal debate. You close the gap, you go. That was my entire mental framework going into this race. My coach would be calling out moves, and I needed the voice in my own head matching that and then my legs following without a second thought.

There was a weather delay right before the start. Twenty minutes standing around in the rain trying not to let the adrenaline drain out. Then the gun went off.

The first 400 came through around 60 seconds. The pace was honest from the start this was the fastest field I had ever been a part of. I stayed patient, moved when I needed to, and every time a gap opened I closed it. No second thoughts. That’s exactly what I set out to do.

What It Meant

My initial reaction crossing the line was frustration. I basically matched my PR technically half a second under, so yes, it was a new PR but it wasn’t the time I’d been targeting. For a few minutes I was hard on myself about it.

Then I thought about it more clearly. I did everything I set out to do. I walked to the line with confidence. Every move that went, I followed. No hesitation. And the time I ran? That was the number I was hitting at the end of last season. This is the beginning of outdoor season. That context matters.

The one tactical fix is simple: stop starting in the back. I keep working forward from behind, which costs energy and costs time. Next time I toe the line in a 1500, I need to get in the race from the gun and see what I can actually run from there.

But this race mattered beyond the clock. After a season of setbacks — watching other guys travel while I stayed home, grinding through rehab at 6am, doubting whether I still belonged — I went to the line and competed like I did. That’s what I needed. That’s the race that reminded me who I am.