“On your mark!”

As a 22-year-old Mariner of Marymount California University, I load myself onto the starting blocks during a track and field practice, crouching into a four-point stance.

The sharp ends of my sprinting spikes make contact with the rubber component of the block. My toes are an inch off the rubber track and hands are set behind the starting line in a c-shape. My head is down.

I’m in relaxation mode, waiting for my coach’s cue to send me off.

“Set!”

I raise my hips in the air, getting ready to shoot out of the blocks.

“GO!”

I accelerate at the line, executing pristine sprint form. Ankles are dorsiflexed while I run on the balls of my feet. Knees are lifting up and driving my toes forcefully onto the rubber track, as my arms are at a 90 degree angle, driving my elbows back while the upper extremities stay relaxed.

Hand to hip. Hand to eye.

This was the mental note I kept repeating to myself as I was sprinting, telling me to align my hands with my hip on my backside mechanics, while my hands are at eye level on the frontside.

I continue to powerfully drive my arms at intense speed.

About 70 meters into my sprint workout, I hear a squelch. My right leg feels funny. A dull to medium sharp pain travels through the back of my leg.

Just like that, explosive steps at a high rate of speed led to a borderline hamstring tear, forcing me to miss six weeks of the 2015 indoor season.

But I lost more than those six weeks.

All of a sudden, I felt like I lost my natural ability to run at a high rate of speed.

Knowing I was successful as a lifelong athlete, I realized I was not invincible. I am not used to losing.

I felt defeated and anxious. That sudden injury felt like a loss – the kind you feel when you lose a game or race in sports.

Preconceived notions I had about myself as an athlete changed. I went from feeling invincible to vulnerable.

Meanwhile, the adversity I was facing off the track with cancerous relatives mirrored the ones I faced on the track – being manipulated and controlled by toxic relatives, career sabotage and anxiety.

While I was recovering from a physical injury, I was also fighting to recover from those emotional injuries.

The kinds that don’t not appear on an X-ray.

With the luxury of downtime in the healing process, I reevaluated my relational ties and how to rejuvenate physically.

According to the National Library of Medicine, anxiety from sports performance impacts 30 to 60% of athletes.

Much like the tear in my hamstring, I tore and snapped the family bonds I was once bound to, because I refused to continue losing by maintaining a path of destruction my relatives led me to.

That path of destruction felt like recovering back to my feet, only to be shoved down again.

This time, it felt like being toyed with – being ridiculed with slurs and malicious intent in the guise of innocent sounds of laughter as my face gets stepped on.

I get back up. I’m stepped on again. The cycle repeats.

It can feel demoralizing, because you’re left wondering if you’re good enough to persevere and restore those losses.

Like most athletes, I took the necessary measures to recover – proper nutrition, physical therapy treatments and stretching.

Conversely, I attempted to reassess how I adapt to shortcomings, figuring out solutions, rather than mope.

More importantly, one of those solutions was figuring out the why.

Turning losses into wins meant learning from mistakes and injuries, taking the necessary measures to ensure I progressively grow as an athlete and individual.

With the luxury of downtime in my physical healing, I was also beginning to recover from the domestic hurricane, in the form of family turmoil, by beginning to cut off toxic relatives.

It gave me the time and space to pay attention to my mental health.

The anxiety of feeling empty and persistent questioning if I will be sufficient enough to survive in the real world crept in.

These thoughts date back to my childhood at 5 years old.

Seventeen years later, I turned losses into wins by surrounding myself with mentors who understood my upbringing, some of who gave me tough love and much needed empathy.

That love was what allowed me to get back onto the track weeks after.

Five years later, that type of love came into play when my father died unexpectedly.

While I experienced a tremendous loss, the mental toughness given by mentors, coaches and friends who I love dearly allowed me to overcome, evaluate and comprehend the feelings of grief and melancholy.

On the track, we have the option of running into hurdles, though that would not be very smart because that is a recipe for injury.

However, humans also have the option of attempting to clear those interferences and hardships with clear intention.

Winning isn’t everything, because shortcomings can be turned into successes.

Like Master Yoda from the “Star Wars” series said, “failure, the greatest teacher is.” Imparting this wisdom, it is a general life lesson we can all learn from.

During my recovery period, I was feeling confident I was going to bounce back to get back on the track.

That time of healing led to a breakthrough physically and emotionally.

After missing six weeks of full practices, I healed in time to become the first ever sprinter in the history of MCU’s track and field program to run the 100-meter dash.