Hi everyone! This is my essay for the title mentioned in the subject. It's rather long and i would appreciate it if you guys tell me the parts i can snip off! ^^ Thank you in advance!
I love canoeing.
I love anchoring my trusty K1 purple raptor to the shore, splashing off bits of dirt and grime with the sparkling water, balancing its slim and delicate body before getting onto the seat. I love the way the fresh breeze wafts through my hair and how the sunlight tickles my back. I relish the smooth glossy feeling of the paddle shaft and the languid yielding resistance of the water as I take the first stroke. The concert of canoeing starts- the water surface part like velvet curtains to make way for my raptor and water droplets dance in perfect harmony to the powerful staccatos of my stroke.
Though sometimes it became really tiring during my trainings, I never gave up. The hope of winning the championship, of beholding the trophy, of greeting shinning faces and punching my fists jubilantly in the air always sustained me to paddle on. As my body poised for yet another stroke, I would feel incredibly lucky- this is canoeing; this is my life and this IS what I fight for.
But nothing could have prepared me for this.
'Crack!' I will never forget that sound- the fracturing of my right ankle under the crushing weight on my entire body. The next thing I remembered was how my mind seared as the waves of white hot agony crashed at me. The pain was so unbelievable that I wanted oblivion; release; anything that could alleviate my pain. I must have screamed or something, because the last thing I could remember were fuzzy figures crowding around me before I finally passed out.
I awoke to find my right leg in a cast and sympathetic faces all around. The doctor told me that my ankle was fractured and it would take at least three to four months to heal. His gentle words were like the harsh hissing of a thousand fires being extinguished. I felt as though all the efforts I had put into training almost six times a week were in vain- four months will cripple my chances of winning. I couldn't remember how many times I cried helplessly, how many times the doctor rejected my proposal to do physical land trainings and the times when I would 'ape', despite the numerous painful blisters inflicted by the crutches on my underarm, to watch my teammates train.
It was the lowest point of my life. Feeling hopeless, I talked to my coach and asked him if I should quit. It seemed impossible for me to win anything, I told him. You could give my spot to someone who can do it better and maximize the scores so our school can win. These words were hard for me to utter and I felt tears welling in my eyes as I avoided his gaze and stared out at the reservoir that I've come to regard as my second home. I had expected him to say something like "I'm sorry that it didn't work out" so nothing really prepared for his reply- "You know, after all these trainings, I would have thought you've toughened up enough to not give up so easily." He was right! Though my leg might have been broken, I should never let my spirit be defeated so easily. Not being able to win a medal isn't defeat, but not trying my all to win a medal is. I shouldn't have succumbed to desperation and self pity as there were many things I could do- it's just that I was too self absorbed to try them.
That holiday, I tried to do many new things- I joined the school's Chinese drama society and wrote a play for production. It was about a foreign house worker's striving against unfavorable odds. I put bits of myself into her- the resilience and determination that she acquired gradually through the play was not unlike the ordeal that I had to go through. I also initiated and led a community service project when I was nursing my injury. It was hard work, but well worth it when I saw the winners of the competition ecstatic with joy; I cannot win, but I can help others emerge as champions. However, even though I shared their joy, it was still bittersweet.
I returned to training around February. Nationals took place in June. I had four months to make up for the four that I had been missing. It basically meant I had to train twice as hard, on top of the impending exams, homework and other commitments. Though it was naïve to think that I can attain the same kind of standard as my teammates and opponents, I had to try.
Four months flew by and though I had trained for six days a week, I realized it was impossible for me to win anything because my opponents were also training as hard. When the day finally arrived and it was my turn to race, it wasn't easy to set my beloved purple raptor out into the Macritchie reservoir for the last time. It was painful to strive and fight as I knew I would lose. I slowly paddled my way to the starting line and poised my body, ready to give it all that I have got. Suddenly, images, memories and struggles that I had starting flashing through my mind, choking me with emotion. It was when I gazed at the glittering end point 500 meters away that I finally realized - I am stronger.
I love canoeing.
I love anchoring my trusty K1 purple raptor to the shore, splashing off bits of dirt and grime with the sparkling water, balancing its slim and delicate body before getting onto the seat. I love the way the fresh breeze wafts through my hair and how the sunlight tickles my back. I relish the smooth glossy feeling of the paddle shaft and the languid yielding resistance of the water as I take the first stroke. The concert of canoeing starts- the water surface part like velvet curtains to make way for my raptor and water droplets dance in perfect harmony to the powerful staccatos of my stroke.
Though sometimes it became really tiring during my trainings, I never gave up. The hope of winning the championship, of beholding the trophy, of greeting shinning faces and punching my fists jubilantly in the air always sustained me to paddle on. As my body poised for yet another stroke, I would feel incredibly lucky- this is canoeing; this is my life and this IS what I fight for.
But nothing could have prepared me for this.
'Crack!' I will never forget that sound- the fracturing of my right ankle under the crushing weight on my entire body. The next thing I remembered was how my mind seared as the waves of white hot agony crashed at me. The pain was so unbelievable that I wanted oblivion; release; anything that could alleviate my pain. I must have screamed or something, because the last thing I could remember were fuzzy figures crowding around me before I finally passed out.
I awoke to find my right leg in a cast and sympathetic faces all around. The doctor told me that my ankle was fractured and it would take at least three to four months to heal. His gentle words were like the harsh hissing of a thousand fires being extinguished. I felt as though all the efforts I had put into training almost six times a week were in vain- four months will cripple my chances of winning. I couldn't remember how many times I cried helplessly, how many times the doctor rejected my proposal to do physical land trainings and the times when I would 'ape', despite the numerous painful blisters inflicted by the crutches on my underarm, to watch my teammates train.
It was the lowest point of my life. Feeling hopeless, I talked to my coach and asked him if I should quit. It seemed impossible for me to win anything, I told him. You could give my spot to someone who can do it better and maximize the scores so our school can win. These words were hard for me to utter and I felt tears welling in my eyes as I avoided his gaze and stared out at the reservoir that I've come to regard as my second home. I had expected him to say something like "I'm sorry that it didn't work out" so nothing really prepared for his reply- "You know, after all these trainings, I would have thought you've toughened up enough to not give up so easily." He was right! Though my leg might have been broken, I should never let my spirit be defeated so easily. Not being able to win a medal isn't defeat, but not trying my all to win a medal is. I shouldn't have succumbed to desperation and self pity as there were many things I could do- it's just that I was too self absorbed to try them.
That holiday, I tried to do many new things- I joined the school's Chinese drama society and wrote a play for production. It was about a foreign house worker's striving against unfavorable odds. I put bits of myself into her- the resilience and determination that she acquired gradually through the play was not unlike the ordeal that I had to go through. I also initiated and led a community service project when I was nursing my injury. It was hard work, but well worth it when I saw the winners of the competition ecstatic with joy; I cannot win, but I can help others emerge as champions. However, even though I shared their joy, it was still bittersweet.
I returned to training around February. Nationals took place in June. I had four months to make up for the four that I had been missing. It basically meant I had to train twice as hard, on top of the impending exams, homework and other commitments. Though it was naïve to think that I can attain the same kind of standard as my teammates and opponents, I had to try.
Four months flew by and though I had trained for six days a week, I realized it was impossible for me to win anything because my opponents were also training as hard. When the day finally arrived and it was my turn to race, it wasn't easy to set my beloved purple raptor out into the Macritchie reservoir for the last time. It was painful to strive and fight as I knew I would lose. I slowly paddled my way to the starting line and poised my body, ready to give it all that I have got. Suddenly, images, memories and struggles that I had starting flashing through my mind, choking me with emotion. It was when I gazed at the glittering end point 500 meters away that I finally realized - I am stronger.
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