Track My heart beating loudly in my chest is the only sound I can here. The air, whipping past my face, tries to curb my inertia but I just press on harder and harder. As I make my turn to go into the straight-away, the next man in the relay team comes into sight. I push my legs harder and harder, but I cannot make them move any faster. There is only one hundred meters left to go before the instant I have to pass the baton the next runner. As I am speeding down the lane like a jet about to lift
Track and field is a very remarkable sport. Track and Field is an assembly of many different events; some of which include sprints, long-distance running, shot put, and the javelin throw. Track and Field initiated in Ancient Greece, where only nude men were allowed to compete, while women couldn 't even watch. The ancient Olympic games started in the year 776 BC, when Koroibos, a cook from the close-by city of Elis, won the stadium race, a foot race 600 feet long. According to some abstract conventions
wanes. It is not always the strongest who wins, but the bravest. Every step we take, every sweat we drop, and every mistake we make shapes our identities. To pursue my dreams, I came to America, and I did not regret coming here; I found the right track to success. Fay school opened a door for me of a bright future. My American experience is an Olympic game, persisting the faith and courage of “ Faster, Higher, and Stronger!”
In her novel Tracks, Louise Erdrich voices the story of a Chipewyan tribe in the early twentieth century in their struggle to preserve their identity and survive. The Europeans quest to drain people of their land, culture, language and spiritual practices provides the basis to the question of identity seen among characters presented throughout the novel. However, it is primarily through Nanapush’s attempt to maintain the Chipewyan identity through his role as both an elder and trickster, his interplay
too. The clang of the level crossing bell thunders through my ears. My fate is in my hands. If I roll now I can live, and be a better person, and return to my old life. I roll towards the rosebush, ready to start my new life. As soon as I leave the tracks I am going to become an interpreter. Then it hits me.
Coaching Track Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be a successful track coach and coach your protégés to a successful season? Through job shadowing, personal experience, and research, I have found out just how much hard work goes into coaching. Of the more than twenty million Americans who are running today, most who start do so for the wrong reasons, with the wrong attitude, and tend to lose interest after a few weeks or months. Many quit. This is usually because they become concerned
Heroes of the Track Racing has gone through many changes since 1974, when it first started. Racecars were not equipped with safety features such as roll bars, cages and safety belts. When accidents occurred drivers were seriously injured or died. Over the years, steps have been taken to prevent major injuries. Race cars are now equipped with safety features and the drivers now wear suits that are made from flame retardant material, helmets and safety belts. Racetracks have also been modified
Keep It on the Track Everyone speeds every now and then or drives a way that does not obey the rules of the road. I have a pretty good experience of not obeying the traffic laws, such as flipping my mother’s car or even speeding up to 130 mph, and sometimes drag racing on open road. After a bunch of tickets and raising my insurance rates I came to see that I should keep the reckless driving on the track. I always seemed to not learn from the first mistake when it came to driving, after my first
Portuguese too. My fate is no longer in my hands. The train has seen me and is slamming on its brakes. Screech! If I roll now I can live, and be a better person, and return to my old life. I roll, ready to start my new life. As soon as I leave the tracks I am going to become an interpreter. Then it hits me.
When the rivers went down every man and his dog headed along the Palmer Track through a jungle now dusted with the purple hue of a spectacular orchid, and every man talked of the colour, but by colour every man meant yellow, not purple. They walked, they talked, and they slapped. Exposed skin invited attack, and the mosquitos and march flies of the Palmer Track never yielded. They wanted blood and blood they would have. Their victims swatted and swore but neither the threat of sudden death nor crude