ITHACA, N.Y. -- Noah Cummings learned early that opportunity isn't just something you arrive at or something you're handed. It's something you earn, carry and are responsible for honoring.

Cummings grew up in Upper Marlboro, Md., a half-hour outside Washington, D.C.. His father, Anthony, served as a police officer at the Pentagon. His mother, Beirout, immigrated to the United States from Ethiopia as a child and built a life rooted in discipline, faith and perseverance — bringing with her a culture where distance running wasn't just a sport, but a way of life, shaped by endurance and purpose.

Neither parent had access to higher education, but both fiercely believed in it.

That understanding sharpened for Cummings around middle school when he began noticing the choices his parents made — the tightening, the prioritizing — and something inside him shifted.

"If they're willing to do all of that," he says, "then it's my responsibility to make the most of it."

Cummings started running around 6-years-old, chasing his older sister Nyia, who remains the most influential person in his life. Two years older than Noah, Nyia was the constant standard and the person who always seemed to get things right. She was the first runner, the first Cornell athlete, the first example of what was possible.

"She's my best friend. If she's going somewhere, I trust there's a reason," Cummings said.

Their relationship — competitive, inseparable, deeply supportive — became foundational. The siblings followed nearly identical trajectories: same schools, same meets, same early-morning AAU track Saturdays that stretched from sunrise until the lights went off in the building.

They were so close growing up that their punishment for misbehaving was often separation. Even then, they found ways around it — walkie-talkies hidden under beds, notes passed when they weren't supposed to talk. Their parents couldn't keep them distant for long.

Track was a language of their household, passed down through their mother's Ethiopian running roots and reinforced by repetition. Records and winning mattered, but so did family, discipline and belonging.

"You learn that you get out what you put in," Cummings said. "That lesson applies to everything."

Nyia arrived at Cornell first, running track and setting the example her brother would eventually follow. She also signaled that Ithaca would be a great place for Noah to join her. By the time he joined her in Ithaca, they shared two years together — shared spaces, shared routines, shared pride in what it meant for two first-generation siblings to stand where their parents once could only dream for them.

For a moment, the plan felt complete.

Injuries sidelined him for a full season, forcing Noah to reconsider what leadership looked like without results. Track had always been how he contributed and led.

"It forces you to ask who you are when you're not scoring," he says.

Without the ability to lead through performance, he began searching for other ways to show up and found the answer off the track.

Along with teammates Abraham Ailemen and Josh Green, Cummings helped build Men of Color in Athletics (MOCA), an idea first sketched on a bus ride home from a meet. From the start, they understood the work couldn't be inward-facing alone.

"We wanted to reduce distance," Noah says. "Prejudice lives in distance. If you close it, things change."

MOCA's impact became deliberately visible — thank-you letters to dining hall workers and custodial staff, working with parking services to comp lots during exam season, small gestures that carried disproportionate weight.

"The little things matter," Cummings said. "People remember them."

That instinct to widen access didn't stop on campus.

While already contributing deeply to MOCA, Cummings helped grow Run Your City, a youth sports initiative focused on access. What began as borrowed fields, pooled personal funds and improvised sessions became structured programs — six-week cycles, partnerships with local organizations, and now plans to bring sessions onto Cornell's track itself.

The impact has flowed in both directions.

"Seeing kids fall in love with the sport," he said, "it reinforced the joy I felt in track."

The joy, he realized, was always the point.

Service extended into professional spaces as well. Through the Make A Play Foundation, Cummings found mentorship — then became one. After a summer at Morgan Stanley in wealth management a role that aligned with his strengths: adaptability, relationship-building, composure under pressure.

"These rooms historically weren't built for people like us," he said. "So you learn how to show up prepared."

Academically, his path clarified the same way. After starting in economics, he transitioned to Information Science — drawn to work that felt applied and people-facing, not theoretical for its own sake. A full-time role at Morgan Stanley now waits for him following graduation, a chance to help families like his own build stability, literacy and long-term security.

His grandmother calls him every morning to pray together. Community and faith sustains him and grounds his belief that what you're given is never just for you.

"I'm here because of privilege," he said. "Not because I deserve it more than anyone else, but because people before me sacrificed. Cornell made me better. The least I can do is leave it better."

Belief carried him back onto the track. After months of rehab and doubt, Cummings surprised himself last spring — running personal bests, earning a Heps roster spot, reclaiming confidence he wasn't sure would return.

The metrics, they still matter. Continuity matters just as much.

He wants MOCA to outlive him. For Run Your City to keep running. To know that people will walk into a room he helped make easier to enter.

Cummings didn't arrive at Cornell chasing shortcuts. He arrived carrying something heavier — and more meaningful: the hopes of people who came before him, the trust of a sister who showed the way, and the responsibility to widen the door behind him.

"I want to minimize regret," he says. "I'll always regret not helping someone more than I'll regret being tired."

So he keeps showing up — to practices, to meetings, to fields filled with kids discovering movement for the first time.

Opportunity, he's learned, only multiplies when you're willing to carry it and learn to pass it on.