Personal Narrative: On Your Mark's Race

Feeling exhausted, I focus on my breathing. I breath in through my nose and then out through my mouth, breath in and out. Repeat. After passing the mile mark, my coach is shrieking for me to relax, because I am on my way to qualify for cross country states. The top twenty girls qualify, and I have been dreaming of this day since freshman year. All I have to do is hold my position, and then I am golden. Suddenly, my legs begin to feel like jello. My running partner slowly fades ahead of me, and I cannot keep up. It feels like I am running backwards as the rest of my teammates pass me one by one. Fighting fatigue, I tell myself I am finishing this race, whether or not I have to crawl like a turtle to do so. I am crossing that finish line.

Too black for the White kids, yet somehow too white for the Black kids, oh the perils of a cappuccino mixed race kid. But it’s true. My life since I was young, at least younger than my eighteen year old self, has been about which group do I most fit in with. Between the four school changes over the course of twelve years, all in white suburban towns I’ve molded myself into an array of characters.

I woke up thinking this is the day, the day that I would have to try my best. On October 21, 2017 in Rapid City, South Dakota the day of my biggest cross-country race had come. It was state. I felt very thrilled and nervous that the day had come.

In life many times those who come from nothing and excel, neglect the past and forget where they have come from. Oftentimes this comes in the form of disregarding old friendships, shunning once close family members, or even publicly disowning their own culture on national news networks. When reflecting on Mr. Brown’s quote, I am reminded of my own maxim by Marcus Garvey, which states “A people without the knowledge of their past history, origin and culture is like a tree without roots”. However, I say this not solely within the focus of my Black heritage, but within the context of my home town and school. As I claim the blessings that have been bestowed upon me, I make it my priority to encourage others to reach for the same, if not better. To do so, I have worked hand in hand with my principle to reform my school’s dismal college acceptance rate of 40%. However,

My first recollection of race was daycare. I remember seeing many different skin and eye colors but didn’t understand how they were so much more different than me. I recall asking my mother why I didn’t have green eyes and how my skin color was different. She explained everyone is made differently that’s what makes them unique. My first recollection of racism was in third grade. The nurse came to the classroom to check the classroom for lice. Myself and a few other classmates weren’t checked properly because she didn’t want to touch our hair. Instead of bringing us out individually she called us by a group which made me feel different. Also, I was told it’s impossible to get lice because of the hair products used.

I am a runner. One who strives for greatness at every moment and doesn’t give in when things get tough. I have aspirations, dreams, and goals which I will stop at nothing to achieve. Unfortunately for me, the life of a runner is filled with challenges and setbacks and only the best will learn to push through the adversity. My defining moment was the summer before my Junior year, 2016. I had set the goal of becoming All-State in Cross Country, meaning placing in the top 25 of all the runners in the state meet. This is, of course, a prestigious title to have, but I had faith in myself. For the first time in my life, I finally understood that preparation is key and if I fail to prepare, I should prepare to fail

Suddenly, with no warning, two runners of the grade below me pulled ahead. I couldn’t believe it! They were a year younger than me, yet they were faster. However, I knew I wouldn’t be able to catch up even at my best. As I neared the 100 meter line, I started to convert into a jogging pace and got my bearings. I allowed myself to breathe again and relax but still trying to run my best. I was in 3rd place with the two kids in front of me about 50 meters away. I cleared my mind and just concentrated on breathing; taking a deep breath in through my nose, and letting it all out of my mouth. I was starting to feel the fatigue in my muscles and my legs are crying for rest, but I refused. I started hearing heavy breathing noises and loud footsteps behind me, steadily catching up. I risked a peek to my left and was horrified and yet surprised that my chubby classmate was right on my heels. I was not going to be beaten again and into 4th place. I pushed myself harder and pumped my legs and arms with renewed energy. All my blood rushed to my head and I felt like a locomotive cutting through the cold air. As we ran around the bend, we were head to head and trying to outdo each other. He

I’d like to say I’m a very unique person. Not because of my hair, the way I dress, or how I look, but because of the unique things I bring with the person I am. All my life I’ve been the minority. From my preschool, to my church, my elementary and high school. Being black is something I embrace. I love my melanin skin tone, my nappy hair and I love teaching others about being a young black educated women. It hasn’t always been like that though. For majority of my life I use to try and fit in with the crowd. I use to always wear my hair straight so I could look like the girl standing next to me. My natural hair was beautiful too my mom and everyone else around me, but I felt like I had to step up and wear my hair straight everyday just to feel

Hello my name is Trenard Jackson. I’m 20 years of age I am from Prattville, Al . I will be telling you about my experience of being black. Being raised by a single mother of 5 boys but also by my father of many wives and 3 mixed race kids. I never could actually find myself or at least I didn’t know how to. I always had diverse friends. Growing up I would visit my white friend house almost every weekend and they taught me how to present myself as a intelligent young man I am today. When I left they’re house I would go back home to this dysfunctional home I would be taunted with words from my older siblings with words like “ did you have fun over your white friend’s house.” or things like “did you enjoy your new family”.

The area I live in offers few opportunities for improving race relations; in fact, there is very little racial diversity in my region. Nevertheless, I am ready to promote better race relations at every chance. Yes, the scale on which I work is small, but it still helps to push our society to become more accepting. I have never participated in a large event or social rights movement, but I still try to make my mark.

I was in for a rude awakening. I had decided to run for both the cross country and track teams. Long distance was not my strong suit, however I greatly enjoyed the family feel of the cross country team. Track was another story. The hurdling coach paid little to no attention to me on a regular basis. There was only one other freshman girl doing hurdles and the coach had decided she was more worth the effort than I. She was added to the varsity track meets and I was sent to the junior varsity meets where I, the only hurdler there, had no one to practice with. As the weeks went on my hurdling abilities deteriorated along with my passion and

You know, it does scare me. Knowing I will never see my family, my baby sister, or the land I once lived on. I’m scared of the white man. Not for how he looks, or feels. Bust knowing he can end my life whenever he likes, scares me. Living on a boat for months punished all of us severally. I couldn’t breathe, speak, or even move a muscle with the sharp pain of leather in my skin by the white man.

Growing up, I saw the world through rose-tinted glasses; I never thought that morality had different shades of grey, until I saw it with my own eyes. When I was a little brown skinned girl, I knew that my mother was Mexican and that my father was Scottish. To me, my Scottish and Mexican origins were just that. It did not change my views of what I really was: human. However, I soon found out that my heritage and the color of my skin would matter to the rest of the world.

One step over the finish line and I burst into tears. I fell to my knees and kissed the medal that had been placed around my neck and cheered with my team. It was, without a doubt, an extremely melodramatic display of my emotions. I had accomplished something that I was not sure was possible… at age thirteen I ran the Ragnar Relay Series on July 20th,

I can still clearly remember that I was really tired after I ran the first 400-meter. Suddenly, It was a strange type of pain in the lower left side of my abdomino, which was like something is slowly and softly biting your organ, but I did not choose to stop because I have a crazy desire for that first place. Therefore, without thinking too much, I held both of my hands into fist and insert my fingernails to my palm in order to stimulus my nervous. It was the pain in my palm that carried me through that race, and I was the first place in the end. Nonetheless, when I turned around and faced everyone who was behind me, I was quite depressed. It was obvious that the high school members had the ability to sprint in the last 100-meter, but they did not. No one took the race seriously except me. I knew I might look silly and funny to them since I