The sun is just beginning to rise and the cool humid air hangs heavy, the sounds of summer birds and insects defining the early morning. The air is crisp, but still holds that feeling of being in limbo where any minute the sun rays will touch down and the fog will boil away. The grass beneath my shoes is dewy, and the soles become damp the longer I stand. The park around is quiet, no one yet out for an early stroll or to walk their dog. My left hand rests on my right wrist, waiting. My teammates surround me, some drifting off on their own, others waiting for their friends. Gravel crunches beneath eager feet, dust sticking to the damp materials. It's long run day, which means we’re at the park for an early weekend practice. I hold my right arm out in front of me, watching, waiting. My watch is slow, and it always takes just a little longer to get full bars of service to start. It sits tight on my wrist, sweat beginning to collect underneath from the black band baking in the sun. Two separate clicks to the top right button, and I get an answering beep. Fully charged and ready; I click start and begin my run.

Sometimes it's the unlikely things in life that connect people together. 8 years difference and 5 inches of height separating us, yet my sister and I couldn't be more alike. Brown hair -hers now worn short and curly,- brown eyes, thick eyebrows, tan skin, and an addiction to running. For as long as I could remember, we’ve always been the same: had the same hobbies, worn the same clothes, studied the same subjects. And now we wear the same watch. Same color, same brand, same year, same purpose. I grew up watching my sister leave the house every summer afternoon, “going for a run!” she would say, while her eyes remained riveted to her watch as she bounded out the door and down the steps. And I would wait, counting the minutes, sometimes hours, until she returned. Among many things, our watches are what connect us and help define who we are, both as separate people and as one.

There's a certain feeling that can be specifically pinpointed only during the summer time: it's the feeling in the air when the day has been so extraordinarily hot that heat waves sprout from pavement, but then in the evening the air feels like a deflated balloon, all used up and expired. The heat still clings desperately to the atmosphere, as does the thick smell of sunscreen and sweat. In this setting, there are waves lapping at a sandy shore, the sun is coating everything it touches in a warm golden hue, and there are happy families walking down the road. A small kidney-shaped lake further up in Michigan, and my family finds ourselves there every year in the month of August. And every year, there is a day like this: we take this winding road for almost a mile, our steps slow and relaxed, arms swinging by our sides. Laughter is loud, smiles contagious. And up ahead, there's a small cabin-like building that's almost identical to all the others around, except this one has a neon sign above the entrance and people of all diversities standing outside with ice cream in their hands. Bees fly in and out, attracted to the melting sugar coating hands, tables, and dirt. My sister and I walk side by side, arms brushing, my right wrist watch knocking against her left wrist watch. We order and collect our summer treats, laughing as the ice cream melts from the heat and drips down our fingers. Sitting side by side, we admire the likeness of ourselves. Arms pressing against each other, watch to watch, there is little difference to be found. Same tan skin, same structural build, same black watch, same purpose. She calls me her “mini-me”, I say “whatever”. She goes back to her ice cream, admiring the day around us, and I go back to my thoughts, admiring the connection we share through nothing more than this simple band we keep around our wrists.

I believe we often forget the impact that the act of consistency holds in our lives. If you do something everyday, or carry the same object with you everywhere, your subconscious automatically comes to rely on that one thing. For me, if it has not been displayed so clearly already, that is my watch. Almost one month ago, a group of friends and I had gone out to dinner for Olive Garden before prom. We were all done up and wearing our best dresses, yet I still had my scratched up watch on my wrist, unable to take it off despite the stark contract it had against the lavender colored layers. The restaurant was loud and bustling, food being rushed down aisles and towards tables sitting hungry families. At that point I had to accept the fact that the watch must come off before we made it to the actual event. So, dejectedly, I had removed the tight band from my wrist, rubbing at the mark it left behind and hoping no one would notice the tan line I sported. I stuck the watch in my wallet right as our food arrived, but was unable to ignore the missing weight of it all throughout dinner. Afterwards, when I couldn't stand it any longer, I grabbed the familiar object from the bottom of my wallet, eager to be reacquainted with the weight. The shock and panic I had felt when I turned the watch face around only to be confronted with a blank grey screen is one that I can still feel today. My watch, even while dead, had never displayed a grey screen; always black. It would not turn on, nor would it completely turn off. It would not receive notifications, and I was unable to connect to it from my phone like usual. I was borderline hysterical with anxiety, and my friends simply didn't understand what it meant to be disconnected from that part of myself. My watch, which gave me strength and support, was unavailable for either of those things until I was able to fix it one day later.

Gravel crunching, hearts racing, lungs heaving, blood rushing. My watch tracks every step that passes me by, giving me times and paces to keep me focused. My sister runs next to me, much more at ease with our pace than I will ever be. Her long strides eat up my smaller ones, but we stick together just as we always have. Another mile passes and our watches give a beep in tandem. Two of the most important things in my life, keeping me strong and encouraging me to continue working hard.

It's often easy to overlook the things that we use everyday- easy to forget how much we rely on them always being there. Being unknowingly dependent on something generally leads to becoming weak and crippled when that object is gone, broken, or missing. For me, my Garmin watch is my support system that I can always rely on. As a runner, the sport is constantly throwing me through a love-hate revolving door relationship. However, there are some moments when I can reflect and learn to enjoy the work I put into pushing myself. Having that tight weight sit on my wrist everyday is a comforting reminder of my own abilities and resilience. It's a reminder that I can be strong even when I feel weak. But most of all, it's a reminder of my love for my sister and our combined passion for the sport of running.