This is my response to the prompt
"You have already told us about yourself in the Common Application, with its list of activities, short answer, and personal essay. In this required second essay, tell us something you would like us to know about oyu that we might not get from the rest of your application - or something oyu would like a chance to say more about." In the Yale Supplement to the Common Application (the limit is 500 words, that's why the conclusion is a bit hasty).
My experience practicing Tae Kwon Do meant much more to me than just effort and hard work, it brought with it important life lessons I feel are not accurately portrayed in the rest of the application. It brought me in close acquaintance with struggle and sacrifice, which I now know are a part of every person's life, and prepared me to endure the challenges I will inevitably have to face.
When I first started in Tae Kwon Do, it was like everything else in my life: safe, cozy, and fun. I had the chance to begin my training with kids my age, a patient teacher, and very manageable demands. But once I decided to start competing, and eventually got called into the provincial team, it all changed in a fortnight. I was confronted by increasingly high expectations and diminished support and understanding. Suddenly, it was not enough to get through the training sessions as "best as I could", now I had to demand more from my body every day to meet a rigorous training program. At first, I felt tempted to retire back into the safety of my previous dojo with its familiar mildness. Yet I kept showing up for practice six times a week, and endured the coaches' harsh reprimands as best as I could. This struggle to meet their expectations was relentless, and seemingly perpetual, offering challenge after challenge, objective after objective in uninterrupted succession.
Despite this, I was never able to attain the results my teammates reaped with seeming facility. My efforts seemed futile, my abilities mediocre and my achievements scanty in comparison with theirs. I earnestly desired to improve, but was unable to adopt the unfaltering commitment I observed in the rest of the team. During training, I could not help but get distracted by trivialities, and I had to go through veritable agony to adopt the martial obedience the coaches tried to imbue in all of the team members. Moreover, I was unable to endure the bruises and pain inherent to contact sports with the stoic calm and unshakable firmness of my teammates. In time, I came to believe I just was not as iron-willed as them, but I could not accept this explanation. Real or not, this idea fueled my ambitions of emulating my teammates' strength of character, and drove me to persevere until I got selected to compete in nationals. Yet, this only brought more insurmountable adversities, as training increased from two to four hours a day, and we were required to live in the gym.
I wish I could say this all resulted in my glorious triumph in nationals, but it did not. I barely won a bronze medal in a weight class with few contestants. All I had to show for my efforts besides that was an injured foot. Still, Tae Kwon Do taught me that sacrifice is necessary for improvement, and that it is not enough to lie low and get through life quietly.
"You have already told us about yourself in the Common Application, with its list of activities, short answer, and personal essay. In this required second essay, tell us something you would like us to know about oyu that we might not get from the rest of your application - or something oyu would like a chance to say more about." In the Yale Supplement to the Common Application (the limit is 500 words, that's why the conclusion is a bit hasty).
My experience practicing Tae Kwon Do meant much more to me than just effort and hard work, it brought with it important life lessons I feel are not accurately portrayed in the rest of the application. It brought me in close acquaintance with struggle and sacrifice, which I now know are a part of every person's life, and prepared me to endure the challenges I will inevitably have to face.
When I first started in Tae Kwon Do, it was like everything else in my life: safe, cozy, and fun. I had the chance to begin my training with kids my age, a patient teacher, and very manageable demands. But once I decided to start competing, and eventually got called into the provincial team, it all changed in a fortnight. I was confronted by increasingly high expectations and diminished support and understanding. Suddenly, it was not enough to get through the training sessions as "best as I could", now I had to demand more from my body every day to meet a rigorous training program. At first, I felt tempted to retire back into the safety of my previous dojo with its familiar mildness. Yet I kept showing up for practice six times a week, and endured the coaches' harsh reprimands as best as I could. This struggle to meet their expectations was relentless, and seemingly perpetual, offering challenge after challenge, objective after objective in uninterrupted succession.
Despite this, I was never able to attain the results my teammates reaped with seeming facility. My efforts seemed futile, my abilities mediocre and my achievements scanty in comparison with theirs. I earnestly desired to improve, but was unable to adopt the unfaltering commitment I observed in the rest of the team. During training, I could not help but get distracted by trivialities, and I had to go through veritable agony to adopt the martial obedience the coaches tried to imbue in all of the team members. Moreover, I was unable to endure the bruises and pain inherent to contact sports with the stoic calm and unshakable firmness of my teammates. In time, I came to believe I just was not as iron-willed as them, but I could not accept this explanation. Real or not, this idea fueled my ambitions of emulating my teammates' strength of character, and drove me to persevere until I got selected to compete in nationals. Yet, this only brought more insurmountable adversities, as training increased from two to four hours a day, and we were required to live in the gym.
I wish I could say this all resulted in my glorious triumph in nationals, but it did not. I barely won a bronze medal in a weight class with few contestants. All I had to show for my efforts besides that was an injured foot. Still, Tae Kwon Do taught me that sacrifice is necessary for improvement, and that it is not enough to lie low and get through life quietly.
