Running Towards Freedom

When people think about strength, they often imagine muscles, speed, or winning a race. For me, the first time I truly felt strong had nothing to do with medals or finishing lines. It happened the first time when my foot struck a football during practice, and I realized that being a girl did not make me weak. In fact, it was part of my strength. This occurred during the years of the Afghan Republic before the return of the Taliban, when girls still had the right to study, to dream, and even to play sports.

I did not grow up in the capital city of Kabul. I lived in Bamyan, an ancient land known as a cradle of civilizations. There, education and knowledge were highly respected among many people. Yet some in our society still viewed participation of girls in sports as shameful. Fortunately, I was not alone. I had my mother and sisters who stood behind me like a mountain. Whether it was education or sports, they supported me in every step I took.

My life changed when our family moved from Yakawlang district to the center of Bamyan. A few weeks after arriving, I began making new friends. They introduced me to something completely new: the world of sports. One day during football practice, I kicked the ball with all my strength. I still remember that moment clearly. In that moment, I felt something I had never felt before, a sudden rush of freedom and excitement, as if all my energy and dreams had been released with that kick. The ball flew across the field, and suddenly the coach was watching me closely. After the practice, he came to me and said, “You have a very powerful kick, and you run very fast. How would you like to join our team?”

I was surprised. I was happy, but I was also afraid. We had just moved from a rural area, and I worried about what my relatives and people in the community might say about our family if I suddenly started playing sports. I told the coach that I needed to talk with my family first.

That evening, I shared everything with my mother and my sisters. Without hesitation, they supported me. I remember that my mother looked at me and said words I will never forget: “I am behind you. You must train. You must open the path for other girls.” Those words gave me strength I had never felt before. My mother spoke to my father, who is a very kind and an educated man. He also agreed that I could continue.

From that moment on, I became a different girl, more confident, more determined, and more ambitious. I stopped worrying about what relatives might say. Instead, I focused on improving myself and trying new sports.

Through football, I met athletes from other teams and organizations. Eventually, I discovered an international organization called Free to Run, which focused on empowering girls through sports. Joining their program opened an entirely new world for me. Because I had long strides and natural speed, coaches quickly encouraged me to try different sports.

I learned many sports, competing in football, volleyball, ice skating, running, and skiing. Through Free to Run, I had the chance to run in marathons and participate in skiing competitions. These experiences became some of the most meaningful moments of my life.

Sports did not just make me physically strong. They taught me leadership, courage, and resilience. My teammates looked up to me as a leader. I was also selected to join training and hiking trips to the beautiful valleys of Panjshir. Each of these experiences made me stronger and gave me more courage to stand up for my rights and face any obstacle.

Slowly, the people around me began to change their minds. My parents were proud of me. Even my brother, who once doubted me, started to believe in me. The relatives who once criticized my family by saying things like, “Isn’t it shameful that their daughter runs in the streets, climbs mountains, and skis in the winter?” began calling my parents. They asked if I could help introduce their daughters to sports. That was one of the proudest moments of my life. The same path that once brought criticism was now opening doors for other girls.

Today, as I write this story, I feel both happiness and sadness. I am proud of everything I experienced and the strength I discovered within myself. But I am also sad because the situation in my country has changed. The current regime no longer allows girls like me to continue our athletic journeys. The doors to education are closed to me. But I never lose hope. I stand stronger than before and turn every opportunity into a step toward my dreams. My inner voice reminds me: “You can do it.” And I believe it.

The strength I found through those years cannot be taken away from me. The mountains of Bamyan, the snowy slopes where I learned to ski, the long roads where I ran marathons, and the football field where I first kicked that ball all taught me something important:

Being a girl was never my weakness. It was always my strength.