Winning Means Very Little, In the End

A story about a girl and a race.

Photo by Andrea Leopardi on Unsplash

The only time I ever won a race, I was not happy. I was baffled.

I was seventeen years old and obsessed with running. It filled my life the same way an addictive substance might — it was my every thought. Not getting faster, just sinking into that meditative place where my mind finally shut the hell up. That was bliss…