I feel like this essay might be a bit clichïd in partsïany ideas how I can make it less so? Also, it's far too longïwhat should I take out?
"Eighteen, eighteen, eighteen eighty-four! Eighteen, eighteen, eighteen eighty-four!" I chanted in unison with my team. We're sitting in the stands watching matches, shouting until we can't even manage a whisper and then shouting some more. No, we're not at a basketball game. We're at a regional competition for the FIRST Robotics Competition (FRC). As the buzzer signals the end of our second semi final, we erupt like a volcano. For the first time in the history of the team, we've made it to the finals. While the officials reset the field, I drift off in thought.
About thirteen months earlier, I was lying in a hospital bed, tears welling up in my eyes as I read the thermometer by my bed. I had been there for a week with a nasty case of pneumonia, and was planning to go and visit the robotics team to see their progress. Sadly, with a fever like that, there was no way I was getting out of there anytime soon. I was devastated. I hadn't been to a meeting in three weeks (which is half of an FRC season), so there was no way I would be going to competition. "I probably wouldn't even be out of this dump by the time they leave, even if they did want me to come!" I wailed to her. I did get out in time, but I hadn't been cleared to fly yet, so had to stay home nonetheless. The entire week that my team was away, I didn't talk to anyone. Each day I would go to school, come home, watch the competition while doing my homework, eat dinner, and then go to bed. I vowed that nothing would get in my way of being at that competition the next year with the best robot at the competition.
Flash forward to Saturday, January 7, 2012. Kickoff. Today we find out what we'll be working on for the next six weeks. I get to school at 2:45, US history textbook in tow. I grab a piece of pizza, say hi to a few friends, then go and study in a corner until the broadcast starts, and well into it as I only half-listen to the seemingly endless speeches. They're all superb; the organisers know that their audience is a bunch of teenagers who really just want to know what game they'll be playing in the spring, and it's evident they've kept this in mind. Still, we all groan dramatically whenever another speaker shows up on screen. When they finally get to the big reveal, we sit up a little straighter and the noise level drops down to zero. Pens are poised to write down key points of the rules. As we figure out what the game is all about and divide into groups to brainstorm, I look around and think to myself, this is our year.
Nine weeks later, the team is silent in the stands. We've just lost our second match of the finals series, which means that the other finalists have won the regional. We clap for them, in the spirit of sportsmanship, but we are still coming down from the adrenaline rush of the deciding match and haven't really realised what has happened yet. I step outside for a moment to think. Obviously, I'm disappointed. I feel like I should be angry, too, that there is some excuse I should be making for why we didn't win. But I'm not angry, and the only explanation that comes to mind is that the reason we didn't win is that the other finalists were better than us. Robotics isn't all about winning, I remind myself. Our team had never won a regional before. We hadn't even come close until this year. The reason I do this, I remind myself, is sitting right inside that door. That group of people is the reason I don't mind being in the build room 22 hours a week. They're the reason I'm willing to sit and design cool features of the robot or sit in one place for hours at a time painting bumpers. I remind myself that I choose to give up my normal life from January to March to spend all my spare time doing things that will help the team do better. When I'm sitting at my computer at 3 AM on a Tuesday, trying to finish that last assignment, I remind myself that this is the reward. An incredible bond with an amazing group of people, and an opportunity to learn things I couldn't learn anywhere else.
"Eighteen, eighteen, eighteen eighty-four! Eighteen, eighteen, eighteen eighty-four!" I chanted in unison with my team. We're sitting in the stands watching matches, shouting until we can't even manage a whisper and then shouting some more. No, we're not at a basketball game. We're at a regional competition for the FIRST Robotics Competition (FRC). As the buzzer signals the end of our second semi final, we erupt like a volcano. For the first time in the history of the team, we've made it to the finals. While the officials reset the field, I drift off in thought.
About thirteen months earlier, I was lying in a hospital bed, tears welling up in my eyes as I read the thermometer by my bed. I had been there for a week with a nasty case of pneumonia, and was planning to go and visit the robotics team to see their progress. Sadly, with a fever like that, there was no way I was getting out of there anytime soon. I was devastated. I hadn't been to a meeting in three weeks (which is half of an FRC season), so there was no way I would be going to competition. "I probably wouldn't even be out of this dump by the time they leave, even if they did want me to come!" I wailed to her. I did get out in time, but I hadn't been cleared to fly yet, so had to stay home nonetheless. The entire week that my team was away, I didn't talk to anyone. Each day I would go to school, come home, watch the competition while doing my homework, eat dinner, and then go to bed. I vowed that nothing would get in my way of being at that competition the next year with the best robot at the competition.
Flash forward to Saturday, January 7, 2012. Kickoff. Today we find out what we'll be working on for the next six weeks. I get to school at 2:45, US history textbook in tow. I grab a piece of pizza, say hi to a few friends, then go and study in a corner until the broadcast starts, and well into it as I only half-listen to the seemingly endless speeches. They're all superb; the organisers know that their audience is a bunch of teenagers who really just want to know what game they'll be playing in the spring, and it's evident they've kept this in mind. Still, we all groan dramatically whenever another speaker shows up on screen. When they finally get to the big reveal, we sit up a little straighter and the noise level drops down to zero. Pens are poised to write down key points of the rules. As we figure out what the game is all about and divide into groups to brainstorm, I look around and think to myself, this is our year.
Nine weeks later, the team is silent in the stands. We've just lost our second match of the finals series, which means that the other finalists have won the regional. We clap for them, in the spirit of sportsmanship, but we are still coming down from the adrenaline rush of the deciding match and haven't really realised what has happened yet. I step outside for a moment to think. Obviously, I'm disappointed. I feel like I should be angry, too, that there is some excuse I should be making for why we didn't win. But I'm not angry, and the only explanation that comes to mind is that the reason we didn't win is that the other finalists were better than us. Robotics isn't all about winning, I remind myself. Our team had never won a regional before. We hadn't even come close until this year. The reason I do this, I remind myself, is sitting right inside that door. That group of people is the reason I don't mind being in the build room 22 hours a week. They're the reason I'm willing to sit and design cool features of the robot or sit in one place for hours at a time painting bumpers. I remind myself that I choose to give up my normal life from January to March to spend all my spare time doing things that will help the team do better. When I'm sitting at my computer at 3 AM on a Tuesday, trying to finish that last assignment, I remind myself that this is the reward. An incredible bond with an amazing group of people, and an opportunity to learn things I couldn't learn anywhere else.
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