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Personal Narrative: College Admission

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Madeline C Vicuna
Mrs. Moreci
English, Period 6
February 23, 2015
College Admission Essay I have trained myself to prepare for this exact moment in time. Every mile that I have continuously pushed myself through, every steep incline as my thighs and calves have trembled that I have climbed, every sharp twist of pain that curved up my entire being that I have conquered, they have all made me into the person I am as I stand behind our first line of top runners. A nervous adrenaline is spiking my pulse as we wait in formation—staggered with a person to fill every space—and the raucous cheering from almost every single person lining the Southside course is causing a puddle of anticipated excitement to drip down my spine. I have come so far from…show more content…
I had not been prepared at all, save for the small drawstring bag on my back and the uniform on my person. Vaguely, it had occurred to me that perhaps all of the hours I would spend on the computer, restlessly searching for something to do in the laxities of summer, would have been a smidge better spent building up my muscles and stamina for the workout these children were practicing with ease. I watched them for a few seconds as my stomach squeamishly clenched and my throat slowly constricted itself. Most of these kids—together in what seemed like a pack as they rounded lap after lap with swift, calculated movements—would have either been in their first year of the sport (with the full summer training prior) or had been continuously following the sport through all two to four years of high school—and possibly even in the three years of middle school prior. The signed physical papers nervously clutched in my left hand fluttered quietly in the breeze as I walked onto the…show more content…
During my first two weeks, I had braced myself against the pain and used everything I could find to distract myself from the task at hand. A song to mouth in my head or strum along, all of the foods I could eat varying from greasy burgers to cloyingly-sweet shakes, how many cars I could count on the road or trees on the path, I used anything to take myself away from my physical body and the strain it pushed to keep up with. I hadn’t made any progress come the second week’s Friday, but then again, I never realized that perhaps I had been focusing on the wrong topics until I came across an article on the internet that read something along the lines of “Why You Aren’t Running Faster.” In the text, they had mentioned a variety of topics—focusing on speed, alternative patterns to try on the course, motivational phrases to keep on repeat, nothing I wouldn’t read in the run-of-the-mill article---but the only one that truly came out to me had been a line on loving what you’re doing. I sat for the longest time in my chair, staring at the screen and jaw unhinged, as I read it over and over until it finally dawned in my
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