Hi I'm new here and pretty close to turning my applications in, but I just found this site and thought it would be a good idea to get some feedback on my essay. I'm a little worried that it doesn't say enough about me. Its really hard for me to write personal... so I would be really grateful if someone would read this over for me! Thanks!
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At six-thirty on a Saturday morning, I forced myself from between the still-warm sheets on my bed, into the coolness of morning. Though it was summer in Maryland, the heat rarely took hold until ten or eleven that morning and I still dreaded that initial rush or cool air against my bare skin.
Shedding my pajamas and discarding them in a haphazard pile on the floor, I pulled my one-piece Speedo bathing suit over my legs, stretching it up my torso like a second skin. As I adjusted the fabric over my shoulder, I studied myself in the mirror, noticing how the shiny green material expanded and contracted with each breath I took.
I was nine years old, but I had been swimming on the Olde Severna Park Severn River Swim team since I had been seven. My parents believed that it was very important for my sisters and me to know how to swim well, what with having a pool in the backyard and living so close to the river.
Every Saturday morning without fail, once our limbs had been lathered with sunscreen and our hair had been secured firmly with elastic, we would climb into our motor boat down at the beach, and splash across the Severn River to the dock where the swim meet was being held.
I both loved and hated swim team. It was absolutely nerve wracking once I was there, on the dock, being handed my heat and lane numbers for each race. When my number was called, I would break out into a sweat. Then, trembling, I'd be handed down into a little metal rowboat, with the other girls in my heat, to be taken to the other side of the dock, where the races would start. I was slimy all over from having been rubbed down with petroleum jelly, to prevent jellyfish stings, and I was often afraid of slipping, though I never did.
Swimming in the river is entirely different than swimming in a pool. The water is dark and murky, seemingly impenetrable. From time to time, and unexpected gust of wind would set the lane lines wriggling like snakes. As the waves slapped up against the sides of the dock, the spray was cold and salty on my face.
As I waited for the dreaded sound of the whistle, I curled my toes around the edge of the dock, trying to summon enough courage to do what was expected of me. The sharp tweet tore through the amiable babble of the spectators. Squeezing my eyes shut, and trying not to think about what I was doing, I threw myself off the dock and into the icy darkness beyond.
My streamline dive propelled my body easily into the opaque darkness. This was the point in the race that I loved about swimming, the reason I still came back every week. Below the water, a silence filled my ears like nothing on land. The cold brought newfound energy to my muscles, as I made a few powerful kicks to the surface.
Each stroke brought me closer and closer to the dock, until I was there, exhilarated, but shaking so hard I had to be lifted out of the water. As a towel was being wrapped around me, and I was being given pats on the back and a bottle of water, I was glad that I had made the jump.
If the patterns of daily life were to be plotted on a line graph, they would be a series of waves. Life is a never-ending sequence of anticipation, climax, and satisfaction, be it preparing for a math test, writing a college application, or swimming a race. I stopped doing swim team when I was in middle school, but I didn't forget about jumping off the dock. Though it may seem daunting to dive headfirst into unknown waters, one must take the jump to enjoy the swim.
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Thanks for reading!
*****
At six-thirty on a Saturday morning, I forced myself from between the still-warm sheets on my bed, into the coolness of morning. Though it was summer in Maryland, the heat rarely took hold until ten or eleven that morning and I still dreaded that initial rush or cool air against my bare skin.
Shedding my pajamas and discarding them in a haphazard pile on the floor, I pulled my one-piece Speedo bathing suit over my legs, stretching it up my torso like a second skin. As I adjusted the fabric over my shoulder, I studied myself in the mirror, noticing how the shiny green material expanded and contracted with each breath I took.
I was nine years old, but I had been swimming on the Olde Severna Park Severn River Swim team since I had been seven. My parents believed that it was very important for my sisters and me to know how to swim well, what with having a pool in the backyard and living so close to the river.
Every Saturday morning without fail, once our limbs had been lathered with sunscreen and our hair had been secured firmly with elastic, we would climb into our motor boat down at the beach, and splash across the Severn River to the dock where the swim meet was being held.
I both loved and hated swim team. It was absolutely nerve wracking once I was there, on the dock, being handed my heat and lane numbers for each race. When my number was called, I would break out into a sweat. Then, trembling, I'd be handed down into a little metal rowboat, with the other girls in my heat, to be taken to the other side of the dock, where the races would start. I was slimy all over from having been rubbed down with petroleum jelly, to prevent jellyfish stings, and I was often afraid of slipping, though I never did.
Swimming in the river is entirely different than swimming in a pool. The water is dark and murky, seemingly impenetrable. From time to time, and unexpected gust of wind would set the lane lines wriggling like snakes. As the waves slapped up against the sides of the dock, the spray was cold and salty on my face.
As I waited for the dreaded sound of the whistle, I curled my toes around the edge of the dock, trying to summon enough courage to do what was expected of me. The sharp tweet tore through the amiable babble of the spectators. Squeezing my eyes shut, and trying not to think about what I was doing, I threw myself off the dock and into the icy darkness beyond.
My streamline dive propelled my body easily into the opaque darkness. This was the point in the race that I loved about swimming, the reason I still came back every week. Below the water, a silence filled my ears like nothing on land. The cold brought newfound energy to my muscles, as I made a few powerful kicks to the surface.
Each stroke brought me closer and closer to the dock, until I was there, exhilarated, but shaking so hard I had to be lifted out of the water. As a towel was being wrapped around me, and I was being given pats on the back and a bottle of water, I was glad that I had made the jump.
If the patterns of daily life were to be plotted on a line graph, they would be a series of waves. Life is a never-ending sequence of anticipation, climax, and satisfaction, be it preparing for a math test, writing a college application, or swimming a race. I stopped doing swim team when I was in middle school, but I didn't forget about jumping off the dock. Though it may seem daunting to dive headfirst into unknown waters, one must take the jump to enjoy the swim.
*****
Thanks for reading!
