One Shot. One Opportunity.

If you had one shot. One opportunity.

I’m sure other people spoke those words in some way first. But ever since Eminem rapped them when I was in high school, I can’t even think them without hearing a familiar beat in the background. My head involuntarily nods a few times. And suddenly, it just feels like game time.

The iconic song came out towards the end of cross country season. It’d been a breakout season for me. I’d gone from barely scoring points the year before to being one half of the pair leading our team. Almost every race, coaches asked my coach what school I’d transferred from. From middle of the pack to a sophomore to look out for on the course.

Working my way through our race schedule was fun. I’d had one hell of an off season, running alone and often. Feeling all those miles pay off those couple of months was the most rewarding sports season I think I’ve ever had. Maybe not in numbers. But that season solidified an unwavering commitment to putting in the work that I’ve carried with me ever since.

No one put any pressure on me heading into the season. Not even me. I was just enjoying pushing myself to be better, and everyone else just seemed excited to see what would happen each week. But by the time we got to the big meets at the end of the season, I wanted it. I wanted to keep racing into November. I wanted to make it to states.

Less than one second. That’s how much I made it by. The night before regionals, I played my first indoor soccer games of the season. Two games for my own teams, and probably a third, because why not sub when you’re already wearing your shinguards? So, the next morning, with 1K to go, my legs had nothing left to give. I would have no finishing kick. All I could do was hang on, as hard as I could.

I looked back when I felt fatigue burning through my legs with a few minutes of race left ahead of me. There were a few girls visible in the distance, but I thought the gap I had opened was enough. I didn’t look back again, and pushed forward with everything I had. Just after I crossed the finish line, two girls came barreling past me. They were in a dead sprint for the final spot on the state roster. Had they been two steps closer, I would have been the girl who didn’t make it.

But back to the song. It came out those last few weeks of the season, and I got to listen to it during the final days leading up to states. Eminem was already go-to music for me, but this song was the beginning of something different. It is a song where you really can lose yourself in the music without losing sight of the moment. And it’s been on a short list of pump-up songs for me ever since.

The thing is though, probability says you’ll have other shots. Other opportunities. This day, this moment in front of you, probably isn’t the last chance you get. Chances are that there will be another race, or another job opportunity ahead. And you probably will have the opportunity to straighten things out with that person tomorrow. It’s just, what if you don’t?

That’s why two decades later, I still come back to this song. Because somehow it helps me take the moment seriously while simultaneously lifting the pressure off. There might be other shots, other opportunities ahead of you. Hopefully there are. But this moment? You only get that once. There will only ever be this one chance at this one moment in time. So why not just go for it and see what happens?

Because sometimes it really is the only opportunity. That sophomore year state meet that Eminem helped me prepare for? It ended up being the only time I raced at states. Sure, there were plenty of other races in the years since. But states? That meet was never in the cards for me again. I made it to that November starting line by less than one second. Because I didn’t let up when every muscle in my legs asked me to. Had I given in, that one shot would have been a missed opportunity.

This isn’t a story about making it to a state cross country meet though. This is a story about taking the moment in front of me, and not giving up. I crossed the regional race finish line one hundred percent spent, on exhausted legs, with a best time I’d ever run. I gave that race absolutely everything I had that morning.

Even if it hadn’t been enough, I still would have walked away proud that day. Disappointed that my season was over? Sure. Of course. But not disappointed in myself. There were plenty of days before then when I fell short on my goals, and there have been plenty more days since. Our effort is all we control though. Never the results. When I know I’ve taken the best shot I can, it’s easy to keep my head up. Even when it clangs off the post.