Running My Own Race
Graduation wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
I worked hard through school.
But no matter how much effort I put in, it was never going to add up to a diploma.
My classes were modified. There would be no big exams, no final projects.
For every measuring stick the system had to say, “you’re ready for the world,” I didn’t measure up.
At the end of it all, I would walk away with a certificate of high school completion.
And to me, it felt like the world was stamping a giant “not enough” across my forehead.
That realization was hard.
I wasn’t mad at the work I did. I wasn’t really proud of it either.
I had worked hard though. Even though it probably looked like I didn’t.
And now it felt like it was for nothing.
Finishing high school would just be another ordinary day.
No milestone finish line.
No defining moment where I could say, I earned this.
So I decided to make one.
I talked to my parents, and they encouraged me to find a way to mark the end of high school that was true to who I am.
A goal that wasn’t about grades or exams, but about grit.
About showing up.
About proving to myself that I could see something hard through to the end.
I decided I’d run past my limits. Push myself to the edge and see how far I could go.
I set two big goals for myself:
Run the Oldman Backyard Ultra in May 2025
Complete the full Calgary Marathon later that same month.
Two huge challenges.
Two chances to push myself beyond the limits people had always drawn around me.
To go beyond the limits I put on myself.
I trained. I worked. I ran in the cold.
I kept moving when it hurt.
It’s the miles in the dark and the mornings nobody sees that get you to the start line.
And then May came.
The Oldman Backyard Ultra was my first big test.
If you’ve never heard of it, the idea is simple but tough: you run a 6.7 km loop every hour, on the hour, until you can’t anymore.
There’s no finish line.
You either line up again, or you’re done.
I didn’t know how far I could go.
But from the start, I knew I was in the right place.
Everyone was cheering for everyone.
Nobody cared if I asked questions or needed help.
Nobody made me feel like I was in the way.
They just welcomed me. For once, I wasn’t different in a way that made me less. I was just another runner.
I made it six loops, 41 km, the farthest I had ever gone.
It was hot, it hurt, and I wanted to stop so many times.
But every time I came back into the corral, people clapped, called my name, and pushed me to go again.
That kind of encouragement is something I’ll never forget.
This race is also a fundraiser for Youth One, a place that gives kids in my city somewhere safe to belong.
I’ve never been there myself, but I know how much it means to have a place where you matter. So I decided to try and raise money for them.
With the help of some really amazing people, I raised over $1,500.
That means my entry for 2026 is already covered, but more importantly, it means other kids will get the same sense of belonging that running has given me.
And then came the Calgary Marathon.
I crossed the finish line in 5 hours and 4 minutes.
I wasn’t the fastest out there, but I kept moving, steady the whole way.
I drank when I needed to. I ate when I needed to.
I stayed strong.
And when I finally saw that finish line, something inside me exploded.
I yelled. I cried. Every emotion hit me at once.
I had just done something I didn’t even know was possible for me.
My family was there.
My uncle and cousins showed up.
Some parkrun friends had made the trip to Calgary just to see me finish.
And others stayed after their run to congratulate me.
Runners are the best kind of people.
The noise, the faces, the cheering. I’ll never forget it.
That moment where I realized I didn’t quit.
Crossing a finish line doesn’t change the whole world. But it changes you.
A few weeks later, I finally walked across that stage for graduation.
And now it wasn’t about a diploma vs. a certificate.
It was about everything behind it.
The sweat. The miles.
The days I wanted to stop but didn’t.
When my name was called, I knew I had already crossed the finish line that mattered most.
The truth is, school never felt like a place I belonged.
No matter how hard I worked, the pieces just didn’t fit together.
But running is different.
In running, effort matters. Work pays off. Every mile makes me stronger.
And in the running community, I’ve found something I never had in a classroom: a place where I belong.
A space where failure doesn’t mean the end, it just means try again.
So the secret is out.
I didn’t graduate with a diploma.
But I did graduate with something else.
Grit. Resilience.
Proof that I can take the measuring stick the world uses and snap it in half.
I’m not done running.
Not done rewriting the story.
Not done showing that different isn’t broken.
Because in my shoes, I’ve found a path that finally feels like mine.
