Winning a state competition in gymnastics was one of the greatest accomplishments I have ever made. It made me realize why I wanted to do it in the first place. The process was not easy at all. Like they all say, I had to go through the blood,sweat, and tears (especially the tears). If someone had told me a couple a weeks before that I will win the state competition, I would’ve laughed in disbelief. Why?
Well… at the time I was in pretty bad shape for this one event. The balance beam. A four inch wide, thing that was four feet too high above the floor. However, it makes it more exciting right? No. This was the event that caused all my misery and tears. Especially, some certain not-so faithful days. “Stop falling off the beam Nina!” Ms. Melissa yells.
“Okay coach,” I say softly. I take in the a deep breath and swallow a lump in my throat. I push myself up onto the beam. My eyesight is a bit blurry because I was on the brink of crying. I quickly wipe them away. Preparing to start the beam skill again, I slightly raise my right leg off the beam with a pointed toe and my arms raised near both of my ears.
“Wait- as a matter of fact, I want you to come here,” Ms. Melissa demands.
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I try not to make a scene, so I nod and jump off the beam. As soon as my feet smacked the mat, every single pair of my teammates’ eyes were on me. I felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders. I slowly walk over to her. As soon as I get to her, she says “Please do the back walkover against the wall.” I walk several paces from the wall and prepare to do the back-walkover with my back parallel to the wall. “No, I want your side to be parallel to the wall, almost touching it.” I nod. “ Now remember, I said almost, so try not to. This for you learn how to not kick over to the side of the beam and land on it.” I nod again. “Once you’ve made a back- walkover without touching the wall, you can try it on the
After attempting to make contact with the opponent, the fighter immediately follows up with the recovery phase: flexion at the knee, lateral flexion of the spine opposite the aforementioned direction, during a slight rotation of the torso, extension of the hip, and dorsiflexion of the foot. This brings the fighter back into the fighting stance with the opposite leg in the front and is now ready to perform the next strike or counterstrike.
Again I was here to work and be my best. Half way into practice coach asked “who (faces off)”? I raised my hand because why not? We went to the other side of the felid and I watched before I volunteered to (face off). Seemed easy enough for me so I gave it my all.
looking to destroy me and everything I care about. The weight I carry beside me is more than average. There is the darkness slowly coming to consume me into to a life of hell. I have found out that revenge is a satisfying feeling. People very often do things they are not happy with, but I have done something so dark and devious and I have gotten away with it without a trace. Every day I sit here it haunts me, the scarring screams of the man they once called Fortunato. Today of all days especially I have devoted so much thought to my past with the ghost of a man I vowed to avenge. All the events every single one leading up to me trapping Fortunato down in the cold disgusting cellar are on replay in my head, my father never in my life loving me his own son, the people at my school never wanting to except me but the day Fortunato came into my life stealing all the attention and popularity I never had doomed
When we first arrived I’d thought we’d taken a wrong turn and went to a traveling gypsy convention by mistake. The whole field outside the school was filled with tents of various sizes and colors. 200 wrestlers, about thirty of which were girls, filtered about the area. As my soon-to-be teammates and I headed to the first practice, anxiety gnawed at my stomach like a dog with a bone (FL). I wanted to impress everybody, and prove that I could make it in this sport. Before we started, the coach patted me on the shoulder. “I’ve got your back all right.” he told me. I smiled and nodded. At least one person was looking out for me.
When I go to a gymnastics meet and do really good, so I get that 1st place medal or trophy. It feels amazing, I mean the sport gymnastics is competitive and I sure do love competitive sports. The competitiveness gets you that rush of excitement. You feel nervous, but excited to get in there and try your hardest. Kids make better choices and have committed when they have the drawbacks of participating in competitive youth sports.
Fourteen years of my life. Fifty two weeks of my year. Five days of my week. Four hours of my day. This is what I have given to the sport of gymnastics. Friday night football games. After school clubs. Sleeping in on the weekend. This is what I have sacrificed in pursuit of my passion. Perseverance against adversity. Dedication throughout hardships. Discipline in body and mind. These are the qualities this sport has engraved into my being. There is not a time I can remember when I was not involved in gymnastics. When I reflect on the milestones of my life I don’t reminisce on the loss of my first tooth or a move to a new house, but instead I recall my first trip to nationals and mastering my back tuck. Gymnastics is the foundation of who I
After qualifying at regionals in Montrose to go to state I was so happy. When I arrived at state wrestling in Denver I was so excited. I hardly got any sleep that night. I was so ready to enjoy the hard fruits of my labor. I told myself I was not only up here to win state, but I was also there to enjoy myself.
As a child, I have always been fond of reading books. My mother would read to me every single night before I went to bed and sometimes throughout the day. It was the most exciting time of the day when she would open the cabinet, with what seemed to be hundreds of feet tall, of endless books to choose from. When she read to me, I wanted nothing more than to read just like her. Together, we worked on reading every chance we had. Eventually I got better at reading alone and could not put a book down. Instead of playing outside with my brothers during the Summer, I would stay inside in complete silence and just read. I remember going to the library with my mom on Saturdays, and staying the entire day. I looked forward to it each and every week.
I stared at the blinking cursor, unbelieving at what I had just done. I was indeed done; done with a paper I agonized over for 6 hours. The paper was due in a scant 4 hours and I had all week to do it. The radio had stopped working because my brother got on the Internet and thus cut off my connection. That was the least of my problems working on this paper. I got it done, though. My life changed with one trip of a teacher to the chalkboard and one phrase, narrative essay. God, I hate narrative essays.
My hands get clammy and emotions are running wild. When they call my team we all run out frantically and realize there's one last chance with this team, one last chance with this routine, some athletes final shot at the state championship! The lights gleam bright and it is time to do my job and put faith in my team to do the same. Two minutes and thirty seconds go by and that's the end of it all… walking off the mat knowing I did the best I can do and the rest is in the judge's hands. Sitting at awards, waiting desperately as they call each team third, second, and first place goes to Carrollton high school! The drop of my stomach and the tears that ran down my face. I was so shocked all the fame and victory made all the hard work worth
I am awoken to the sound of tree branches hitting the window and a faint ringing in the distance. I slowly get out of bed worried about what is happening beyond my door. I grab my flashlight and quickly head downstairs. I immediately run into the kitchen yelling for someone, but no one answers. I frantically look outside and see the trees swaying and the night sky turning into swirling clusters of clouds. I quickly run into my younger brother’s room and see him shakily holding onto his bed post with tears streaming down his face.
The feeling of the cushiony floor, the big lights beating down and causing beads of sweat to form on my forehead, and the sound of our fans chanting for us somewhere in the abyss of people, got my adrenaline pumping. I think the worst part of competition day is that moment of anticipation, when everybody is quiet and we are waiting for the music to begin so we can show off all our hardwork and dedication. The music starts and we begin our routine. Flipping across the mat, throwing 110 pounds girl to the roof, jumping high, and hitting every motion sharp. Our fans screams of joy as we hit everything perfect keep our adrenaline going, not stopping until the ending pose. By the time the music finished and the routine was over, my heart was pounding, lips were hurting from smiling, and I had beads of sweat dripping all down my face(so much for that make-up). I jumped up and hugged the teammate closest to me and screamed, which could be barely heard from the roaring crowd. We killed that performance! I couldn’t be anymore prouder of the team I am lucky to call mine. We run off the mats, excited about our performance, straight to Tammy who held three pieces of paper, our score
I had never really been a part of a team that had a chance to win something, but the potential was always there. I finally got my chance to be a part of such a team my sophomore year of track. Mr. Jones, the head track coach, had decided to experiment with some different races to gain more team points. Since the girls' team lacked a medley relay, he placed Cindy, Kim, Susan and I in those spots. Cindy would run the 400, Kim would run the 200, and Susan and I would start the race off by each running the 100. We all had worked viciously to earn those spots by running off against our teammates.
Any further thought was cut short as my coach sent another serve rocketing in my direction. This time, I was prepared, as I moved my arm back in preparation to return the serve. The impact was something I have never experienced, my racquet took the brunt of the force, with its strings groaning as they bent around the ball. With a dull thump, the ball sped back over the net towards my coach, a short laugh escaped my lips as I prepared to move forward and assume the attacking position. The clouds that have obscured my perception of tennis were finally gone, the truth dawned on me.
My heart is beating rapidly. I am filled with trepidation. Can I perform? Will I remember my routines? Will I stick the landing? Will I keep my legs straight? What if I fall off the beam? What if I disappoint my coaches? What if I’m not the best? What if…?