The topic was chose whatever topic you want.
I am dying. The water hinders my movements. Muscle memory urges my arms and legs to keep moving, but my body screams to stop. I can't breathe. Suddenly, the wall approaches, a relief to my aching body. I grab for the wall and grasp it to finally catch my breath.
"You missed the interval, Danny! Keep going! GO!" And I am off, without a second's rest, to face death. Again.
That was swim practice, 3 hours a day, 6 days a week, 48 weeks a year, for the last 4 years of my life. I hated it. I wasn't sure why I always went to practice. Perhaps it was the futile pursuit of a glorified past. The sinking feeling, knowing that there was a failed battle waiting for me every day, tortured me, and I let it. I continued to go to practice, longing for the success I had experienced not so long ago.
* * *
"I am winning." That was all that was running through my head as I furiously stroked, urging my body to go faster. I could see my teammates on the sidelines, all cheering me on. I pushed a little more; one more stroke, one more kick, and I was at the wall. I looked up at the score board, pumping my fist when I saw the "1" next to my name.
I was ten at the time and living on top of the world. First Colony Swim Team, a year-round swim program, saw an age of new records, and I was a part of it. The quadrumvirate of Aidan, Daniel, Ballard, and Danny generated excitement at every state meet. We dominated the freestyle and medley relays year after year, almost guaranteeing wins for our age group.
As I entered high school, schoolwork coupled with piano practice held me back. My frustration at my lack of improvement in the pool led me blame myself. I had been in school and playing piano for all my life, yet those things had never stopped me before, so why now? There were no apparent obstacles in my view, so I stubbornly continued swimming, expecting that eventually my persistence would pay off. It didn't. I fell deeper into a delusion of success. As my grades started to slip and the demands of school work and clubs grew, I was forced to choose between piano and club swimming. After 12 long years, I finally quit the First Colony Swim Team.
* * *
"I am swimming! Look Danny, look!" exclaimed the excited little boy as I released him from my arms. I smiled and gave him a thumbs-up. Coaching younger kids was just one of the joys I found in joining the Tarpons, a recreational summer league swim team. There was no sense of urgency to practice for the next meet, or to become state champions. Everybody just...swam. Like the little boy, I discovered why I wanted to swim: the feel of water underneath the arms, the weightless euphoria, and the infusing smell of chlorine and suntan lotion. I was truly swimming for the first time in many years.
Despite the torture I had put myself through for 4 years, I learned some things. I learned that I had the stubbornness of a mule. I learned that I had limits, which are not always bad. Most importantly, I learned to enjoy whatever I do. In the pursuit of "excellence", I strived for expectations and goals that were never originally mine. What was mine, however, was my initial love for an activity, be it swimming or piano or academic subject. This love spurred a greater motivation than I had ever felt before. I do not have to force myself to pursue interests, rather I allow myself to appreciate them, finally enjoying the ride.
Questions:
-Is the timeline too confusing?
-Should I keep the structure as it is?
-Is "quadrumvirate" too awkward of a word choice?
Thanks in advance!
I am dying. The water hinders my movements. Muscle memory urges my arms and legs to keep moving, but my body screams to stop. I can't breathe. Suddenly, the wall approaches, a relief to my aching body. I grab for the wall and grasp it to finally catch my breath.
"You missed the interval, Danny! Keep going! GO!" And I am off, without a second's rest, to face death. Again.
That was swim practice, 3 hours a day, 6 days a week, 48 weeks a year, for the last 4 years of my life. I hated it. I wasn't sure why I always went to practice. Perhaps it was the futile pursuit of a glorified past. The sinking feeling, knowing that there was a failed battle waiting for me every day, tortured me, and I let it. I continued to go to practice, longing for the success I had experienced not so long ago.
* * *
"I am winning." That was all that was running through my head as I furiously stroked, urging my body to go faster. I could see my teammates on the sidelines, all cheering me on. I pushed a little more; one more stroke, one more kick, and I was at the wall. I looked up at the score board, pumping my fist when I saw the "1" next to my name.
I was ten at the time and living on top of the world. First Colony Swim Team, a year-round swim program, saw an age of new records, and I was a part of it. The quadrumvirate of Aidan, Daniel, Ballard, and Danny generated excitement at every state meet. We dominated the freestyle and medley relays year after year, almost guaranteeing wins for our age group.
As I entered high school, schoolwork coupled with piano practice held me back. My frustration at my lack of improvement in the pool led me blame myself. I had been in school and playing piano for all my life, yet those things had never stopped me before, so why now? There were no apparent obstacles in my view, so I stubbornly continued swimming, expecting that eventually my persistence would pay off. It didn't. I fell deeper into a delusion of success. As my grades started to slip and the demands of school work and clubs grew, I was forced to choose between piano and club swimming. After 12 long years, I finally quit the First Colony Swim Team.
* * *
"I am swimming! Look Danny, look!" exclaimed the excited little boy as I released him from my arms. I smiled and gave him a thumbs-up. Coaching younger kids was just one of the joys I found in joining the Tarpons, a recreational summer league swim team. There was no sense of urgency to practice for the next meet, or to become state champions. Everybody just...swam. Like the little boy, I discovered why I wanted to swim: the feel of water underneath the arms, the weightless euphoria, and the infusing smell of chlorine and suntan lotion. I was truly swimming for the first time in many years.
Despite the torture I had put myself through for 4 years, I learned some things. I learned that I had the stubbornness of a mule. I learned that I had limits, which are not always bad. Most importantly, I learned to enjoy whatever I do. In the pursuit of "excellence", I strived for expectations and goals that were never originally mine. What was mine, however, was my initial love for an activity, be it swimming or piano or academic subject. This love spurred a greater motivation than I had ever felt before. I do not have to force myself to pursue interests, rather I allow myself to appreciate them, finally enjoying the ride.
Questions:
-Is the timeline too confusing?
-Should I keep the structure as it is?
-Is "quadrumvirate" too awkward of a word choice?
Thanks in advance!
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