Brick walls are there for a reason
"Just a little more!"
As the finish line began to be seen, I remembered the moment when I fell and cried while running as a child. Then I heard my friends cheering, but I gave up running and came back. From that time on, I gave up quickly what I couldn't do like studying science, practicing violin, and physical education activities that require me to move my body and so on.
By the time I was 18, I started to cannot see well and I felt badly headache that I couldn't help it. And gradually, there began to be unprovoked pain throughout the left side of my body. So I went to many hospitals with my mom the next day. I went to several hospitals but couldn't find the cause of the disease. Doctors said. "It's a disease that modern medicine cannot explain the cause." "There's no way to cure." "There's nothing I can do for now." All my left body suffered from severe sourness, fatigue, and neuralgia, and my mind contracted whenever I received the compassionate gaze of the people around me. I lay in bed all day and began to sink into the delusion of fear and anxiety. And I thought about my future life. 'What can I do in the future? Can I go to college or work when I can't even study like this? Who will love me?' I wet my pillow with tears. Then one day, my friend told me to read a book called "The Last Lecture." And one of them caught my eye.
U.S. university professor Randy Pausch, who is in the late stages of pancreatic cancer, said "“The brick walls are there for a reason. The brick walls are not there to keep us out. The brick walls are there to give us a chance to show how badly we want something. Because the brick walls are there to stop the people who don’t want it badly enough. They’re there to stop the other people." The professor, whose death was not far away, seemed to speak directly to me, not to the hundreds of students who were there. If my pain was ‘the brick wall’ that came to me, I wanted to find out what it meant to me. And I wanted to get over ‘the brick wall’. I discovered the moment when I had given up running back to my childhood, and I decided to take it back from the lost moment of my childhood that I had given up easily.
So It has come to participate in the shortcut marathon at Haeundae beach. Whenever I ran, the white sand drenched and felt as if I were walking on another planet with strong gravity. My breath was rough and my heart was bursting. I wanted to give up right away, but I thought, 'If I stop now, I'll fall again in front of this wall?' I ran as a guide on the sky-blue T-shirt of a middle-aged woman running in front of me, stifling my strong impulses. At the end of a boring time, where 30 seconds felt as long as an hour, someone's voice was heard. "Just a little more." I'm no longer a weak kid who gives up anything easily. I started sprinting. Even if my heart bursts and dies, I wanted to do my best at this moment. I could cross the finish line with 67th place out of 1,000 people, feeling the illusion that many people's cheering was pulling me.
I thought my disease, which suddenly appeared one day, would make me do nothing. I thought my studies, jobs, and relationships would all be ruined. But after reading the book "The Last Lecture," I thought about what this disease would mean to me, and what I would get if I overcome it. So I tried to participate in the marathon. When I was sick but never gave up, I was at the finish line, and I was no longer discouraged by being sick, nor did I give up because I was tired. My disease that suddenly appeared one day was not a brick wall but an opportunity to be a turning point in my life.