Case Study: Guantanamo Bay

You’re lining up now!” You turn and look at the whiteboard, and sure enough, a big 19 is spread across the top. Although it pains you to do it, you remove your heated, comfy layer of sweats, exposing your newly formed goosebumps, and head down to the pool. When you arrive at the table, a woman checks off your name and tells you to sit in the fourth chair down. It’s only been an hour, and the woman looks as though she has been working for three days straight. You don’t recognize either of the girls sitting next to you. It turns out that the girl to your right is from Watertown, and the girl to your left is from Cortland. You strike up a conversation with the girl from Watertown, and it turns out that you have a lot in common. Gradually, the line would inch forward, and you would be stuck sitting in someone else's chair, in which they had left a pool of water in, so you resort to sitting on the very edge of the chair. About two races before your own, your coach walks by, and starts talking to you, knowing that you are very nervous. “Don’t worry about it, you will do fine! Just remember, the faster you swim, the faster you’ll be able to dry off and get warm again.” You nod and laugh shyly and continue to anxiously wait for your race.

The final seconds of a cross country meet when you are sprinting down the straight away, looking at the finish line, trying to beat just one more person, is one of the most mentally and physically exhausting moments I’ve ever encountered. In the Fall of 2014 things just clicked with our girls cross country team. Winning Bi-county, Conference, Sectional, and advancing to Regional and Semi-state, was unexpected to everyone around us. Losing five of our seven varsity runners the year before got us moved from our small school rank of 3rd to 13th. Getting moved ten spots on that list motivated us even more to prove to everyone what we could do without those graduated seniors.

Cresting the hill, I struggled with my ragged breathing and the pain in my hips. I focused on my rhythm I in order to keep going. My running shoes slapped the pavement as onlookers expressed their encouragement with cowbells and cheers. I wondered again why I put myself into the situation by choice. As I passed mile 13 I remembered. I felt my eyes water and my legs shake as the finish line approached. Marines in uniform stood ready with medals and smiles as they encouraged us in our own hardships to rise above the pain and finish. The announcer spoke my name but I hardly heard him as a medal slipped over my head and I marveled at the weight, not of the medal, but the accomplishment which seemed impossible for the past three hours. I finished in 3 hours, 7 minutes. It was not an Olympic record and I detested running at mile two, but I did it.

I ran back up the hill to our camp, trying to move quickly without wasting too much energy, took my inhaler, and rushed back down the hill. Soon, it was time for the race to start. The officials gave an overview of information about the race and how it would start. The official behind us blew a long whistle. We stood, motionless, just waiting for that starting gunshot. Pow! The race was off. I sprinted out of the pack. I tried to find a good pace and settle in. We ran up a few hills, and then we made it to the first entrance to the creek. Unintelligently, I didn’t slow down very much going into the creek. Because I didn’t slow down, I splashed into the creek with a belly flop, almost submerging my whole body underwater. I got up quickly, then began to climb up the mud wall. I clawed at that wall like it was my enemy. I avoided the rope, even though it actually wasn’t that busy at the moment. I was too focused to switch strategies. We continued to run on, passing many fans, their cheers a chaotic blur. We passed through the second part of the creek, which was not nearly as deep. It was only about mid-shin to knee level, so I made my way through just fine. We ran all over the vineyard. I wasn’t feeling too awful. I was just caught up in the thrill of the race! We made it to the cornfields, and there were lots of small hills. I ran through them staring at the ground, and I kept seeing the same pair of shoes. For some strange reason, I kept staring at those shoes. People do crazy things when they run, you could say! Anyways, I passed the person wearing those shoes. We ran away from the corn fields and under a bridge. I was coming closer and closer to the finish. I was struggling to continue, but I would not quit! I pushed through the pain, but by the end of the race, I was just done. I saw the final hill in front of me. It was one of the biggest hills on the course, if not the biggest, and it was definitely the most difficult after

I soon snapped out of this state, hastily trying to stretch my muscles, which were cramping because I was so anxious. I heard the announcer yell “Ready, Set, Go!” followed by the pop of the starting pistol. Startled I took off running as fast as I could momentary forgetting to pace myself. I knew I would run out of energy if I didn’t do something to correct myself, so I slowed down and matched my breath to my steps. This way I could get an adequate amount of air into my lungs for aerobic respiration. By doing this I cruised through the first mile of the

A start and a finish line, hundreds of competitors lined up with faces of determination ready to compete in what they have been training hard for. Runners warming up, stretching, drinking water, and finishing routines with their coaches and teammates; anxiously waiting for the loud signal of the gun shot to begin the race. Once the shot has been fired you see the competitors sprint as fast their legs can go, to try to get a spot up front. Through out the race you see the rival schools go head to head speeding up inch by inch trying to get ahead. The sweat dripping from foreheads to chins, tired faces, heavy breathing, and pained looks are characteristics the competitors obtain midway through the race, which always seems to catch the crowd’s

I led a few stretches, ran a few warmup laps, and headed up to the stands. With my parents and teammates beside me, I felt ready to go, until my race was called. Then my heart dropped and the pressure of not false-starting, successfully passing the baton, and running faster than I ever have fell on me. My Coach led the three other runners and me down a tunnel to the track. Then we are placed in order by heat and leg

I stood at the top of the hill. It was Regional day. My team and I trained all year for that day. The sun was shining and the snow was crisp—just like the air. The wind was silent and allowed the clamor of the festivities to hang in the air undisturbed. I could hear everything. The chanting of names and times from the loudspeaker. The racers’ skis slicing into the snow. My favorite rhythmic clapping of shins on gates. Then, to my surprise, “Tylor Kistler, bib 156?” a pause, “racer may go when ready”. Oh no. If my mind wasn’t racing before, it was racing then. All my thoughts jumbled into a chaotic scream.

“Final call girl’s four by eight-hundred-meter relay” called the official. The Ontario Track girl’s four by eight-meter team trooped up to lane one, in unison. I would not have wanted to be racing with anyone else but my relay family. We had trained all season for this one race. Every workout, asthma attack, tear, and shin splint has lead up to this one race to break a twenty year old school record. As we jogged with the official from the bullpen to the starting line, the crowd had uproars of excitement for the athletes. An immense smile grew across my face, not only from the ecstatic crowd, but from the anticipation to race. I approached the starting line, in the first lane, while my teammates arrayed along the fence with the other second,

The flags are in sight and off on a wild sprint! I’m going and across the line I am! Exhausted but satisfied. I thought I saw my time was 28 minutes. I had to know the seconds. ( Yes, every second counts.) I was preparing myself mentally for what my time would be. I was eager to know. I ran to my Coach as soon as he was in sight. I ran to him and I immediately asked for my times. He told me and I had to see for myself. 28:04. 28:04!! I was excited! I can’t remember if I jumped up and down or not. Wouldn't be surprising. One thing I did for sure was, walked away and cried. Not only was it 28:04. It was my heart's desire. Coming close to the end of the season, I couldn’t see myself running a varsity time. So the lowest time I hoped I’d get would be 28 and it was!!

Too many Guantanamo Bay detainees have been abused in the prison by the large, deep water harbor on Cuba’s southeastern coast; one of the best-protected bays in the world (“Guantanamo

As I stumble past the finish line, I am numb to my surroundings. I am numb to the other racers in the chute, the overjoyed parents, and the intrusive volunteers who shove me down the line to keep it moving. I am numb to the sweltering heat and the stench of two hundred overworked, sweaty racers. I am not even bothered by the girl vomiting beside me, because all I can feel is happiness. The first thing I want to do is share this literally breath-taking moment with my teammates, because they are the only ones who truly appreciate this feeling. Once we locate each other within the swarm of spectators, we share our times and experiences from the race, and even though it is a short exchange, it makes me realize how grateful I am to share the same passion for the same hobby with so many wonderful people. In this moment, I suddenly realize that I have never appreciated a sport so much, and I have finally become part of a team that makes me feel like I belong to a family.

Seconds before the big race started they called every individual runner by name to step up and wave for one last time. It was dead silent that you can hear the wind whistle through the tons of fans standing around with cameras and posters of family members. I can hear my heartbeat speed up as the man raises his hand followed with a “on your mark, get set, go” and a big bang shot out. Feet beating the ground almost sounding like horse running on a field with no

The selection criteria for these patients included no history of hallucinations, no other diagnosed mental impairments or history of such, and no major medical conditions or states (e.g. pregnancy). All participants were socially and ethnically homogenous from a hospital in Milan, Italy. The following demographic and clinical information was collected: age, education, illness duration, age of onset of disorder, number of manic episodes, number of psychotic episodes, sex, Hamilton Depression Rating Scale score, and “medication load”. Interviews with at least one family member corroborated the information given by the patient. Because medication and dosage level varied by patient, Radaelli et al. quantitatively standardized medication load by comparing antipsychotics and their dosage to an equivalent dose of chlorpromazine hydrochloride on a scale of below, equal to, or above (0, 1, or 2 respectively) the recommended dose, and then used the same scale for benzodiazepines; antidepressants and mood stabilizers were coded as either low dose or high dose and quantified pursuant to schedule developed by Sackeim (Sackeim, 2001). The net medication load then becomes the mathematical sum. The Pearson’s chi-squared test was performed on collected clinical and demographic data.

“Come on guys! Get moving!” Sam yelled. “Regan focus on your kicks.” she told me. Feeling the looks of the others, not yet placed in lanes. I kept swimming. I skipped a flip turn to regain my breath, but I’d known I would pay for it later because the coaches punished us for not doing stuff we knew we should. At the end of practice