I know how it feels to fly. And I don’t mean in a plane, helicopter, or rocket - I mean soaring through the air with nothing surrounding me but my own clothing, all just to fall back to Earth. That's the rush I get to experience every time I drop my pole into the box, shoot up through the sky, glide over the bar, and land safely in the pit. Experiences like these have shaped me into who I am today; I am not afraid to soar to my highest potential. This passion didn't come overnight - It took years of leaping, falling, and running. 

Before I discovered pole vaulting, my time lay with gymnastics. I spent countless hours in the gym with my childhood best friends. But as high school approached, I wanted to try new things, which forced me to make a difficult decision. After seven wonderful years of gymnastics, I decided to leave it behind. At that point I didn't have a sport in mind, but the track coach seemed to see something in me. He asked me to try pole vaulting just once. And I did. That first vault gave me a rush unlike anything I had ever felt before.

Around that same time, diving entered my life. My favorite event in gymnastics had always been floor; I loved flipping and twisting through the air. So naturally, my friends on the dive team convinced me to try a practice, and I quickly found my second family. That same year I began pole vaulting, and with every miss, every make, and every attempt, I fell more and more in love. It felt like with each vault, a part of me grew. Through the next three years, I practiced these sports side by side, dedicating hours of my time into both. 

Each dive season I poured myself into the sport and grew into an amazing diver: I qualified for state, made it to finals, became an all state diver, and was even on the cusp of becoming all american . That's why quitting diving this year, a sport I had devoted so much to, was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made. But I had fallen in love with pole vaulting, the feeling this sport gave me was deeper than anything before. With diving, I wanted to win — I chased medals and qualifications. But with pole vault, I want to fly — I’m chasing growth, the kind that comes from failing, adjusting, and trying again until I soar.

Nowadays, I’m lucky if I get a second to breathe, but it's exactly the way I like it. Each part of my day is intentional: everything I do has a purpose. I am taking amazing classes that correlate with what I want to study, and along with that, I get to learn alongside our athletic trainer.  I get to pole vault three to four days a week (and while the drive is long, the practices hard, and the workouts exhausting. I love it so much), and I even get to stay connected to the pool by coaching the divers. People lately have asked me what I do for fun, and honestly, I've never had more fun than with what I'm doing now. I have finally learned to fly; not for medals, but for purpose. 

They told her the field was empty

Nothing but dirt split open like tired hands,

Wind combing through dry silence

They said nothing grows here

Though, they said it gently, like a diagnosis

So she knelt anyways

She pressed her palms into the unpromising earth

And began to plant what no one else could see

Not seeds from paper packets

Laid in neat rows

Each measured with string.

She planted quieter things

A breath she refused to let turn into anger

A voice that shook but never silenced

A light that dimmed but never disappeared 

From the road, it still looked like failure

Cars passed, Dust lifted

No one slowed down

But underground

A rebellion was learning its shape

Roots braided together

Like hands in the dark

Darkness split itself open to make room

Storms came loud and laughing

Trying to convince the buried

They were forgotten

She stayed

She watered what could not prove her right.

And one morning

A thin blade of green cut through the cracked earth

Small, bright, impossible to ignore