When I joined the cross-country team at Bloomington High School, I never imagined I’d be running toward the finish line of the IHSA State Meet with two metal rods in my back. That season taught me more about strength and determination than any race or workout ever could. I was diagnosed with scoliosis early in high school. The curve in my spine wasn’t just a small bend it affected how I ran, how I stood, even how I breathed. I tried to tough it out during training, pushing through the discomfort, hoping I could finish the season with my teammates. But during my junior year, doctors told me the curve had gotten worse. I needed spinal fusion surgery and I needed it soon. Hearing that was heartbreaking. The season had just started. My teammates were preparing for big races, and all I could think about was how I might never run again. But even lying in the hospital after surgery, I knew one thing: I wasn’t done. I set a goal that felt impossible at the time to run again before the season ended.
Recovery was slow and painful. I had to relearn basic movements. I couldn’t twist or bend, and every small task felt like a mountain. But I kept moving from walking laps around my house, to finally jogging on the track behind the school. My coaches believed in me. My teammates pushed me, encouraged me, and reminded me what I was fighting for. Somehow, through all of it, I came back. I made it to our regional meet, then sectionals and finally, I qualified for the IHSA State Meet. It was a special moment for all of us, especially because it was Coach Szabo’s final season before retirement. He’d been with us through every hill repeat, early morning practice, and mile split. I wanted to make him proud.
That race in Peoria was one of the hardest I’ve ever run. I could feel every step in my back, but I also felt something else pride. I crossed the finish line with a new personal record: 19:39. After everything the surgery, the pain, the recovery I didn’t just come back. I came back stronger than I’d ever been. That season taught me that being strong doesn’t always mean winning or leading the pack. Sometimes it means showing up when no one expects you to. It means running through the fear, the pain, and the doubt. It means honoring the people who believed in you like Coach Szabo by giving it everything you have. Scoliosis didn’t stop me. In fact, it helped me discover what I’m really made of. And now, when I face hard things in school, in life, or in the future I’ll remember that race. That finish line. That 19:39. And I’ll remember I’m stronger than I ever thought possible.
