The two weeks leading up to the running club competition passed in a blur of training runs and end-of-semester chaos.
Finals were mostly done—I'd turned in my last papers, taken my last exams, and somehow maintained my GPA despite spending half the semester obsessing about the LEET.
"You know what's wild?" I said to Bok-Jin during one of our training runs. "I don't actually know my grades yet and I'm not spiraling about it."
"Character growth. I'm so proud."
"I did the work. The grades will be what they are."
"Who are you and what have you done with anxious Ji-Mang?"
"She's taking a vacation. She'll be back eventually."
We were running faster than usual—building up speed for the competition. Bok-Jin had researched actual training strategies, which I found both endearing and slightly excessive.
"You're treating this like the Olympics," I said, breathing hard.
"I'm treating it like something worth doing well. There's a difference."
"It's a university running club competition. The stakes are very low."
"The stakes are our pride and bragging rights. That's everything."
By race day Saturday, I was more excited than nervous.
The competition was at a park near campus—a marked 10K course through trails and open areas. About fifty people had signed up, split into various categories by age and ability level.
I was in the advanced women's group with eight other runners, including two women who looked like they ran competitively in high school. Actual athletes. Meanwhile, I was just someone who'd joined running club to de-stress.
"You're going to do great," Bok-Jin said as we warmed up together. His race was in the men's advanced category, starting thirty minutes after mine.
"What if I come in last?"
"Then you come in last and you still ran 10K, which is more than most people do on a Saturday morning."
"Very philosophical."
"I contain multitudes." He kissed my forehead. "Now go show them what you've got."
Ji-Yeon bounced over, looking nervous. She was in the intermediate women's category.
"Unnie, I'm so scared. What if I can't finish?"
"You'll finish. You've been running this distance all semester. Your body knows what to do."
"But what if I'm too slow?"
"Then you're too slow. It's fine. This is supposed to be fun, remember?"
"Right. Fun. I can do fun."
At exactly 9 AM, Min-Ho called the advanced women's group to the starting line.
Eight of us lined up. I tried not to look at the serious runners with their actual running watches and compression gear. I was wearing regular athletic clothes and the running shoes I'd had since sophomore year.
"On your mark," Min-Ho said. "Get set. Go!"
We took off.
The first kilometer was chaos—everyone jockeying for position, finding their pace. I let the fastest runners pull ahead and settled into a rhythm that felt sustainable.
One foot in front of the other. Breathe. Don't think too hard.
By kilometer two, the pack had spread out. Three runners were far ahead—the serious athletes. I was in a cluster of four runners, all maintaining similar pace. One woman behind us.
The course wound through wooded trails, and I focused on the scenery rather than the discomfort. Trees, morning light, the sound of feet on dirt paths.
At the 5K mark, we looped back toward the start. One of the runners in my cluster pulled ahead. Then another.
Now it was just me and one other woman running together, matching stride for stride.
"Good pace," she said, breathing hard.
"You too."
We didn't talk after that—too focused on maintaining speed. But there was something motivating about having someone right there, pushing each other forward.
At kilometer eight, my legs started burning. The fun part was over. Now it was just willpower and stubbornness.
The woman next to me surged ahead slightly. I tried to match her but couldn't quite close the gap.
Fine. Fifth place was still respectable.
The final kilometer was visible now—we'd emerged from the trails onto an open path. I could see the finish line in the distance.
I pushed harder, ignoring the burning in my legs and lungs. The woman ahead was still there, twenty meters up.
Fifteen meters.
Ten meters.
I wasn't going to catch her. But I gave it everything anyway, sprinting the last hundred meters as hard as I could.
Crossed the finish line.
Fifth place out of eight. Time: 51 minutes, 22 seconds.
I bent over, hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. My legs felt like jelly and I was covered in sweat, but I'd finished. I'd actually finished a competitive 10K.
"That was amazing!" Ji-Yeon appeared, having finished her race earlier. "You looked so fast!"
"I wasn't that fast. Fifth place."
"Out of eight runners who were all really good! That's amazing!"
The woman I'd been running with for the last 5K came over, also breathing hard.
"Good race," she said, offering her hand. "I'm Soo-Yeon. Third year, economics."
"Ji-Mang. Third year, law."
"You've got a good kick at the end. Do you run outside of club?"
"Not really. Just started training seriously a few weeks ago."
"You should consider it. You've got natural speed."
We chatted for a few minutes while recovering, and I felt absurdly proud. Fifth place. 51:22. Not bad for someone who'd only taken running seriously this semester.
Bok-Jin's race started at 9:45. I watched from the sidelines as he and twelve other men lined up.
His race was more competitive—these were the serious runners who'd been training all year. But Bok-Jin held his own, staying in the middle of the pack for most of the race.
In the final kilometer, he pushed hard and passed two runners, finishing eighth out of thirteen. Time: 47:15.
"Not bad," he said when he finished, sweaty and exhausted. "Better than I expected."
"You were fast. I'm impressed."
"You were faster. Relatively speaking."
"We can't compare times. Your race was more competitive."
"Still. You killed it. Fifth place."
"Fifth out of eight isn't exactly winning."
"It's beating three people who probably train way more than you. That's winning in my book."
Min-Ho gathered everyone for awards. First through third place in each category got actual medals—cheap ones, but still.
"And special recognition," he said, "to everyone who participated. Running 10K is an achievement regardless of placement. You all showed up, you all finished. Be proud."
People clapped, and I felt something warm in my chest. Community. Accomplishment. The simple joy of doing something difficult just because.
After the race, a group of us went to get brunch—runners from various categories, all hungry and energized despite being exhausted.
"We should do this again," Soo-Yeon said. "Next semester, longer distance."
"Are you trying to kill us?" someone asked.
"I'm trying to give us goals. Life is boring without goals."
"Life is peaceful without goals."
"Peace is overrated."
Bok-Jin and I shared an amused look. This was what I'd been missing—doing things just because they were fun, not because they served some larger academic purpose.
That evening, exhausted and sore, I collapsed on the couch at home.
"How was the race?" Yoo-Na asked, looking up from her laptop.
"I got fifth place out of eight. My legs hurt. It was great."
"Very enthusiastic for someone in pain."
"It's a good pain. Accomplishment pain."
Min-Ji appeared from her room. "Oh good, you're alive. I was worried you'd died of competitive spirit."
"Very funny. How was your day?"
"Studied. Very boring. Very jealous of your athletic adventures."
"You can come to the next one."
"Absolutely not. I support you from a sedentary distance."
My phone buzzed. The LEET study group chat.
Su-Jin: Race results? How'd everyone do?
Me: 5th out of 8 in my category. 51:22 for 10K.
Tae-Min: That's really good! I'm impressed.
Su-Jin: Better than I'd do. I hate running.
Min-Seo: Same. I'll stick to walking.
Me: How was everyone's week?
Su-Jin: Finished finals. Now I'm in that weird limbo of waiting for grades.
Tae-Min: Same. I hate waiting.
Me: At least we have all summer to not think about grades.
Su-Jin: Until we have to start thinking about law school applications.
Me: That's future us's problem.
We chatted for a while longer, and I felt grateful for people who understood the specific anxiety of being in that in-between space—finished with one thing, waiting for the next.
Bok-Jin called around 8 PM.
"How are you feeling?" he asked. "Legs surviving?"
"Barely. I can't move. This was a terrible idea."
"You loved every minute."
"I did. That's the worst part." I shifted on the couch, trying to find a position that didn't hurt. "When do you start your internship?"
"Monday. June 1st. Nine AM sharp at Hansung headquarters."
"Are you ready?"
"No. But I'm showing up anyway." He was quiet for a moment. "My father called today. He wants to have dinner tomorrow to 'discuss my summer responsibilities.'"
"That sounds ominous."
"It's code for 'I'm going to tell you how to behave at the company and you're going to nod and agree.' I've been through this before."
"Do you want company? Moral support?"
"God, no. That would make it worse. He'd view you as a distraction." He paused. "But maybe after? Could I come over after dinner? Just... decompress?"
"Of course. Anytime."
"Thank you. I'll probably need it."
Sunday I woke up barely able to move. Every muscle screamed in protest.
"This is what we call 'delayed onset muscle soreness,'" Min-Ji said cheerfully. "Welcome to fitness."
"I regret everything."
"No you don't."
"I regret some things."
Bok-Jin texted around noon: How's the suffering?
Me: I can't walk. This is your fault.
Bok-Jin: You chose to race. I merely supported your choices.
Me: You encouraged my bad decisions.
Bok-Jin: That's what good boyfriends do.
Me: Debatable.
Bok-Jin: Want me to bring lunch? Keep you company while you suffer?
Me: Yes please. I'm too sore to leave the apartment.
He showed up an hour later with kimbap and soup and sympathy.
"You look miserable," he said, setting the food on the table.
"I am miserable. Why did I think running a race was a good idea?"
"Because it was a good idea. You had fun."
"I'm not having fun now."
"That's tomorrow-you's problem. Yesterday-you had a great time."
We ate lunch while watching terrible television, and I tried to ignore the fact that every movement hurt.
"So," I said around 2 PM, "what time is dinner with your father?"
"Six. At some restaurant I can't pronounce. Very fancy, very formal."
"What's he going to talk about?"
"Expectations. Behavior. How I need to take the internship seriously and prove I'm worthy of the family name." He said it flatly, no emotion.
"That sounds exhausting."
"It is. But it's three hours of my life. I can survive three hours."
"And then you come here and we watch bad movies and eat junk food?"
"Exactly. That's the plan."
He left around 4 PM to get ready for dinner, and I spent the rest of the afternoon studying the apartment ceiling and feeling sorry for myself.
Around 9 PM, my phone rang.
"Hey," Bok-Jin said. He sounded tired. "Can I come over?"
"Of course. Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Just... it was a lot. I'll tell you when I get there."
He showed up fifteen minutes later looking exhausted and frustrated.
"That bad?" I asked, letting him in.
"My father spent two hours telling me all the ways I've been disappointing him. Apparently I'm not serious enough, not focused enough, not ambitious enough." He collapsed on the couch. "And then he asked about you."
My stomach dropped. "What did he ask?"
"If we were still dating. If I was serious about you. If I understood that my 'personal choices' would reflect on the family."
"What did you say?"
"I said yes, we're still dating. Yes, I'm serious about you. And no, I don't care if it reflects poorly on the family because you're not 'poor reflection,' you're brilliant and accomplished and exactly the kind of person anyone should be proud to date."
"Bok-Jin—"
"He didn't like that answer. Said I needed to be 'realistic about the future' and 'consider what's appropriate for someone in my position.'" He looked at me. "I told him my relationship was none of his business."
"How did that go over?"
"About as well as you'd expect. He said I was being naive and emotional. That I'd understand when I was older." He laughed bitterly. "I'm twenty-two. At what age do I get to make my own choices?"
I sat next to him and took his hand. "I'm sorry. That sounds horrible."
"It was. But I meant what I said. You're not going anywhere. I don't care what he thinks."
"Your father's opinion matters—"
"His opinion matters about business. Not about who I date. Those are separate things."
"Are they though? For people like you, everything is connected. Personal relationships are business relationships."
"Maybe for him. Not for me." He squeezed my hand. "I'm not letting him control my life. Not this part."
I wanted to believe him. But I also knew how powerful parents could be. How much pressure families could apply.
"Let's not think about it tonight," I said. "You came here to decompress. So decompress. What do you need?"
"Food. Bad movies. You."
"I can provide all of those things."
We ordered fried chicken and put on a terrible action movie neither of us had seen. Yoo-Na joined us around 10 PM, and Min-Ji emerged from her room around 11 PM, and we all ended up on the couch together eating too much food and laughing at the ridiculous plot.
"This is nice," Bok-Jin said quietly to me around midnight. "Just being normal."
"We're pretty good at normal."
"We really are."
Around 1 AM, everyone started drifting to bed. Bok-Jin stood to leave.
"Text me tomorrow," I said at the door. "Let me know how your first day goes."
"I will. Thank you. For tonight."
"Anytime. I mean it."
He kissed me goodnight, and I watched him leave with a pit of worry in my stomach.
His father didn't approve. That shouldn't matter. But it did.
Monday morning I woke up to texts from Bok-Jin.
Bok-Jin: First day. Already want to quit. Is it too late to become a professional dog walker?
Me: Probably. How bad is it?
Bok-Jin: Lots of meetings about things I don't care about. Everyone treating me like the boss's son instead of an intern. My father checking in every hour. Fun times.
Me: You can survive. Just nine weeks.
Bok-Jin: Nine weeks feels like forever right now.
Me: Take it one day at a time. And text me when you need to vent.
Bok-Jin: Thank you. I definitely will.
I spent Monday organizing my apartment, doing laundry, and finally unpacking the boxes I'd been ignoring since spring semester started.
My grades were posted around 2 PM.
Constitutional Law II: A Legal Research: A International Law: A- Legal Writing Seminar: A
3.92 GPA for the semester. 3.87 cumulative.
Good enough for law school applications. Good enough to feel proud.
I texted my mom a photo of my grades, and she called immediately.
"My smart daughter! I'm so proud!"
"Thanks, Eomma. How's everything at home?"
"Good! Your father's been at his job two months now. Things are stable. Your siblings are doing well. We're managing."
"That's great. Really great."
"How's your boyfriend? The nice boy with the good manners?"
"He's good. He started an internship today."
"You're still happy?"
"Yeah. I'm happy."
"Good. You deserve happiness."
After we hung up, I stared at my grades for a while. Three years of undergraduate down. One year to go.
Then law school. Then career. Then whatever came next.
I was on track. Everything was proceeding according to plan.
So why did I have this nagging feeling that something was about to change?