Personal Narrative About A Basketball Game

The day had finally come, the first day of basketball practice. The long, boring school day was over, and I rushed down to the gym. I was just as nervous as I was excited as I entered the big, swinging doors into the cool but humid gym room. As a shy 5th grader who froze up whenever someone other than a close friend or family member even said a single word to them, this was a big step. I decided I wanted to join the basketball team only a couple years earlier, since at the time, I would take midnight walks on cool, starry nights to the little park just down the street to play basketball with my dad, cousin, and little brother. It was fun, so what could go wrong with joining the team? I had no idea what I was in for.

As I sat down with the rest of the team on the rough, scratchy, carpet bleachers for the first time, I couldn’t wait to get started. The gym teacher walked out in front of our talkative, excited faces. As she looked around at all of us, she said, “I’m so glad to see that so many of you joined the team. Being a part of this team is a lot of fun.” She went on to talk about all things basketball related, but all I heard was,

It had been more of a recreational thing for me. To top it all off, I’d needed glasses, so I couldn’t see who had the ball, or even in which direction it was going. I would flip my head from side to side in a desperate attempt to figure out which way I was supposed to be running. I would hear people muttering things like, “What is she doing?” “Kali isn’t even trying.” “Does she even pay attention?” I would walk out of the sweat-smelling gym, absolutely dreading practice the next week. I wanted to quit, but I couldn’t just be labeled as a “quitter.” It wasn’t working out for me at all. I’m sure I was just getting in the way of the team, but I tried to convince myself that as long as I practiced and worked hard, I’d be fine, but I really couldn’t do it. I bit off so much more than I could