As My Feet Hit The Spring Board, Time Feels Like It Has
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As my feet hit the spring board, time feels like it has stopped. I have fallen so many times before, but this time is different. I complete my finishing pass with a double back tuck and slam to the ground. Immediately crumbling to the floor, my entire left leg is tingling, my heart is pounding out of my chest, tears rolling down my cheek. I’m not yet aware that I just tore every major ligament and all of the cartilage in my left knee.
I began gymnastics at Gymboree when I was only three years old, I competed in my first competition when I was seven years old, going onto winning my first medal at the age of eight. After competing for nine years, I was entering my freshman year of high school my parents told me to make a choice between…show more content… At the gym I was able to release all my emotions and stresses, freeing my mind and body for a few hours a day. Every pass I landed, I felt myself pushing boundaries of my physical and mental courage. Quickly, gymnastics became my whole life, the only place I wanted to be. It did, at least, until that November night.
There are few things I remember from that night, I vividly remember my coach telling me seconds before I fell, she couldn’t wait to watch me win state champions this year. Everything turned blurry until I woke up in my brother’s arms being carried through the emergency room. Six and a half hours later, I woke up from surgery in the hospital staring up at the white tile ceiling going in and out of consciousness. I had two IV 's in my left arm releasing fluids and pain medicine into my body, my left leg cradled in a continuous passive motion machine (CPM) slowly bending and straightening my knee, at this point I was not aware of the damage that was done to my left knee. I felt an overwhelming sense of relief and fear flow through me as my doctors walked into my hospital room; I learned that in addition to having peroneal nerve damage, I had torn my left knee 's posterior cruciate ligament (PCL), lateral collateral ligament (LCL) and anterior cruciate ligament (ACL). The doctors warned me prior to surgery of some potential long-term side effects that can occur after
arena that is one hundred times larger than my home, I feel like a needle in a haystack. So many people surrounding me it’s like I’m one grain of sand in a whole ocean. The people around the arena form a black and yellow checker board. Their clothing meshes together and looks like a throw. Smelling the concession stand makes me feel like a starving child. The aroma of hotdogs and Italian sausage reminds me of a back yard grill. The smell of melted cheese on nachos makes my stomach growl wishing I had
Jones has kept me calm for the past two years because if I gave up after every failure I’ve overcame in track I would not be sitting in this class or even attending Slippery Rock for that matter. As cliché as it sounds, everything does happen for a reason. I learned this the hard way during my junior and senior years of high school. Even though most of my experiences from being on the track team are positive, I ended my junior and senior year with the same feeling; regret and feeling like there
Rachel is my best friend. We have been friends since the third grade, and she knows me the best. We’re like two peas in a pod. (simile) She told me earlier today that she had a huge surprise for me. I was excited. She just texted me telling me she was on her way over. I have no idea what she could be getting me. My birthday was coming up so I assumed it was an early birthday present. I saw her car pull up in the driveway. Rachel gets out of her car. She begins to walk up to the door and with each
Music floated through the brisk cold air from the open window of the music school looking over the peaceful lake where families and young lovers basked in the morning gentle rays. The spring flowers, which were gently swaying in the breeze as their petals reached toward the sky while enamoring the hearts of poets and painters alike and the flowers blushed at the attention they received from the young children who’s greedy hands yearned to clutch the colorful beings in their dirty little hands, only
I ain 't much of a man for gunplay. I had me enough of that during the war. After, I got my leg shot off at Gettysburg and they sawed it off at the knee, I just had about enough of fighting. They gave me a little mustering out pay, I got me a peg leg, which I attached to my upper leg with a leather strap and I was ready to begin a new life.
A few days on a stinky old train that rattled and rolled like it was about to just plumb lay down and die, all the good trains were being used by the military
He jerked back as if the force would spring his arm back into place. Gravity took over his knees forcing them to buckle and hit the ground. Some might say he looked like newborn deer, fresh out the womb. His arm was left hanging with barely any support at all. His only support was his hand holding it closely to his side as if he could protect it from further harm. His arm looked like a gummy worm...except more flimsy. The adrenaline took over his body like a built in anesthesia, taking his mind
I sat their today like every other first sunday of the month still hoping that he might have believed me, still waiting for him to enter with open arms, still hoping to get out of this horrible dirty jail cell, and still praying to god that the ruling wouldn’t have churned out this way.
The look of him through the five-inch thick bulletproof glass; the sight of him made me tear up and wonder why would he still come if he didn’t believe me? These words gave me hope in such a dark and harsh place
I twitch awake, my sweaty arms and legs stuck in an awkward position. It causes my joints to ache and my neck to pop as I sit up. I wipe the beads of sweat off my forehead, catching my breath.
Images from my dream flash across my mind. Horrible images of blood, demons, Kallua and him. Daemn. I didn’t exactly see him, more the sensation of his telepathy force piercing my mind. It was as if he was twisting and controlling my thoughts all over again.
It wasn’t real, I try to convince myself, but no
trouble came in the form of several consecutive years of
level funding. But in 2004, the situation worsened; Pine Street’s revenue dropped from $29.6 to $26.9 million. In
alarm, Pine Street Inn Director Lyndia Downie and the Pine Street Board of Directors commissioned
any corrections, feel free to drop me a line. You won't hurt my feelings. Honest.
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Mean Girls Transcript
This is your lunch, OK?
Now, I put a dollar in there