The Weight of Expectations



It was still dark outside when Aisha's alarm blared, jolting her from a restless sleep. For the fifth time that week, her dream had been the same: the deafening roar of the crowd, the spotlight glaring on her, and her feet frozen at the start line. The world was watching, and she couldn’t move.

At just 21 years old, Aisha Khan was hailed as the brightest hope for her country at the 2024 Summer Games. The young sprinter had burst onto the scene two years earlier, breaking national records and stunning seasoned competitors with her speed and composure. The media had quickly christened her “The Lightning Bolt of Asia.” Every headline, every interview, every post on social media reinforced one expectation: gold or nothing.

The weight of those words was heavy on her heart. Every time she stepped onto the track, Aisha could hear the unspoken promise to herself and her nation: she was meant to win. But lately, the joy she once felt running had been replaced with dread.

Her mornings were the hardest. As she lay in bed, dreading the day ahead, her phone buzzed. “**Countdown to Glory: Only 10 Days Until Aisha Khan Runs for Gold!**” screamed a sports website. Beneath it, hundreds of comments argued over whether she would bring home the medal or “choke under pressure like so many before her.”

Aisha rolled her eyes. “Gold or nothing, huh? How about sleep or nothing?” she muttered, tossing the phone aside and burying her face in her pillow. “Maybe I should run… away.

The Coach’s Wisdom

At the training track, Aisha’s coach, Coach Bassey, was already waiting, stopwatch in hand. He was a man of few words, but his expectations were clear.

“Five 200-meter sprints today. Full intensity,” he said.

Aisha groaned. “Coach, how about we skip the sprints and work on… walking to the finish line? You know, a little variety.”

Coach Bassey raised an eyebrow. “Very funny. Now run.”

Aisha crouched into position, the starting blocks digging into her palms. *Breathe, focus, push,* she told herself. But her thoughts betrayed her. What if she wasn’t good enough? What if she let everyone down?

After her final sprint, Aisha collapsed onto the grass, panting. “I’m fine,” she said, though her wobbling legs told a different story.

Coach Bassey sat beside her. “You’ve been off all week,” he said. “What’s going on?”

“I just…” Aisha hesitated, staring at the track. “What if I can’t do it? What if I’m not enough?”

Coach Bassey sighed. “Aisha, you’re not running for them. You’re running for yourself. The moment you forget that, you lose.”

Aisha forced a smile. “Running for myself, huh? Can I also stop running *by* myself? Maybe a jetpack would help.”

“Keep joking,” he said, his expression softening. “But remember: pressure is just part of the journey. Embrace it.”

The Press Conference Circus

That evening, Aisha attended a press conference. The room was buzzing with reporters, their cameras and microphones ready to pounce.

“How does it feel to have the weight of a nation on your shoulders?” one reporter asked.

Aisha gave her rehearsed smile. “It’s… heavy.”

The room chuckled, but the questions kept coming.

“Do you think you’ll break the world record?”

“What will you say to your fans if you don’t win?”

Aisha’s smile faltered. *What if I don’t win?* she thought. The very idea was enough to make her stomach churn.

Back in her room that night, Aisha stared at her medal from the last championship. She should have felt proud. Instead, she felt trapped. The same people who had celebrated her victory back then would tear her apart if she failed now.

A Family Intervention

The next morning, Aisha skipped training. Instead, she curled up on her bed, staring at the ceiling. By midday, her parents came to check on her.

“Aisha,” her mother began gently, “you’ve already made us proud. No medal can change that.”

“But everyone expects gold,” Aisha whispered. “What if I fail?”Her father, usually the family’s rock, knelt beside her. “Listen, beta. You’re not just a sprinter to us. You’re our daughter. That’s all that matters.”

Aisha blinked back tears. “So, you’re saying I could, hypothetically, trip at the start line, and you’d still love me?”

Her father chuckled. “We’d laugh first, then love you.”

For the first time in weeks, Aisha laughed—a real laugh. Her parents’ unconditional support reminded

that she was more than just an athlete. She wasn’t running for them or for the media. She was running because she loved it.

The Race Day Revelation

The day of the finals arrived, and the stadium buzzed with energy. Aisha could feel the eyes of the world on her. The announcer’s voice boomed:

“All eyes are on Aisha Khan. Can she deliver the gold her nation has been waiting for?”

Aisha took a deep breath. Suddenly, Coach Bassey’s words echoed in her mind: “You’re not running for them. You’re running for yourself.”

She smiled. “Alright, Aisha,” she muttered under her breath. “Let’s do this—for you.”

As she walked to the starting blocks, the pressure lifted, bit by bit. She crouched down, the starting pistol raised. The gun fired, and Aisha ran—not for gold, not for her nation, but for the sheer joy of it.

The Finish Line

The race ended in a blur. Gasping for breath, Aisha glanced at the scoreboard. She had finished second. Silver.

For a brief moment, she braced herself for the backlash. But then she saw her parents in the stands, cheering as if she’d won gold. She saw Coach Bassey clapping, pride shining in his eyes.

That evening, Aisha posted on social media:

“Silver today, but I rediscovered the joy of running. That’s worth more than gold. Thank you to everyone who supported me—this is just the beginning.”

Conclusion: Running Free

Standing on the podium, the silver medal around her neck felt like a victory. Aisha had learned an important lesson: medals fade, but the love for the sport endures. The joy she found in running was priceless, and she knew that no headline or medal could ever take that away.

As the cameras clicked, Aisha smiled—not because of the medal, but because she had run her race, her way.

And somewhere deep inside, she thought, Next time, maybe I’ll add a jetpack.