My road to the Olympics has been an arduous one, a lifelong journey filled with hard work and sacrifice, but, through it all, I have never wavered in my determination, in my commitment to get there at all costs and come in third.

I was born with a gift, a gift that I’ve dedicated my life to cultivating, in hopes that one day I might compete at a level that would earn me a spot on the podium—specifically the level of the podium that, of the three, is the third highest.

The margin that separates the golds and silvers from the bronzes is often measured in fractions of a point or hundredths of a second. Leading up to the Games, the math is equally unforgiving. If, for example, I’m on the path to silver and gold, I’m training for ten hours a day, and if I’m training for ten hours a day, I can’t sleep in, smoke a bowl, and go see a matinee. Perks like these are reserved exclusively for those of us living the bronze lifestyle.

I’d never have gotten here without the support of my family, which saw third place in me before I could see it in myself. I’m constantly reminded of the sacrifices they made so that I could have a shot at achieving my goal, because they talk about it a lot. They taught me so many valuable lessons over the years—like, to always reach for the stars that are reachable, and to always believe in myself within reason.

When I was six years old, I remember taking out my crayons and drawing little Olympic medals to hang on my wall. At such a young age, I learned which path I was destined for, and also that brown plus orange plus a little yellow makes bronze.

There are so many sacrifices that I’ve made, too. While my friends were out having fun, I was in the gym practically sweating through a routine of bronze-worthy exercises, a regimen tailored specifically to result in that sweet spot of victory nestled between second and fourth place.

While people around me were eating whatever they wanted, every morsel that went into my mouth had to be looked at first through the bronze lens, which sometimes meant five-day, even seven-day, stretches without nachos.

As part of my preparation, I’ve also spent countless hours watching video of my competitors from around the globe, studying every detail of their performances to the point that I could almost visualize which two of them are going to do better than me.

While there may not be a big endorsement deal or a Wheaties box waiting for me at the end of my journey, there will certainly be plenty of people to greet me when I return, each wearing that obscure expression of patriotism mixed with pride mixed with disappointment, otherwise known as Bronze Face.

Well, Bronze Face suits me just fine, because I know who I am and what I’m not capable of. When I think of all the other Olympians setting their sights so high, I imagine how hard they’ve been on themselves and the intense pressure they must be feeling, and I just want to give them a hug, pass them my plate of nachos, and tell them all about the latest matinee I just saw.

Photograph by Antonin Thuillier/AFP/Getty.