Cassian kept his row in the sprinters, his breathing coming in ragged gasps, but the finally gathered teammates and staff could hear the trainer's voice from one end of the track. The sun was blazing overhead during late afternoon practice, but the weight of what was to come felt far heavier than the burning muscles.
"Alright, listen up!" Coach Davis's voice cut through the murmurs of the team. His sharp gaze swept across them as he planted his hands on his hips, the tone in his voice more serious than usual. "We have pushed hard for the district sprint competition, but there is one more hurdle you need to clear before you even think about stepping onto that track."
Cassian's ears perked up, and an air of unease settled over the group.
"This is a simple rule, probably for everyone's good," Coach announces. "Your grades. The school's rule is simple. If your grades aren't up to par, you don't compete. No exceptions.".
Waves of tension rippled through the team. The district competition was a big deal, and no one wanted to lose their place over exams. Cassian's focus sharpened; now it was no longer about being fast. It's about balancing school with his training, something he's always managed easily, but now that the stakes were higher, everything changed.
Coach Davis gave them one last look. "I expect to see you all out there after exams," he said, "but that's only going to happen if you put in the work. Get good grades, or you're not running."
Cassian felt a knot of determination tighten in his chest. Running had become his outlet, his way of coping, and, as such, the thought of missing the district competition wasn't an option.
At home, Cassian sat at his desk, textbooks spread out in front of him. The weight of the upcoming exams pressed on him, but his mind kept drifting back to the track. He knew he couldn't afford to slip up—not with the district sprint competition hanging over his head.
Math, history, biology. All the subjects tended to run together for him, but he had a plan. He'd head home each evening from practice, sit down with his parents at dinner, and then retire to his bed to review for hours. Mark and Sarah were supportive because they knew how important both academics and athletics were to him.
"Remember, it's all about a balance," Sarah had said to him one evening, her voice soft but firm. "You can't put everything into just one thing. School is just as important."
Cassian nodded but did not reply. Indeed, he had always loved running for the routine: his body is doing all the work and his mind just has to blank out as he runs, but as a student, he was forced to give full attention, which was his toughest task to do.
He divided his study sessions into smaller blocks. He was reviewing equations for twenty minutes, then taking five minutes off. Finally, he was memorizing some historical dates. His phone lay on the desk face down, unwritten. The nagging temptation to look at messages or videos draws at him, but he resisted. This was more important.
Days passed, and so did his routine. He now spent his mornings in school, then sprint practice, and then midnight to dawn studying. He went on as the running exhaustion seemed to seep into his mind.
Finally, the week of the exam came.
Cassian walked into the classroom, his habitual placidity masking the churning turmoil underneath. He couldn't quite and never had been an open, showy emotional sort, but the type of test made the pressures inescapable—not just of knowing things, but truly the test of his capacity to walk two worlds.
Math was the first exam. A subject in which he had always performed poorly. As he received the papers, he scanned through the questions, and his mind just started working out the numbers. He had prepared for this—just needed to have confidence in himself.
The days blended together; one test followed another. English, history, science—all of them require different parts of his brain to switch on. He treated them as he would sprint-break each subject into phases: reviewing the question, analyzing it, and then executing the answer. That was his mental drive phase.
At break times, he sat with his schoolmates, but his thoughts always went back to the district sprint competition. Others spoke of what they would do when exams were over; there was simply no time until the tests were done.
The nights felt a little less stressful, no more cramming into all-nighters. He was sleeping more instead, and his body was going to be grateful for that rest after the sprint training and the mental marathon of exams.
By the end of the week, Cassian emerged from his last exam, the weight of exams off his shoulders, ready to await his results. The wait for his results still had to come, but for now, he could breathe. The district competition loomed ahead, and, pending good grades, it was only a matter of time before he found himself back on the track where he was rightfully needed.
And that afternoon, walking home, Cassian felt this quiet satisfaction in both arenas that he had given his best. He could only wait now, but he'd learned something important: running wasn't necessarily about speed; rather, it was about being able to push through the suffering of both the track and life.