on racing against yourself
Your stories on the topic are welcome and can be shared through the comment section.
I’ve always seen music as a race—a relentless sprint to outrun the versions of myself that stray off course or distract me. A year ago, I was so focused on my path that any plan outside of it seemed irrelevant. I became a runner in the physical sense around eighteen, and it’s a habit I’ve kept up, dipping into races now and then.
This Saturday, I’m running a half marathon in Prospect Park. The last one I ran was in 2022, just before graduating college. Back then, I wore invisible armor, especially around my kidneys, shielding myself from anything that might pierce through. I threw myself into everything campus life offered, staying up past midnight only to wake at 6am to train. I entered that race with confidence and finished with pride.
But this time, the training schedule I asked ChatGPT to write for me has slipped away while calling my name. Guilt and imposter syndrome tug at me as I suppress tears. I’ve never doubted I could do it—until now. It’s the word “race.” It’s my struggle to compartmentalize. Music has bled into every aspect of my life, because it is my life. Feeling behind in this race mirrors how I feel in my metaphorical one.
The versions of me that used to stray are now right behind me, their breath on my neck. One of them is listening to 1940s jazz as she effortlessly picks up her pace - she definitely goes by Elizabeth.
“I just need to get out,” I think, lacing up my New Balances. I head out and listen to Protagonist, privately uploaded to my SoundCloud. As I run, it feels like my legs are giving the songs momentum to fly. When the album ends, older tracks shuffle through. A song I wrote at fifteen plays.
Then, a track from 2020 starts. I sound younger than I remember. I took this one off streaming when I released my first album, aiming for a more mature sound. I’ve often wondered if that was the right choice. The chorus sings, “Who am I to try?”—and in the final chorus, it changes to, “Who am I if I don’t try?”
This prompts more questions to flood in. Was that version that wrote that line running alongside me all along? Have I been so focused on lapping these other versions out of fear that I missed what they had to offer?
I may not finish as fast as I’d like on Saturday, but I’ll be running. And instead of trying to outrun the versions of me who listen to jazz, romanticize a different life, and embody who I used to be, I’ll run alongside them, appreciating what they bring to the journey. For the person we truly are—the one who endures—is the one who runs.
Go girl!..You got this!