Impossible is Nothing.

"You'll recover at the crest of the hill," she says over the shaky breathing of 23 teenagers, "this route is very reminiscent of the district course." I keep eye contact with my coach. Hers are hidden behind obsidian Oakleys. Mine are burning with dripping sweat. Most of us nod in understanding. It's another wonderful morning. Another wonderful cross country practice. And there is no sarcasm in those last statements. This misery is my life-my enjoyment. I was so high off the endorphins. But so tired like everyone else. Who doesn't love Regis though?
Regis is the team hill, by the way.
We sprint off on another set, pushing our mental limits like usual. My mind is opening up after a few minutes fighting it's plea for closing. I keep telling myself that Regis isn't mean. He really isn't..he's just a steep fella, that's all. But when you hear the encouragement from everyone else, your team mates and your coaches, you can't help but run faster. I pick up my knees and together my girls and I divide and conquer that hill with the fury of...well, determined high school athletes. We're victorious, boys and girls both, and triumphantly jog towards the football field for some circuits.
By the way, burpees are a great way of bruising your stomach, did you know that? I didn't. When your legs feel like jell-o after hill training, they kind of fail you on that kind of stuff. It's pretty hilarious.
After cool down laps around the volleyball two-a-day-ers who are running line fartliks behind a spitting, hoarsely screaming coach, we shuffle towards the main campus building. Past the gyms. Into the hall where the trophy cabinets are. And we're tired and smelly and wet and nasty. Legs covered in grass and mud. Perfumed with the morning scent of mowed grass and athletic ability. Once again the coaches group us around and explain that we'll be moving our trophies and plaques to the new trophy cabinet.
And we soon remember the significance of every single piece of hardware we're holding. I pick up the JV girl's 4x4 relay district champion plaque from my freshman year. I was on that team..and I remember winning. Every second of it. And I see my 800m plaque from that same year. More memories. I'm hearing other people talk about what the other trophies and awards were for. People ask me about mine. I ask about theirs. It's an ongoing cycle of remembrance.
Back at the trophy case coach explained what it would take to have us go to state. Varsity girls need to be under a twelve minute, thirty second two mile in order to break regionals. I'm at a fifteen-ten. At the time, state seemed like the last thing on my mind.
Walking towards the field house my friend Danielle asks me something I won't forget this season.
"Do you think you can do it?" She asks.
"Do what?" I wonder.
"Break regionals with a twelve."
"I'm not on varsity."
"You are. Believe me, you are." I shake my head. She's crazy I think. But she looks serious.
"I'll believe it when the uniform is in my hands." And then, she looks me in the eyes, still walking.
"I really think you can do it," she says, with all the seriousness in the world, "I think you're going to do things you don't expect right now. Something tells me something is going to happen." I ponder and nod. I don't know what to say. I never thought I could.
But now I believe I can. Sort of.
If I end up being on the varsity, and if what coach says is right. And if what Danielle says is true-then doing great may not be a dream after all.

Maybe it's something someone like me can do after all.
Maybe average is what we need to break the mould.