 What It Means to Show Up, Even When You Can’t Run
By Alejandra Wells
I’ve never been a Noah Lyles or a Sha’Carri Richardson, but running has always been something I loved with my whole heart. It wasn’t about medals or pace. It was about freedom.
Cross country gave me space to self-reflect, to release, to feel strong in my body and in my mind.
I started running young. My uncle, a competitive marathon runner and one of my biggest role models, always included me in local 5Ks. Fun runs, color runs, mud runs. We did it all. He lives all the way in Florida now, but every time I lace up, I feel like he’s beside me.
That’s why this season hurt more than I can explain.
In August, I suffered a painful knee injury that ended my senior year of cross country before it really began. One moment, I was training hard, hopeful for my last season. Next, I was watching from the sidelines. No races. No runs. Just ice, PT, and the aching feeling of being left out.
It wasn’t just the physical pain. It felt like I let my uncle down. Like I let my team down.
Watching my teammates laugh at practice, load up the bus for meets, and celebrate post-run highs (while I sat on the bench) felt gutting.
There were days I wanted to quit. Completely.
But I didn’t.
I kept showing up. To practice. To team dinners. To every meet.
Because even when I couldn’t run, I could still lead. I could still support. I could still be there.
And maybe that’s what being an athlete really means. Not just pushing yourself when things are going well, but standing tall when it feels like everything's falling apart.
Even when I couldn’t run, I kept showing up. Because sometimes being a teammate means putting your pride aside and being present, not perfect.
My uncle always showed up for me, so I wanted to show up for my teammates.Â
A few core memories where he was there in my toughest moments, where he taught me that it's not about the race, but about the journey. See photos below.
