Rounding one of the bends in the beginning of our eight-mile route, my friend Simeon and I were pulled over by our coach. Though we were running at the exact excessive pace he had demanded, he still reprimanded us. He proceeded to dictate a tirade that would have rivaled that of Hitler.

Over the next three mind-numbing minutes, his disdain for ‘rebellious’ runners became a virus capable of annihilating the strongest of self-esteems. Launching a prejudiced attack on my persona, he emphasized that “this isn’t Romeo [the previous school I attended], you can’t do whatever you want! If you don’t catch up to the group of guys ahead like I told you at the beginning, you will never be as good as them! I don’t care what your watch says, I say you are off pace!” He continued to hurl several more condescending personal insults, but none outraged me more than when he blatantly said, “you’re better than Simeon; if you two continue to run together today, I will make sure you never run together at practice again. This is not a club. It’s not meant to be fun. You’re here to train.”

Despite an urge to backlash, I painstakingly complied and resumed my run. As if I were an alchemist, I converted my anger into raw power, leaving my friend behind. A war commenced in my clouded mind between my love of running and the urge to remove myself from this mentally poisonous situation; the thought of quitting coalesced. Though an amateur, I had too much pride to endure a sport where my ‘coach’ belittled me and my effort. That was my last practice.

One of the major flaws I saw in my cross-country coach was his inefficiency. Lengthy lectures before practice, insisting on stretching for 30 minutes, and damagingly fast paces coupled with disproportionate rests made my resentment for the sport grow stronger. I enjoy working hard, yet I struggled to find meaning in our workouts. Realizing those inefficient processes and my inability to initiate optimization made the prospective engineer in me go haywire. I had stuck it out for two years, but as I became cognizant of the wasted time, my desire for independence grew.

Studying concepts of programming in AP Computer Science has reinforced the importance of efficiency in my life, too. While programmers like myself strive for brevity, I also accept my imperfections. I know that I am not, and will not be, the best runner. Certain weeks I had trained harder than anyone else, yet I was still beat by teammates in races. I can confidently overcome the obstacle of not seeing eye to eye, but I lacked the capacity to lower myself to share my coach’s sole ambition of aspiring to be better than others. Since quitting, I have realized that focusing on only myself and striving to do the best I can yields more fruitful products.

My former teammates?friends?informed me that coach had begun a regime that demanded absolute acquiescence. I was not surprised that Simeon decided to leave the team soon afterwards. He would not be left behind this time.

I quickly channeled my newfound independence into more valuable matters: reading novels, researching theoretical and intriguing philosophical ideas to present in Philosophy Club, and most importantly, enjoying running. One thing my former coach had not preached was the imperative of loving what you do, because unbeknownst to him, that was the only reason I ran. Through quitting, my transition to a better path, I became someone who is self-reliant and fulfilled. Through running, not cross-country, I became someone accustomed to working as hard as I possibly can, and I am still able to stand tall when I am utterly spent.

I may have forfeited every future chance I had to earn another medal, yet as I continue to run with Simeon everyday after school, I have won.