Hey guys! It's kind of late (due Jan 1 :( ), but I would really love to get any kind of feedback. Be brutal, please!.
Prompt: Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you.
The inescapable beams of sun scorched my skin, a slimy mixture of sunblock and my own sweat coated my whole body, and an excruciating burn plagued every fiber in my being. My throat became the Grand Canyon as I gasped in the sunblock scent-stained air, my sneakers squeaking across the scalding forest green court. There was nothing more gruesome than this, except the sum of all the above while forcing myself to sprint faster, hit harder, and think smarter. Multiply this by seven hours per day, five days per week. Was it worth all this just to become a benchwarmer?
Standing on the court on the first day of tryouts for the high school tennis team, I was gnawing on my fingernails while my organs twisted into knots. Now was my chance to dazzle or disappoint. Preparation for this moment included fighting through four weeks straight of tennis camp in addition to playing every evening. Most of the athletes in my town had begun training when they were still learning their alphabet, while my passion did not ignite until I was of the age of algebra. The girls trying out, a total of 45, were good. My nerves caused shots to careen into the net or out of the court, especially when the coaches were boring holes into my back with scrutinizing eyes. Head throbbing with frustration, I yelled to myself, "Get in the game, Lisa! You can do better than this!" Despite the daily discouragement, I faithfully came to tryouts every day, even when most of my friends dropped out, even when I trickled down the ladder becoming the second to last doubles team on Junior Varsity.
When the season started with no cuts made, I came to every practice and match, cheering on the others and applauding their victories while never given the chance to taste my own. My mind and bruised ego told me, "Quit!" Neither of the coaches noticed me and the other girls did not see me as part of the team. Every second of being on the team was humiliation. But through it all, there was no way to deny my overwhelming passion for tennis. No matter how much pain I had to swallow, how many tears I had to hold back, how many hours I had to devote to the sport, I was going to be the next Rocky. The world was going to see a spectacular comeback. The only way for my perseverance to shine through was if I continued being the benchwarmer, to stick it out and try again next season.
That year I thought tennis, breathed tennis, and sweat tennis. During tryouts, I smashed and bashed...and lost. On the final day of the battle, I was one of the last four girls to be cut. Walking away seemed like a merciful solution, but the promise I had made to myself was craving to be fulfilled. The more agonizing the struggle, the more delicious the success.
And delicious it was. The third time I entered the fray, I still felt the anxiety bubbling in my stomach, but without the added unfamiliarity. The coaches smiled at me and knew my name, the other girls were my friends and we cheered on one another. I already felt like a member of the team. Although making the cut was a major goal, I would be satisfied even with another "try again next year"-that I put in 100% effort and shared laughs and smiles was good enough. Fortunately, the journey did not end there. Hearing that my partner and I would be the fifth doubles JV team, meaning court time everyday, I could not hold back a victory dance (much to the amusement of my friends). Adding to my exhilaration, the girls voted me to be their captain and got bear hugs in return. There was nothing more amazing than this, except the sum of all the above while having a winning season and making endearing memories.
Calvin had once said, "You know, Hobbes, some days even my lucky rocketship underpants don't help." But we need those kinds of days, the ones where we leap and land just short of the stars. No one is an instant maven at everything; sometimes we meet resistance, but trying out for tennis taught me that we will never fail as long as we press onwards with optimism. High school was sprinkled with many endeavors, some ending with success and some with a new outlook: competing for class historian, running for track-and-field, playing Ultimate Frisbee. The future holds many more for me, and, even if I meet "unsuccess" at first, I'll be putting on my own pair of lucky underwear in preparation to push on through the struggle.
Is it analytical enough? I'm not sure how well it flows.. and if you can understand the allusions. Is it too long? Any suggestions to cut it down (because I am terrible at that.. I've already cut it down a lot) Anyway, please comment, any little thing helps!
Thank you!
Prompt: Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you.
The inescapable beams of sun scorched my skin, a slimy mixture of sunblock and my own sweat coated my whole body, and an excruciating burn plagued every fiber in my being. My throat became the Grand Canyon as I gasped in the sunblock scent-stained air, my sneakers squeaking across the scalding forest green court. There was nothing more gruesome than this, except the sum of all the above while forcing myself to sprint faster, hit harder, and think smarter. Multiply this by seven hours per day, five days per week. Was it worth all this just to become a benchwarmer?
Standing on the court on the first day of tryouts for the high school tennis team, I was gnawing on my fingernails while my organs twisted into knots. Now was my chance to dazzle or disappoint. Preparation for this moment included fighting through four weeks straight of tennis camp in addition to playing every evening. Most of the athletes in my town had begun training when they were still learning their alphabet, while my passion did not ignite until I was of the age of algebra. The girls trying out, a total of 45, were good. My nerves caused shots to careen into the net or out of the court, especially when the coaches were boring holes into my back with scrutinizing eyes. Head throbbing with frustration, I yelled to myself, "Get in the game, Lisa! You can do better than this!" Despite the daily discouragement, I faithfully came to tryouts every day, even when most of my friends dropped out, even when I trickled down the ladder becoming the second to last doubles team on Junior Varsity.
When the season started with no cuts made, I came to every practice and match, cheering on the others and applauding their victories while never given the chance to taste my own. My mind and bruised ego told me, "Quit!" Neither of the coaches noticed me and the other girls did not see me as part of the team. Every second of being on the team was humiliation. But through it all, there was no way to deny my overwhelming passion for tennis. No matter how much pain I had to swallow, how many tears I had to hold back, how many hours I had to devote to the sport, I was going to be the next Rocky. The world was going to see a spectacular comeback. The only way for my perseverance to shine through was if I continued being the benchwarmer, to stick it out and try again next season.
That year I thought tennis, breathed tennis, and sweat tennis. During tryouts, I smashed and bashed...and lost. On the final day of the battle, I was one of the last four girls to be cut. Walking away seemed like a merciful solution, but the promise I had made to myself was craving to be fulfilled. The more agonizing the struggle, the more delicious the success.
And delicious it was. The third time I entered the fray, I still felt the anxiety bubbling in my stomach, but without the added unfamiliarity. The coaches smiled at me and knew my name, the other girls were my friends and we cheered on one another. I already felt like a member of the team. Although making the cut was a major goal, I would be satisfied even with another "try again next year"-that I put in 100% effort and shared laughs and smiles was good enough. Fortunately, the journey did not end there. Hearing that my partner and I would be the fifth doubles JV team, meaning court time everyday, I could not hold back a victory dance (much to the amusement of my friends). Adding to my exhilaration, the girls voted me to be their captain and got bear hugs in return. There was nothing more amazing than this, except the sum of all the above while having a winning season and making endearing memories.
Calvin had once said, "You know, Hobbes, some days even my lucky rocketship underpants don't help." But we need those kinds of days, the ones where we leap and land just short of the stars. No one is an instant maven at everything; sometimes we meet resistance, but trying out for tennis taught me that we will never fail as long as we press onwards with optimism. High school was sprinkled with many endeavors, some ending with success and some with a new outlook: competing for class historian, running for track-and-field, playing Ultimate Frisbee. The future holds many more for me, and, even if I meet "unsuccess" at first, I'll be putting on my own pair of lucky underwear in preparation to push on through the struggle.
Is it analytical enough? I'm not sure how well it flows.. and if you can understand the allusions. Is it too long? Any suggestions to cut it down (because I am terrible at that.. I've already cut it down a lot) Anyway, please comment, any little thing helps!
Thank you!