Personal Narrative-Road Race

During my sophomore year of highschool, I was running track and I had a promising season in front of me. However, I was unable to reach my goals. I was forced to quit running for the remained of the school year due to a knee injury. The muscles holding my knee caps in place were not developed enough, and it was causing me great pain. After quitting track, I went into physical therapy. I was in physical therapy for over a month and I then had to continue to strengthen my legs. The next school year I was still facing the same problem, only smaller. Now, around two years later, I have finally overcome this problem and I am completely healthy. The injury was very frustrating, however, I put in the work and I am finally back to one hundred percent. I would not say that I’m glad the injury happened, however, I did learn the value of continuous hard work because of the

I’d like you to know that I’m all right. I’m in the infirmary, and Dr. Stanpole is taking great care of me. The fall from the tree left me with a shattered leg, but the doctor says I should be able to walk again. He says sports are finished for me though. Sports mean so much to me! You know that. My dream of being an Olympian shattered with the bone. I should be able to play again! It was just a break! I could stand the leg if I would be able to play again. It also means no war for me. I was looking forward to it. I couldn’t wait to enlist with Gene! We would have had the time of our lives! But now, with the shattered leg, nobody will want me. I’m practically useless.

I was excited for a new beginning in my career, maybe to prepare me for high school in the upcoming years. The idea of beating boys in soccer got me excited, my blood pumping harder through my veins and put an extra spring in my step. It was the first practice of our middle school season, where my life would be turned upside down. I ran down the field as normal, going for another shot on goal, but out of nowhere one of boys came from behind and completely took out my knee, causing me to collapse in pain. Lying down on the field, my sanctuary, the place I saw as home was probably the most grueling time of my life. Injuries were common in my life, but this injury was unlike any other. I could not get up off the field and felt as if there was nothing left in my knee, and every time I tried to get up, I fell right back down. I never sat out a practice until that night and figured one day would be enough. One night was clearly not enough, I was never able to catch back up to my full speed, or be able to cut around the field, which resulted in moving positions from forward, to defense to cut back on the running. I thought this would a temporary position, but I played every game in

It was a cool saturday morning in february, as I was violently woken up by my alarm clock. I rose out of my bed, and started preparing for my championship hockey game later that day. I got up out of bed and refreshed myself as I stretched. I grabbed my dress shirt and my dress pants and went to my parents room to iron my clothes. Not knowing that the iron was already on and hot, I picked up the iron. The iron fell on my foot, and I frantically grabbed it off the floor. I hoped that it wouldn’t start a fire. My foot was burning with pain. I knew in my head that today was going to be a struggle. Unfortunately, it had to be on the same day of my league championship game.

Throughout the active school year, I take part in cross country, track and basketball. I also played volleyball for a year, but I decided to concentrate on my main passion, cross country, instead of dividing my time and attention into two sports at the same time. I have been running cross country ever since I was old enough to run in the munchkin races. The sport has been passed down through the family, almost every single one of my siblings have run or at least tried it. In track, I have ran the mile and two mile since the seventh grade. These last couple years I joined into the long distance relays. In 2016, the first year we decided to start a relay it consisted of my sister, Victoria, Tristen Ness, and Sammy Swanson. The first time we ran

First I explained my knee dislocation and operation. Then, in return, she told me about her brain tumor and numerous operations. Her storytelling skills were spontaneous. Although I expected her to be pitiful of her condition, her tone was lovely and she embraced her condition fully. I admired her for her bravery and the beauty of innocence within her character. When my therapist began to approach me, she surprised me with good news. I had, finally, received clearance to walk without crutches. Immediately, I began to walk, but within my first few steps, I began to cry. I was overwhelmed with joy that although my knee still had a torn ligament, I was satisfied with the performance it was doing. After completing a set of balancing exercises, I saw my new friend. She waved at me and in seconds, I felt guilty and embarrassed. Unlike my new friend, who embraced her special qualities, I hated mine. However, I realized that my depression and self-hate were unnecessary and immature. I admitted to myself that I had become desperate for an opportunity to escape my reality. That I wanted to deny the reality of my injury, and live in an imaginary

Cross Country is one of the hardest sports out there. That may be a biased opinion, but in my experience it is true. Only certain people are willing to put themselves through such physical and mental pain for a race that is less than 30 minutes. I am a very driven person. When I want to do something, I set a goal and I work towards it until I have achieved it. That’s why cross country is such a satisfying sport for me. It’s hard--harder than anything I’ve ever done--but it’s so much more rewarding when you look back and see how much progress you’ve made. Cross country may seem like an individual sport, and it can be, but to succeed, you need your whole team’s effort. I have learned that not everyone is as driven as I am. Few people are willing to put in the hard work in practice to do well at meets.

That same summer, after my father got home from work a little early, he allowed me to ride the mow. Since the yard was already mowed the day before, I utilized this opportunity to practice my epic passion of becoming a NASCAR race car driver. My mother thought it was a little unusual that I aspired to the feeling of speed that is typically a dream that young boys have. Speed made me feel like I was the empress of the road and like I would arrive at my destination faster than anyone else, even though my destination lacked a beginning and end. The prior Christmas, I remember that my father purchased my sisters and I remote-controlled vehicles. Both of my sisters received a car each while I received a truck, a vehicle that can knock all other

I was sitting in the quiet wrestling trailer listening to the rustling of pads and the click-clack of cleats on the floor. Of course I was already dressed, my pre game routine always on time unlike my teammates. Ten minutes early is on time and on time is ten minutes late. Everything was tucked in perfectly, every string and undone shoelace was taped down. Our trainer had taped my ankles perfectly, unlike the useless student-trainers who always tried to tape us before Andrew could get to it. My cleats, tied as tight as possible. The spats on my cleats kept the jarring of the torn ligaments in my ankle to a minimum. The compact tape made me feel safe, a little pain to know I was alive, just how I liked it. My compression knee sleeve reached into my Nike socks, the white color faded and stained from the sweat and blood. My knee brace followed, perfectly tightened at every strap. The amount of tape covering every inch of my brace almost looked uncomfortable. White wrist tape and white gloves, the underside of my left wrist bearing a date, 7-28-12 as a reminder of the hard work. I could feel my hands clamming up underneath my gloves with every tap on the shoulder I received as my coaches passed by. My heart was racing, but my hands were still. I had forgotten the sound of the loud slow rhythmic thumps of the drums as we lined up outside the trailer. Bum-Bum-Bum, I was timing my steps with the slow beats as I got to the front. I locked hands with my two best friends and began

When I was on the track team I was always the last one to finish and my brothers made fun of me for it. Compared to everyone else I felt like a turtle racing against a cheetah. I just wasn’t a sprinter and I couldn’t jump, so running track wasn’t for me. The one thing I did have though was determination. When I did not want to run anymore because I didn't

Looking back to the kickoff of my freshman year made me feel frangible. At this point, I had been a little more than halfway through my freshman and everything had transmuted once again. This time in a good way. I had just gotten out of my nerves cast about a month ago. It had been a fortnight since getting out of my cast for my broken ankle and but now I had just been able to commence utilizing my ambulating boot. The visual perception of my leg after being in a cast for 4 and half months Frightening. An aberrantly minuscule leg, can it even work where my poetic conceptions. My peregrination commenced at that moment. Two months until the commencement of club soccer season. For about a month my job in the school was to study and steadily start ambulating around the school.

I’m worn out. You know those days when you pushed yourself too hard. You know those days when you think you pulled a muscle, because you’re sore to the inner bone. You know those days when you forget to stretch before you run. Well, today is one of them. I got up and realised that my leg hurt really bad, but no amount of stretching could help it. I sat down and my leg feels like someone just cut it off. I sit there in agony, I’m worn out.

Tires squealing, smoke streaming across the ground, and motors revving against the silent night. Two incomparable cars lined up against each other along a desolate stretch of roadway. The scent of burning rubber singed the night air, while the glare of the headlights lit the path that would soon become a motor warzone. I was sitting at the wheel of my car with my head sticking out of the window, gazing at the stars, and cringing my face at the rotten stench of my opponent's car. My adversary shouted at me, asking if I am ready to start this race or if I was afraid of losing to him. A silent smirk spread across my face, and forcing back laughter at his comment, I raised my thumb up in the air. I got back in my seat, and buckled my seatbelt, because if I was going to risk my life, I might as well be safe about it. I revved up

On May 2, 2003 it was my third birthday in a small town. For my birthday I got one specific gift that I loved the most. This gift was given from my Uncle Rusty who loved racing in general but liked NASCAR more than other motorsports. My Uncle had given me diecast cars with little toy cars that were all NASCAR cars. That day is when I grew interest for NASCAR and motorsports in general. I started to watch races with my dad and my uncle and I would create a mini version of the race with the little car I had. I started to watch more and more races until I began to watch every race the season. This is when I knew I wanted to be a racecar driver when I grow older. I was thirteen when I go my first go kart and began to race big national events. Coming

As I sat there and let the doctor examine my knee and diagnosis me with a “left knee sprain”. I started to cry. I already knew the outcome that I had a torn ACL (anterior cruciate ligament). I tried to continue to play on it until one time I was playing in a tournament, and I went up to block a girls shot and landed on my