I just went with it
Recount an incident or time when you experienced failure. How did it affect you, and what lessons did you learn?
This may seem childish but one of the most critical moments in my life was when I fell off my bike. Yes, a 16 year old, six foot one inch, meta-athlete, with the physique of Adonis and the agility of no other than Lance Armstrong ungracefully tumbled off his bicycle right next to six year olds zooming by on their scooters. After ten years of riding a bike, you would think one would learn not to fall off of it. That day, after riding for almost three hours, I did not conquer the trail, it conquered on me. The scene of the crime was at the ramp of the Rockaway Bridge in Queens, New York. This bridge had a closed off bike lane, convenient for pedestrians and bike accidents. The bridge resembled the residing hairline of a middle aged man; steep on the bottom, flat at the top. That eventful day I was joined by three friends, I glided the first time over with ease, leaving my dehydrated comrades in the dust. Once they arrived, we rode to the neighboring beach where sand the size of condominiums accumulated in my sneakers and the sea breeze chafed my skin, making it less invigorating and more oppressive. As we made our way back home, I participated in the tradition of all the great athletes; trash talking as all the greats have. The bridge was my ally, I thought, not my foe. The incline onto the bridge was steeper this time, but I was not fazed. Fatigue caused my vision to become impaired, and the ominous bridge ahead of me elongated to an endless length. My journey was at halftime when I arrived at the highest point.No man should ever face the trials and tribulations I faced, no man but me. Clocking in at 800 mph and breaking several land speed records, I traversed the second half of the bridge in 6.7 seconds. Once the bridge was over, there was a slight right turn. To those seven year olds on scooters, it was no problem. For me, I fell off and sustained superficial wounds. The damage to my ego will take twice as long to repair. My underclass men came from behind in horror. Once I finished screaming obscenities, I assessed the damage. Cuts and scrapes on my head, knees, and toes, blood gushing out of my mouth and an overall sense of failure. Ignorance and a sense of self-righteousness were washed away by embarrassment and anger. My friends felt pity, but the small amount of dignity I had left didn't allow me to be babied. Our plan that day was to bike to the beach and back, and I wanted to follow that. In a bold attempt to redeem myself and reach my "champion status" once more, I continued riding with immense amount of pain and exhaustion. The three hour ride back consisted of grimacing, adjusting, and overall discomfort. Every time a city bus would pass by, I was tempted on giving up but if I took that route, I believe I would be failing myself. I take my arrival home in one piece as a personal triumph; I never wavered, I never conceded. Pride can be an even greater summit to scale than the bridge where I collapsed.
Unfortunately my best advice is to find a new topic. You do not appear to put emotional weight into your essay, therefore the reader doesn't either. If this cannot be achieved, give the story more background and a more serious tone to add emotional weight. The egotism if humorous, and does emphasis your later fail, but the event just comes off as over-dramatized without the strong emotional core. I hope this helps!
