Personal Narrative-Racism, Race, And The Team

Truth to be told: I don’t particularly pay attention to national events or issues. My family is also incapable of comprehending national issues, especially my parents who do not have any level of proficiency in English. My family lives in a world where we go with the flow, but there are issues that I contemplate whether or not I should be involved in, particularly race inequality. Considering the amount of tension between policemen and African-American around the nation, the race to equal treatment is still ongoing.

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 am a 17 year old Hispanic female who was born in Denver, Co. I now live in the northern part of Denver. I attend an Apostolic church and participate in many of their activities.

I have this fear of being demoted because the way I look. I’m in a constant battle with the questions, am I white or am I mexican? I have an identity crisis on my hands, and growing up those questions weren’t any of my concerns. During the duration of my experiences involving race I have been placed into stereotypes that deceive who I really am. I would look too “mexican” to wear that outfit or I would sound too “white” to learn Spanish. Racial categories are both confusing and senseless, yet is a significant part in our society.

Racial Inequality Situation : A black man in jail thinking about the unfair society I had a pencil the year I came to jail It wore out in a week from writing Penning down my thoughts for all I can Crying in the jail cell counting the bars I sat down on the cold floor with many scars I was all alone No family, no friends, separated from home

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

I walked down a hallway that seemed to stretch endlessly before me. The frosted glass window on the door that spelled doom seemed to stretch further away with every step I took toward it. My heart began to beat at a more brisk pace, my palms began to sweat, and my eyes narrowed on the shiny clean brass doorknob. I had completely forgotten my mother was alongside me until she had to pull me back into reality. She grabbed my arm and tugged me forward. With slight resistance to her strong grasp we dredged on toward the door. I watched in slow motion as the doorknob turned and a giant mad scientist smiled down at me. The angle of his head allowed sadistic shadows to stretch down upon his glowing evil eyes, and his curled, sinister smile.

I personally don’t feel that I’m prejudice towards a certain race. However, there are some opinions that I hold towards certain ethnic groups and things that I dislike about them. I couldn’t think of one specific ethnic group so I thought of three.

During lunch at the campus cafeteria, Mildred noticed the dirty tables, the overworked cashiers and the exorbitant price for a watery soda.

All the time and hard work spent had to pay off for something. I was also determined to beat my biggest rival on the team. She wouldn't hesitate to smear my face in it if she got a faster time than me. We stepped up to the 200 meter starting line and I tried to push the nervous thoughts out of my head. It felt like butterflies were bouncing off the walls of my stomach. We got into the start position and our coach began counting down from 5. It was only 5 seconds but it felt like an eternity. The four of us took off in unison and I could tell I was going to have to give this race everything I had. There was no way I was going to let the others defeat me. I heard the pounding of my feet against the track as I ran the curve. That's when I realized I was already in front of the rest and I began sprinting with every ounce of energy I had left. There were nearly 100 meters to the finish line and my legs were moving so fast it felt as if I was flying. I kept thinking about how much I had been working towards this and how I would not let myself down. Bolting through the finish line I could tell that was one of the best races I've ever run. My lungs felt heavy, legs aching from exhaustion and my eyes were watering from the frigid wind. As my coach was recording my time on his clipboard he revealed how many seconds faster I had been. Not only had I beaten my own personal best, but I had gotten the fastest sub varsity time.

I straightened up and saw Adrianna bounding forward in my peripheral vision. Something about someone to catch up to makes me run better. My feet were barely touching the ground as I ran faster than I have before. Just before the finish line I ducked my head forward slightly to gain that extra millisecond. I hopped onto the mat to stop and stood still, waiting for two officials to confirm our lane and school. I was out of breath and my legs hurt but I was satisfied. I congratulated the girls on either side of me for a good race and made my way to get water. I saw Adrianna ran for 7.42 seconds, a personal best even for her. Patricia Adesanya from Lowell Catholic ran 7.70 seconds, another personal best. My name popped up in third, and I was proud of myself even before I saw the time. Along with earning my team a precious six points towards TCLs, I qualified for states with a personal best of 7.90 seconds!

At this meet, instead of a gun, they fire a cannon. The cannon fired and we were off. I felt super slow this meet. I was mad I thought I was going to get a worse time than Bob Schul again. I ran through the race passing people, letting the energy from the crowd keep me going because hearing someone yell for me when I’m running I feel so much better. Eventually I got down this small hill and I saw the finish line about 200 meters ahead. The clock was in the 17’s and I got really excited because for me, this was really good. I was sprinting as fast as my legs could go. I thought I was going to fall on my face because I couldn’t control my legs anymore. I ended up with a time of 18:08. A PR by a minute and a half, that would stand most of the season. No matter how slow I was, and how much my speed was made fun of at practice, I still got high-fives and congratulations after a meet. The rest of the meet was fun because we all hung out, waiting for the award and eating the really good buttered parmesan pasta. Greenville was not death, it was the best.

My first experience with discrimination in the terms of stereotyping and categorizing in the sports world came when I was a young child. During my adolescent years, I was a very active child. I participated in different sports from cheerleading, tennis, and basketball. As a child, I loved participating in sport teams and having the camaraderie of a team that loved, supported, and played for one another. However, that camaraderie and support that I once received during my time playing sports came to an abrupt halt during a change in my life and my health.

As the tension boils, the melting pot of the world is slow turning into a roasting pot of racial tension and divided. A subject that has become so taboo and swept under the rug is now coming to light. Although its taken several horrible unforeseen events to bring these issues to the forefront at least the conversation is finally occurring (happening).

This was the last race of my high school cross country career, but if our team did well enough, we would advance to the state meet. Our team had never made it that far. Consequently, as one of our team’s top runners, it was important that I race. This presented a challenge though, due to my incurring an unknown injury a few weeks before. My coach trusted me as captain to make the right decision for the team’s success and my health. In the end, I decided to run. However, quickly my decision to compete became complicated. With the start of the race, my injury, which I later found out was a hairline stress fracture on my fibula, evolved to a more severe stress fracture. At this point it was quite painful to run despite the adrenaline rush. I