I teetered on the sidewalk, mesmerized by the crowd of 60,000 sweaty runners surging past me in the final stretch of 6.2 miles. Even with my earplugs and dark glasses, my senses were overwhelmed. My heart thumped loudly, warning me not to do it. Defiantly, I took a tentative step and snuck onto the racecourse.

The Peachtree Road Race 10K had always been a summer tradition for my family; however, it had never been more meaningful than that year. Two months earlier, the car I was driving was hit by another car while stopped at a red light. The screech of wheels and the bang of the collision silenced my world. While I walked away without visible wounds, the crash left me with a major concussion. My struggle through the next six months of recovery indelibly shaped my goals for college and beyond.

Friends sprinted toward the end of sophomore year, while doctors confined me to my room. I was unable to walk steadily, read, or simply follow conversations for many weeks. Even an invitation to the honors assembly for student recognition overwhelmed me, and I couldn’t get out of the car. AP exams, finals, and placement tests sped by with me on the sidelines.

All the relentless networking that landed me my first real job as a camp counselor for special-needs kids unraveled as I became the one with the disability. Tedious days of physical and vestibular therapy were a disappointing substitute for the summer I had dreamed of with my friends.

I laughed at the therapist, my new coach, when she first asked me to walk in a straight line. But this simple request proved to be a grueling exercise. While my brain and my feet were happy to try, clearly they were competing in two very different races.

I threw myself into recovery with my typical obsessiveness, but I saw little progress. My whole life, I had always tried to outdo myself, not just meeting but exceeding expectations. I’d been taught that hard work yields results, but here I was trying as hard as I could to heal but feeling as if I was running in place.

Then my neuropsychologist sat me down and explained that the perfectionist personality that had served me so well in school and extra-curriculars made me the worst type of concussion patient. Recovery is not just about pushing yourself to heal. It’s also about listening and learning, and sometimes taking a step back to change your expectations.

I realized that stopping to take a water break is necessary. Whereas previously I thought asking for help was a sign of failure, I learned that it is a true sign of teamwork. In fact, learning to accept myself for all my uncertain limitations gave me the confidence to dive into new things, though I may be unsure of the outcome.

As I learned to embrace all the unplanned moments in life, I thought about why that concept proved so difficult for me. My natural curiosity drove me to wonder about the brain’s mechanics. To learn more, I secured an internship in a laboratory performing neuroscience research, and I am focusing my college search on schools that offer programs to study the brain.

That year’s Peachtree 10K was not a success by my old standards. In fact, I struggled to walk from my improvised starting point to the finish line, just one mile. But even though old people speed-walked by me and I was sick for days after, the experience was worth it. Rather than mourn the loss of my past abilities, I celebrated the completion of my new course and looked forward to all the places it would take me.