So this is my essay answering the following prompt: "Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you." Any pointers or help would be extremely appreciated and I'm grateful for any tips! Thanks!
I feel sick to my stomach as I sit fidgeting in the bright and airy Spongebob-themed room. The door opens, and I ignore my mom's reassurances and promises that this can be fixed. I focus only on the serious face of my doctor, and instantly, my last glimmer of hope for good news crumbles. Anemia. The word swirls around the room, lingering like a burnt scent as its meaning hits me. The prescription: diet changes and rest. No exercise. No running. No cross country.
I haven't always been a distance runner. It happened more by accident after a military move to Japan during 6th grade. Desperate for something familiar in a country I didn't know, I set out to join some sort of spring sport, unaware that the only one offered was track. My sprint relay debut--a true comedy act involving two dropped batons, a lost shoe, and a last place finish--was the unlikely hook that led me to distance instead. Forced onto the distance team against my strongest protests, and in spite of the gruesome blisters and drudgery of endless laps, my initial desires for a one-season commitment began to fade. The sport had grown on me.
Since that first forced practice, distance running has been one of the biggest constants in my life. The schedule of cross country in the fall to track in the spring to conditioning over the summer is the same no matter what school I go to, a little slice of order in my otherwise dynamic life. I've fallen in love with the familiarities of the sport, something that became all the clearer when they suddenly fell beyond my reach. I've missed the feeling of victory as my legs defeat hills marked as the enemy, the steady rhythm of my heartbeat providing the perfect soundtrack for a silent morning run, the sheer adrenaline rush of sailing over a finish line that seemed far out of reach. These are the things that keep me waiting on the sidelines, eager to rejoin my teammates. Running is as much a part of me as breathing, and though I can hold my breath for a little while, it's not something I can do forever.
Being anemic and being a runner has been a challenge. Though I'd like to say that I've had a positive attitude throughout my entire recovery, that would be a lie. I've always sought to be in control of everything within my life, but I've learned that sometimes I just have to go with the flow. My senior season was supposed to be flawless, but it hasn't been. The changes I've had to make haven't been easy, but they've been necessary. By being flexible, I've regained the chance to have the feeling of freedom that running gives to me. I know that someday soon, I'll be back again in my racing flats, tensed on a starting line, waiting for the gun to sound. The process can be frustrating and is often trying. Sometimes I would like to quit, but then the runner in me takes over. I won't give up because I'm determined to stay in the race. No matter what I do, I will always finish, and I will always finish strong.
I feel sick to my stomach as I sit fidgeting in the bright and airy Spongebob-themed room. The door opens, and I ignore my mom's reassurances and promises that this can be fixed. I focus only on the serious face of my doctor, and instantly, my last glimmer of hope for good news crumbles. Anemia. The word swirls around the room, lingering like a burnt scent as its meaning hits me. The prescription: diet changes and rest. No exercise. No running. No cross country.
I haven't always been a distance runner. It happened more by accident after a military move to Japan during 6th grade. Desperate for something familiar in a country I didn't know, I set out to join some sort of spring sport, unaware that the only one offered was track. My sprint relay debut--a true comedy act involving two dropped batons, a lost shoe, and a last place finish--was the unlikely hook that led me to distance instead. Forced onto the distance team against my strongest protests, and in spite of the gruesome blisters and drudgery of endless laps, my initial desires for a one-season commitment began to fade. The sport had grown on me.
Since that first forced practice, distance running has been one of the biggest constants in my life. The schedule of cross country in the fall to track in the spring to conditioning over the summer is the same no matter what school I go to, a little slice of order in my otherwise dynamic life. I've fallen in love with the familiarities of the sport, something that became all the clearer when they suddenly fell beyond my reach. I've missed the feeling of victory as my legs defeat hills marked as the enemy, the steady rhythm of my heartbeat providing the perfect soundtrack for a silent morning run, the sheer adrenaline rush of sailing over a finish line that seemed far out of reach. These are the things that keep me waiting on the sidelines, eager to rejoin my teammates. Running is as much a part of me as breathing, and though I can hold my breath for a little while, it's not something I can do forever.
Being anemic and being a runner has been a challenge. Though I'd like to say that I've had a positive attitude throughout my entire recovery, that would be a lie. I've always sought to be in control of everything within my life, but I've learned that sometimes I just have to go with the flow. My senior season was supposed to be flawless, but it hasn't been. The changes I've had to make haven't been easy, but they've been necessary. By being flexible, I've regained the chance to have the feeling of freedom that running gives to me. I know that someday soon, I'll be back again in my racing flats, tensed on a starting line, waiting for the gun to sound. The process can be frustrating and is often trying. Sometimes I would like to quit, but then the runner in me takes over. I won't give up because I'm determined to stay in the race. No matter what I do, I will always finish, and I will always finish strong.