A noise screeches in my ear as I daze in and out of consciousness. My heavy head slams to the right as my eyes follow slowly behind. I make out three numbers on the screen, 256 BPM. My vision becomes blurry as silhouettes swarm me. There’s a hazy view of two people being rushed out of the room, are those my parents? I feel a sharp jab into my rib cage and my memory fades out.
It was 2009 and it was my third time at my favorite basketball camp, Sly Park. I was finally developing my jump shot, something advanced for a 12-year-old. I would practice over and over during the camp lunch break in the blistering sun of the Placer County hills. I was used to this as my parents always pushed me to work hard. On the Saturday that week, in the middle
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Laying on my back on a gurney looking up, I counted the lights on the ceiling flickering passed me as I was rushed down the hall, “3, 4, 5…” The lights stopped as we burst through a door and into a damp, dark, green tiled room. I am lifted off the gurney and onto a cold, green leather chair. I looked up to see a bright light blinding me and two men in masks hovering over. “Who are you?” I wanted to say it but couldn’t get the words out. They said something in Spanish that I couldn’t understand. One put his hand out as if to give me a high-five, the other forcefully put a clear plastic mask over my mouth and nose and said slowly “cinco”, they motioned for me to join …show more content…
They walked in the Intensive Care Unit wearing just street clothes. They weren’t allowed to see me when I was so contagious, so my parents told them to travel Spain for a few weeks to get their mind off of things. They were both so tan. I even cried at the sight of them. I said “your teeth are so white.” They cried, finally able to see their brother after what seemed to be weeks. It was obvious they were shielded from what was going on with me. Unlike my parents, they were tan and weren’t sleep deprived. They didn’t have to see me in my worst shape like my parents. I wondered if they even knew what I
It was the most competitive three days of my life, basketball tryouts. This is the first time my friends and I were trying out for a school team, we were all hyped for basketball season. I entered the tryout excited and consequently energetic. Adrenaline was pulsing through all the players bodies, there were 6 foot tall 8th graders with years of experience competing against 6th graders who have never touched a basketball before for the same spots. I was in between, I was a 6th grader that had experience along with some skill. That was also my downfall, I went in overconfident and consequently cocky. I wasn’t planning on getting cut, I walked into the tryout overwrought, nothing could stop me from being on the team.
I heard a blood-curdling scream and I jumped. I felt silent tears running down my heavily scarred face, but they weren’t out of sadness. Mostly. They were a mixture of pain and fear. I ran into the eerie, blood-splattered room and screamed as I felt cold fingers grab my neck.
The gym where I practice to win, the YMCA, is a place where I know who I am. It is a place I can go to escape my problems for awhile and release some stress. It is not the actual physical building, but rather the events that have occurred over the years. It is where I have formed some of the closest friendships. It is the place I have invested years of hard work for many of my accomplishments. To some it may seem odd that a place associated with sweat and physical pain can mean so much to one person. However, in my eyes it is almost like a second home.
I woke up to the sound of footsteps and voices pacing back and forth. From what I could establish I was in an industrialized room, which consisted only of a small bed and bathroom. I moved my eyes down and found myself wrapped in blankets. I yanked the blanket off only to discover bandages covering my arms and legs. Where am I? I asked myself. I began to hear keys rattling I shifted my head towards the steel door, as it suddenly opened. A broad, muscular man dressed in a navy officer uniform abruptly said “You’re Ralph, yes?” I instantly felt a strange sense of security hearing a mature voice.
Losing a game is not that bad but losing an entire season is disastrous. It takes a toll on one’s confidence and makes one lose their interest and ability in that certain sport. And that is exactly what happened to me during my eighth grade basketball season.
One flicker of the light and the shadow possessed a bloody machete, with a dead body in his grasp. My body dropped in horror of the grimly image. I peeked below to see where the figure was located. Once the light flickered off and on, the shadowy figure had vanished. I tried to understand the
Basketball seems to get into your blood. It is said by those who play, "You eat, you sleep and you play basketball." When I was a little girl all I wanted to be was a professional basketball player. I couldn't count how many times I pounded that dumb ball in our driveway until it was too dark to see, then I would play for hours more by the porch light. Now I realize that was only childish insanity. Back then they didn’t even have a girls’ profession basketball league in the states. However, that didn't stop me from walking away empty handed. One thing I learned was how to prepare oneself for life. Well, at least, how to prepare oneself for a game.
I awake to lukewarm water dripping down my forehead from a damp towel. I feel a thick liquid against my back. I scan the area, Unfamiliar. I find myself lying in a cot in a filthy room. The sight room itself was depressing, not that it was in extremely bad conditions but it was all…brown, the kind of brown that makes you feel depressed. It reeked of fish and motor oil, one of the queerest combinations of scents I have encountered. My ears start to pick up the deep monotones of a man speaking in other room. In my drowsy state I couldn’t make out exactly what he said but I did manage to g...
My mother and brother were with me, taking it all in themselves. My brother was 10 and not a very serious person. I didn’t think it would affect him very much. My mother was a different story. She was about to lose her last living parent, the one she was close to, and although I couldn’t see it physically, I know her heart broke into billions of pieces at the sight. My grandmother, who had turned 88 less than a month before, was diagnosed with pancreatitis not even a week before and was now going to be taken off life support. Several of her organs had failed already, including her kidneys, so my aunt had been forced to make the hardest decision of her life.
The basketball court is a place, filled with confidence, teamwork, which enhance the ability of the student to their full potential. However, it is filled with a dose of emptiness and at the same time darkness stretched miles across the gym. Although it was seven in the morning, the gym was as quiet as the streets downtown at midnight. Other than darkness and emptiness, the basketball court was filled with high pitch sounds of mosquito flying around. The basketball court was as cold as the the north pole.
Basketball a sport that is played throughout the whole world. When playing this sport all you need is a ball and basket. Though the basket does have to be a certain height kids play it in their classroom or outside. What I mean by this is that kids and even adults in the office treat a trash can as a basket and whatever their trash is as a ball. I got interested in this sport when I was in middle school in eighth grade moving on to high school. I was never interested in basketball until I played it with a group of kids who today are still my friends.
Down two with six seconds to go fatigue had taken it tolls on the players. With little energy left; over time was not an option. I knew I had to go for the win. I walk on the floor confident of my ability that was until the whistle blew quickly turning my confident to butterflies. As I fought to get open I quickly saw the ball coming my way. As I rose for a jump shot time itself began to stay still. An in flesh everything became silent. As I watch the ball leave my hand I envisioned greatness; sure the ball was on its way in I started to celebrate that was until I hear the announcer say my teammate tip in miss shot to win us the game. Mix with emotion I celebrate with my teammate. “Ok guys, we have 24 hours until tip off. Get some rest because this is going to be the biggest game of your life. Let’s bring this championship back to Barton College. Go Bulldogs and Goodnight!” Why few players stay in the lobby to hang out I took it talk upon to work on my game and reflect on the semifinal game that just took place. At basketball games you will notice how there are all sorts of fans attending the game.
Even though I clearly remember all the sanity me and my little family went through. I never wanted them to know their mother just up and disappear on them. I took a deep breath and was about ready to tell them the whole truth. They already knew too much. But right before I could speak, I became suddenly unspoken-less. They gave me this look, not a look of sadness, more like a look of pride and honor. They both huddle close to me and gave me a hug. The words that came from their mouths next. I 'll never forget
Suddenly I awake at the noise of sirens and people yelling my name. Where am I? Those words radiate out my thoughts but never touching my lips. Panic engulfs me, but I am restricted to the stretcher. “Are you ok?” said the paramedic. I am dazed, confused, and barely aware of my surroundings. Again “Yes, I am fine” races from my thoughts down to my mouth, but nothing was heard. Then, there was darkness.
With a slow dawn I remembered. Had I slipped or had he hit me with something? My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth as I relived the figure advancing towards me. It was dark. The street light that shone from behind the man in the faceless thickset man in the grey hoody ensured anonymity. Now he was coming. How long had I been here? My head ached as I struggled to assess my surroundings.