Scholarship / A RURAL WOMAN SCIENTIST: international scholarship [10]

Growing up in a developing country, especially a small rural village in the south of Egypt, as society there does not believe in the importance of woman learning and deny her rights in the education.

This doesn't make sense.
On the other hand,

What's your first point?
the male is the only dominating, educated, successful person. Nevertheless, both my parents are well educated, open minded(Mind opening sounds like your parents are splitting peoples heads open) individuals. They are always looking forward to break oppressive traditions and rules. As a result of their ambitions, they were able to plant the desire for learning in me early on,

ignoring being blamed by our relatives, neighbors, rustic community in our village. Now, why have I to learn and where?
What? Needs major revision. Being blamed for doing what? Last sentence doesn't make sense either.

Undergraduate / "I work harder for me and only me" - Michigan State University [19]

I like this essay, it is well written but could be improved. The second part of the question isn't addressed as much as it should be. I'm still unclear on what your plans for the future are.

Undergraduate / 'bike race' - U of Chicago - How did you get caught? [6]

Here's the first edit. Mackenzie thanks for the contractions pointer! The edits were very good, you're great at proofreading!
Brooke, thank you so much for your input on this paper! I don't usually write personal papers so your advice was very helpful. I'm a little afraid to use humor more because of that, but I will attempt it later. I agree that I do sound contrived at times and I need to put more character into this paper.

Edits on this page were done after posting the 'first edit.'

Surgery had me confined to pedaling indoors. The basement wh ere I was kept was void of natural light, instead illuminated by a tiny TV that played Lance Armstrong's "Time Trial Training" and chirped optimistic music. Still in that artificial light, I reflected the characters onscreen, confident and convinced these indoor sessions would prepare me for race season. Two weeks after I was able to ride a bike again, I entered my first race of the season.

The race started out better than expected. Contrasting the year before, there was no hail, no icy roads, and no wind blowing 10 mph above the highway speed limit. Last year I came in third infor a juniors race, but I needed more of a challenge. I registered myself with the category four riders. This group, which was between category 5 "beginners" and stronger category 3 racers, left me in a field of "know just enough to be dangerous" riders. I certainly fit that description. Indoor training made me fit enough but other components were not there. The saying "you never forget how to ride a bike" is only partially true. Two weeks of riding cannot prepare you for knocking elbows in a turn, slipping on gravel, or the soreness in the hands and seat found after traversing miles of chewed pavement on skinny tires.

Two miles away and downhill from the start, some exhausted riders rubbed wheels with each other. Unable to navigate the wreck, I watched as the rest of the pack rolled past and away uphill. An effort usually reserved for sprints brought me to pack once again. Halfway completed, twenty one miles in, as I pedaled through the start/finish banner I fell off the back of the pack. The brief triumph of catching up reduced my legs to putty. A fatigue set in that I've only encountered before in the last meters of a championship rowing race and final miles of 100 mile self imposed time trials. I biked alone for a few long miles; str uggling against the wind with every turn of the pedals. Then I was caught. Caught by other stragglers, caught by other races but most of all caught by the knowledge there exists a title lower than dead last. I imagined "Christian Ruud - DNF" on the bottom of the results page. DNF, did not finish. The results never explain why, usually it's assumed that a mechanical issue or crash took the rider out. Occasionally though, it's someone who has given up. For the last 15 miles I raced the cornrows and cracks in the road, fueled by a hatred of the idea that I would commit only to go back on that promise - that I would not quit.

The results of that race are online. My name is printed on the very bottom in 41st place. It was a full field that day of 50, but mercifully the event organizers didn't publish the nine DNFs. Some people are driven because they cannot accept losing. That race, while one of my worst, is one of my proudest. I can accept losing. In competition I'm most scared of coming across the line with energy left. After 42 miles, I finished as the start/finish banner was being taken down. I was on the verge of collapsing, completely emptied but I was anything but defeated.

You guys rock!