"You have put in the miles. You have held nothing back. You have given this sport all that you can and here is where it will pay off. Give it your all!" This is the motivating speech my coach shouts triumphantly before the start of the cross-country meet. My team responds with an enormous cheer. Afterwards we line up with the other runners who look as anxious and determined as we feel. I stand with the team thrashing my limbs all around to keep from having my muscles stiffen up. The runners start to bow as man puts put a pistol. There is dead silence for only one second as the man bellows "Ready". Bang! I'm off feeling as if I have been released from a cage thrusting my entire body forward. My feet striking the ground while my arms and hands punch through the air. Whizzing past crowds of screaming parents and spectators, my mind starts to wander, thinking of the past and what brought me here to this moment.
I could remember when I was young and my mom would ask me questions. Questions to which I had no answer. Comments to which I had no reply. I would go to school, come back and still knowing nothing. This was not my teacher's fault nor was it mine; and it was not until my parents took me to the doctor that I started to become normal. My mother told me that I had some "magic" liquid lodged in my ears that they had to remove. Only until I had matured, was I told that I had auditory processing disorder. This meant that I could not process the sounds in words or remember information that was given to me. This disorder is reflected by the saying "In one ear and out the other." At the time I did not know anything was wrong with me. My mother told me that I was going to be repeating the first grade. She told me that it would be "great" because I had already been through it once and I would be the smartest kid in the class.
I am moving steadily onward through the race making sure my form is in rhythm. The hardest part is yet to come. Everyone's fear comes to light when they come to face a monstrous grassy hill. My team and I have had a lot of training on hills before, but the Green Monster, as it's been named, makes me second guess my abilities. I will myself not to submit to the pressure. I drive up the hill using every bit of strength in my legs while pumping my arms. Passing other runners who are unable to defeat the hill, I reach the top and continue onward.
I stand in front of the door shuffling in my shoes. I knock nervously while I wait for an answer. A woman calmly tells me to come in. The woman explains what she will be doing with me for the next few years. She starts by asking questions about pictures and what they mean. I come to this room with this woman to learn how to speak and process information of words and actions. I am learning slowly at first, but when time passes, I am able to have complete conversations with others and actually know what teachers are trying to teach me. I was able to accomplish any goal I put my mind to. This wonderful feeling I wanted more of and I decided to combine it with a talent of mine: running.
I am about less than one mile to the finish. My pace is starting to slow down. My body is now screaming at me, telling me that it is not worth it. I know these feelings and thoughts will not bring me to the finish line. To stop myself from listening to the persuasive voice of failure, I throw down a surge and I pass a couple of runners. I can see the finish line in the distance. The other runners are gaining speed with me following. I give the last 400 meters all that I have left and a little more. I pass by runner after runner while my legs jerk out madly behind me. I lunge over the finish line with one last breath. In front of me is my best friend with a broad smile on his face: "Amazing finish! You got a new personal record by 50 seconds!"
I could remember when I was young and my mom would ask me questions. Questions to which I had no answer. Comments to which I had no reply. I would go to school, come back and still knowing nothing. This was not my teacher's fault nor was it mine; and it was not until my parents took me to the doctor that I started to become normal. My mother told me that I had some "magic" liquid lodged in my ears that they had to remove. Only until I had matured, was I told that I had auditory processing disorder. This meant that I could not process the sounds in words or remember information that was given to me. This disorder is reflected by the saying "In one ear and out the other." At the time I did not know anything was wrong with me. My mother told me that I was going to be repeating the first grade. She told me that it would be "great" because I had already been through it once and I would be the smartest kid in the class.
I am moving steadily onward through the race making sure my form is in rhythm. The hardest part is yet to come. Everyone's fear comes to light when they come to face a monstrous grassy hill. My team and I have had a lot of training on hills before, but the Green Monster, as it's been named, makes me second guess my abilities. I will myself not to submit to the pressure. I drive up the hill using every bit of strength in my legs while pumping my arms. Passing other runners who are unable to defeat the hill, I reach the top and continue onward.
I stand in front of the door shuffling in my shoes. I knock nervously while I wait for an answer. A woman calmly tells me to come in. The woman explains what she will be doing with me for the next few years. She starts by asking questions about pictures and what they mean. I come to this room with this woman to learn how to speak and process information of words and actions. I am learning slowly at first, but when time passes, I am able to have complete conversations with others and actually know what teachers are trying to teach me. I was able to accomplish any goal I put my mind to. This wonderful feeling I wanted more of and I decided to combine it with a talent of mine: running.
I am about less than one mile to the finish. My pace is starting to slow down. My body is now screaming at me, telling me that it is not worth it. I know these feelings and thoughts will not bring me to the finish line. To stop myself from listening to the persuasive voice of failure, I throw down a surge and I pass a couple of runners. I can see the finish line in the distance. The other runners are gaining speed with me following. I give the last 400 meters all that I have left and a little more. I pass by runner after runner while my legs jerk out madly behind me. I lunge over the finish line with one last breath. In front of me is my best friend with a broad smile on his face: "Amazing finish! You got a new personal record by 50 seconds!"
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