Under a sky as blue as the fluffy scrunchie I wore every day that year, my second grade classmates pushed against each other. They were fighting for a prized spot just behind the line that marked the start of the loop around the fields perimeter. It was the day of the mile run. The smells of freshly cut grass and budding trees filled me with excitement as I took my place. I was ready to race.
Then I heard a voice. “Jones, you can’t run,” my gym teacher, who by my account was at least seven feet tall, exasperatedly informed me. Looking down, I found his claim untrue. My wooden crutches didn’t appear to be on the brink of disaster, the duct tape that held them together seemed fairly secure. ‘What could possibly be the problem?’ I thought. “Jones, you can’t run the mile, you have a broken leg,” the gym teacher clarified, turning back to the squealing mass behind him.
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So I tugged the corner of his large gray sweatshirt causing the giant to whip around and look at me. “No, I can run it” I told him, gesturing to my crutches as evidence. He dismissed me, claiming that it was “too hard” to finish a mile on crutches. However, I wasn't going to sit out just for a broken leg. So, with the most authority that a yardstick tall child could muster, I retorted, “I will run the mile,” because, too me, hard does not mean impossible.
Once the race began, the chant “I can, I can” rippled through my body. It beat through my heart, repeated in my mind, and mirrored in the rhythm of my crutches hitting the soft ground. As the race went on my cast grew heavy and my arms grew weak, but my head did not waiver. On that sweet spring day, my determination and perseverance carried me past the kids who chose to trudge in the back of the pack. I finished that race and it would not be the last race I would
It was a hot, Thursday afternoon. So hot you could burn your hand by touching a window. So hot, you could fry an egg on the sidewalk. Three weeks from now was the best day in 2th grade, field day. Today we were picking relay teams
Terry knew that aches and pains are common in athlete’s lives. At the end of his first year of university there was a new pain in his knee. One morning Terry woke up to see that he could no longer stand up. A week later Terry found out that it was not just an ache he had a malignant tumor; his leg would have to be cut off six inches above the knee. Terry’s doctor told him that he had a chance of living but the odds were fifty to seventy percent. He also said that he should be glad it happened now fore just 2 years ago the chance of living was fifteen percent. The night before his operation a former coach brought Terry a magazine featuring a man who ran a marathon after a similar operation. Terry didn’t want to do something small if he was going to do something he was going to do it big. "I am competitive" Terry said, "I’m a dreamer. I like challenges. I don’t give up. When I decided to do it, I knew it was going to be all out. There was no in between Terry’s sixteen month follow up he saw all the young people suffering and getting weak by the disease. He never forgot what he saw and felt burdened to thoughts that died to run this marathon. He was one of the lucky one in three people to survive in the cancer clinics. Terry wrote asking for sponsorship " I could not leave knowing that these faces and feelings would still be here even though I would be set free of mine, s...
The story “The One Legged Wrestler Who Conquered his Sport then Left it all behind” by David Merrill is about a young man and his wrestling career in high school and his time at Arizona State University. Anthony Robles was faced with many distinctive and difficult challenges as he was born with the horrendous fact of missing a crucial part of the human body, his right leg. Many believe a person born with this disability can’t have an athletic career, but Anthony found wrestling. When he began wrestling he didn’t draw anything but laughter from the audience, but as his talent grew, this changed. As he dominated the high school level of competition in his junior and senior years with an astonishing record of 96-0, he was declined from his top choice schools which were Iowa, Oklahoma State, and Columbia because they didn’t believe he would be a success at the National Collegiate Athletic Association level. They believed he was “too small” to win at that high level of wrestling. Years later he managed to walk away with his first NCAA title going 36-0 his senior year of college with an overall college record of 121-20. As he walked away a
Gene, Finny, and a couple other boys were hanging out and they climbed a tree. Gene was messing around and pushed Finny out of the tree, causing him to break his leg. "Isn't the bone supposed to be stronger when it grows together over a place where it's been broken once?" said Finny. Gene felt so guilty about causing him to break his leg because he didn’t mean for it to happen. Gene tried to apologize to Finny for what he did but the right time never came up.
“I want to try the impossible to show that it can be done”, these wise words were spoken by Terry Fox during the 1980 Marathon of Hope. Strong, willful, and stubborn, Terry pushed through the seemingly-endless marathon as his chest burned. Fortunately, he knew how to deal with pain. At the early age of 18, Terry was diagnosed with osteosarcoma cancer in his right leg, compelling him to completely change his normal lifestyle forever. As he resiliently dealt with cancer, we shouldn’t simply remember him as the man who got sick and lost a leg. When Terry Fox is mentioned, he should be remembered as the man who lost a leg and took action to fight for others who could potentially or already be suffering from the same struggles. He should be thought
With amenities such as cars and buses, I have no pragmatic reason to use my feet, especially if I lack a destination. I do not run to the gym to acquire a stylish figure, for my slender frame does not require it. And this grueling run differs from a relaxing jog to a coffee shop. I am pushing myself constantly to run faster and farther, for my team as well as for personal glory. Somehow with tireless effort and unflagging commitment, I run through the sleeping streets of my neighborhood with the awareness that I am steadily reaching my goal-maintaining the discipline that cross-country demands. In my mind I see a victory line that symbolizes the results of perseverance and hard work. This line makes me realize that ambition and tenacity do not go in vain.
Wilma Rudolph was the twentieth child out of twenty-two children. When Rudolph was four years old, she was diagnosed with polio. The doctors didn’t expect her to able to walk ever again. There wasn’t much to be done for her because she came from a poor family, her mother was a maid and her father was a railroad porter. Even though the doctors believed that Wilma would never walk again, every week her mother took her on a long bus trip to a hospital so that she could receive physical therapy. The physical therapy didn’t help her, but the doctors suggested massaging and rubbing her legs every day. Her mother taught her older brothers and sisters how to do the rubbing correctly, and each day they rubbed her legs four times a day. By the time she was eight, Wilma could walk while wearing a leg brace. Then she began to play basketball with her brothers while wearing high-tops for support. She easily became able to play basketball with no shoes at all once she was eleven years old. A track coach at her school encouraged her to go out for track, and by her senior year she qualified for the 1956
I had gone to practice, and was proud of my determination. That day, it was bitter cold and the players of all the teams were huddled together, shivering. I remember this day so vividly because it was the first time I placed in a competition. The sky was cloudy and you could sense the humidity. The ground was wet from the night before, everyone despised this setting. The booster club had brought Gatorade, water and protein bars for us and placed them in front of the bleachers. Athletes were already warming up, their faces getting red from the cold. Anxiety starts to set in but it feels good. I started killing time and hung out in the restrooms because it was warm in there. It was time. I started getting ready, put on my spikes, and ran two laps around the track. I stretched and was ready. The announcers broadcasted that the pole vaulters needed to get in place and I quickly met up with my team. I took off my sweats and revealed the skin tight uniform underneath. I was organized to be the fifth person to go. When they were ready for me, I started my routine and was impervious. I set a personal record of five feet, six inches. While that might be a small victory to others, I was on top of the world. My next goal was to beat it and eventually I
Terry Fox was a determined dreamer and no matter what the weather conditions were or how much pain he was in, he continued his journey. As once he said to inspire others, “even if I don’t finish, we need others to continue. It’s got to keep going without me.” With this positive mindset Terry was able to begin his run across Canada. Even with an amputated leg Terry set out to achieve the impossible. Although, after 143 days and two-thirds of the way across Canada, he was not able to finish his run due to the cancer spreading. Terry never gave up in pursuing his goal. This attitude will benefit me in my senior year because it will help me keep up with my work and studies. With a clear focus I can continue to
Alongside seventy-five other kids, John competed and played each day. He raced up and down the beach holding hands with an assistant or with one of the other kids, learned about the ocean and its inhabitants, and pitted his 80 pounds of pure muscle against the crushing waves. He never talked about how he was different in that he couldn’t see. He just did what was asked of him. It wasn’t his strength that allowed him to survive, but his willingness to persevere, his belief in what he was doing. He knew he was loved. He trusted in that love and care.
Patterson was giving to a kid. “Mr. Patterson,” I said not getting a response. “Mr. Patterson!” I said stronger demanding his attention. “Something is wrong with Tim!” Hearing Timmy was in trouble he immediately stopped what he was doing and hurried to him. He took a quick look at him and immediately seemed to understand what was wrong. He took Timmy’s arm and helped him sit down telling him that he would be okay. “You can’t lock your knees when you’re standing, Tim,” Patterson tells him, but it seemed like he was more addressing the comment to the worried crowd gathering around them. He then informed us that locking your knees can stop blood flow and can cause you to black out, which is what almost happened to Tim. Soon, his color started to return and I took a seat next to him on this podium. “Are you feeling better?” I asked. ”Yeah man, I’m good, I’m good,” he said with a tired
Sweat, aching muscles, and green spread out before me. I’d been practicing, I went hard and did my best to improve in every possible aspect. I worked not only on my form, my precision, and my power, but also on my mind; my mental game. I had to tell myself I could do it, I had to be confident in myself, no reassurance from others. I was told I had no chance, how could I win. I was expected to lose, and I thought I would.
The big yellow round sun blazed in the clear blue sky with not a cloud in sight. A steady constant stream of cars begins to enter through the small rusty gates, filling up the parking lot like a cup filling up with water along with the numerous big yellow school busses. Anxious, nervous, and excited runners were filing off the buses and wandering off to find their teammates and tents. The fans also come slowly trickling in like bees attracted to a honeycomb. A concession stand, smelling of buttery popcorn, stood off to the side bustling with life as a little green eyed, ginger colored hair girl in her mother’s arms could be seen begging pleadingly for a big bright red lollipop. The med tent mostly empty with the exception of a few runners who
The start of the 2002 track season found me concerned with how I would perform. After a disastrous bout with mononucleosis ended my freshmen track season, the fear of failure weighed heavily on my mind. I set a goal for myself in order to maintain focus and to push myself like nothing else would. My goal for my sophomore track season was to become a state champion in the 100 meter hurdles. I worked hard everyday at practice and went the extra mile, like running every Sunday, to be just that much closer to reaching my goal. The thought of standing highest on the podium in the center of the field, surrounded by hundreds of spectators, overcame my thoughts of complaining every time we had a hard workout. When I closed my eyes, I pictured myself waiting in anticipation as other competitors names were called out, one by one, until finally, the booming voice announced over the loudspeaker, "...and in first place, your 2002 100 meter hurdle champion, from Hotchkiss, Connie Dawson." It was visions like these that drove me to work harder everyday.
I dip my toes in—feels cold. My nerves rise up and spread like fire throughout my body while I watch—while I wait. Stomach hurts. All those butterflies clash and crowd. They come every time that I race—it never fails. There is so much noise—the splash of water, talking, yelling, whistling, cheering.