I structured my Thursday afternoon during February break around watching Alysa Liu’s last Olympic skate, and I was not disappointed. While of course her skating was phenomenal and her style was inspired, it was her clear joy and lightness that really drew me in. She moved like she had nothing to prove, despite the fact that the whole world was watching.

Following her gold medal performance, I fell down an internet rabbit hole, watching every Alysa Liu interview I could find. I was determined to know her secret to performing under such high pressure while still having fun. How do you compete at the highest level without letting it get to you?

By no means is 9th grade the Olympics; no one is handing out medals for finding your English classroom or passing your CPR test. But I do see some parallels. There is a new pressure to perform because suddenly, results matter. There is a need to adapt because not everything goes your way. And there is the fear that everyone is watching and judging you, regardless of how hard you try. Liu’s main thesis of doing things for joy and not for the reward is surprisingly relevant.

In an interview with 60 Minutes that really stuck with me, Liu said, “I love struggling, actually. It makes me feel alive.”

The story of my struggle began with Cross Country preseason. Showing up on the first day, I had very little running experience. But as the week went on, I quickly found a love for both the sport and the team. I loved the kindness and generosity of the older girls, the feeling of improving every day and getting to spend time with the other freshmen who quickly became some of my closest friends. By the end of the first week, despite being exhausted and sore, I found myself looking forward to my run Monday morning. I ran my first meet in Milton, easily beating my goal time.

Then I got injured. Ten days into the season.

But despite my injury, I stuck with the team. I showed up every day to practice and watched as everyone else went for runs while I biked. It was disappointing at first, but it quickly became a challenge that I almost looked forward to. I showed up every day, biking six days a week, pushing myself both mentally and physically. I wasn’t racing, but I was still part of something, growing and challenging myself.

Asked about how she maintains her joy despite not being perfect, in an interview with NBC News, Liu said of her mistakes, “It’s still something, it’s still a story. A bad story is still a story, and I think that’s beautiful.” I quickly related to this, as this year I have so many stories that felt bad at the time but turned into relatively fond memories.

For example, in October, I took a particularly rough math test. Afterwards, I went into the bathroom with my friends to debrief. As we were leaving, panicked and stressed, we ran right into our math teacher, who had been quietly standing outside and had heard enough of our conversation to realize we were talking about her test. I walked past her, mortified, just nodding a hello as my face turned bright red.

Although in the moment, it felt like I would never be able to look my math teacher in the eye again, it quickly became a hilarious memory for my friends and me. And then one day in office hours, my teacher made a joke in reference to it. Now it’s something we all laugh about together.

But I think that the most relatable thing I’ve heard from Alysa about her definition of success is, “You also have to find a good team. I’m so grateful to find such great support around me. My friends really hold me down. So that, no matter what happens in my life, I think I have a beautiful life story, and I feel really lucky.”

The idea that it’s the people who shape the story feels very true, especially in high school. Whether it be the teammates who cheer you on, the friends who laugh with you or the teachers who bond with you over silly things, I realize that as I go through my days in 9th grade, I’m not alone.

Freshman year doesn’t require landing a triple axel, but sometimes there is still the sense that the whole world is watching and a pressure to succeed.

Adapting Alysa Liu’s mindset doesn’t mean pretending these things don’t matter. It means showing up for your teammates, finding joy in the struggles and remembering that you’re doing it for yourself, for your growth and for the stories. Especially the bad ones.