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Essays on how anxiety affects sport performance
Essays on how anxiety affects sport performance
Essays on how anxiety affects sport performance
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My breath was steady, but my heart was erratic. I could feel sweat on my brow from the blazing sun. My thoughts too incoherent to hear the official, but I did notice my fellow runners already in their starting blocks. I quickly fell to my knees and pushed my bright orange spikes into the green blocks. I took deep breaths trying to grasp my nerves. My knuckles turned white from pressing them into the track keeping myself steady. All my hard work was being tested, and months of training all came down to one race. “Set!”, the official shouted into the deadly silent stadium. Muscle memory kicked in, and my left leg seemed to have raised at its own accord. I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth visualizing the race in my head. I …show more content…
A churning in my stomach was begging for the race to end, but the hurdle came up fast. My left leg extended over the top and dragged the rest of my body with it. My right leg snapped down to the track again, and I didn't miss a stride. A rush of relief finally circulated through my body. I kept to a rhythm gliding over the hurdles with ease. My strides were starting to weaken, but all my previous practicing had instilled enough discipline to force myself to continue despite my body's attempts to stop. My body lunged forward over the last hurdle, not as effortlessly as before due to my exhausted muscles. My right leg hit the metal barrier that caused my downfall, and I could feel the bruise forming on my shin. Blood oozed from the rough cuts on my palms, and my knees felt permanently damaged. Falling gave my leading competitors the upper hand, and they seized the chance they had been given crossing the finish line. Swallowing my pride I pushed off the ground and crossed the finish line. I could feel a lump in my throat starting to form. The stinging of tears prickled my eyes not only from the devastation of losing but from the pain in my palms and
The many faces of race and ethnicity are such a large and broad subject, It is dominant in my family and my experiences. It was many years before I knew that I was in what would be considered a subordinate group or a minority of a group of people. Race was never discussed in my family. I was never told that I was less or better than another group or race of people. At the ages of eight and nine years old, my sister and I had no idea that when the cashier waited on the European lady who came in behind us first, was being prejudice and discriminatory. We didn’t know for some time, until we were older. It may seem odd but that is it the way it was in our neighborhood which was 99 percent black. There was one White/Native-American family. This family was not treated any differently than anyone else in the neighborhood. All seven of the children from this amalgamated couple, married into the African-American race. Coincidently, I just found out recently that the mother, who recently passed away, of this family was actually an Eskimo. I am not one who likes to stereotype a race or group of people but looking back and
My perception of our world is that racism exists everywhere, even in the land of liberty, America. I am aware of the fact that there is racism against not only blacks, but also whites, Asians, along with people from all other ethnicities. I believe racism is deplorable in any form. Therefore I do my best not to be racist in any way.
The start of the 2002 track season found me concerned with how I would perform. After a disastrous bout with mononucleosis ended my freshmen track season, the fear of failure weighed heavily on my mind. I set a goal for myself in order to maintain focus and to push myself like nothing else would. My goal for my sophomore track season was to become a state champion in the 100 meter hurdles. I worked hard everyday at practice and went the extra mile, like running every Sunday, to be just that much closer to reaching my goal. The thought of standing highest on the podium in the center of the field, surrounded by hundreds of spectators, overcame my thoughts of complaining every time we had a hard workout. When I closed my eyes, I pictured myself waiting in anticipation as other competitors names were called out, one by one, until finally, the booming voice announced over the loudspeaker, "...and in first place, your 2002 100 meter hurdle champion, from Hotchkiss, Connie Dawson." It was visions like these that drove me to work harder everyday.
On your marks get set go! As soon as I heard the ringing of the starting gun I took off, I could hear the wind whip around me as my arms and legs cut through the air. It was my first track meet and I had started it off great, I was in first place and no one could stop me. No one or nothing could stop me, that was the mindset that I had, but later in the race I would soon realize that I was wrong. While I was running I felt my pants slip and when I looked down, my shorts had fallen. At the moment I stopped running and I faced the crowd, I was so embarrassed and all I wanted to do was runaway. I thought about giving up and getting off the track but instead I pulled up my pants and I continued to run. I held unto my pants while I raced to the finish line and I succeeded and still got first place. My only mistake was when I reached the finish line I let go of my shorts and then they fell again.
Going into the first race we had not expected much since Susan and I had never run this type of race. There were so many crucial things that we had to remember. It wasn't just to get out of the blocks and burn up the track; there was a baton involved, a certain amount of steps to take, and even a certain way to hold the baton.
When I was four, I did my first splash-and-dash. Needless to say, my little four year old self adored it. I started to do biathlons more frequently. My school did one every year, a 100 meter swim followed by a half mile run around the soccer fields. I remember this so clearly. It was one of my favorite times of the entire year. I was also a frequent competitor in the ____. One of my most vivid memories about this was the time I got second, to a boy who skipped the second loop of the run. I was devastated because I was so sure I had won, but eventually the boy confessed, and I got that ribbon I wanted oh-so-bad. I was always so excited to get out onto the run course I wouldn’t finish putting my shoes on. I was out onto the course with my heels jutting out of the backs of my shoes.
Before every run, we walk. We get into our teams, line up in neat columns on the one hundred meter start, and stare down the distance between ourselves and the beginning of the race. Every runner is shaking out his limbs and getting the blood flowing, getting the already tense muscles ready to explode at the crack of the starting gun; on this particular morning, everyone is sweating under the sun’s cruel glare. Each of us attempts to amplify that nervous energy that runs through every bulging artery, every electrified synapse, and transform it into pure unbridled power. Lined up in our squads of four, we are like a hoplite of ancient warriors, each one willing to sacrifice himself for his team, ready to go down in a blaze of glory.
Once on the track, waiting to display her talents, the runner glances around, only to notice hundreds of people eyeing every move she makes. If she errs, not only will the runner be aware, the whole stadium will likely react, roaring with disapproval or disbelief. Although the people may be disappointed in the lackluster performance of the runner, the thoughts swarming through her head makes her question her ability as a confident individual. The pressure that weighs on the shoulders of countless runners may be self-inflicted, but this immense amount of pressure also leads to a forceful drive to be the
Sitting at my desk, I eagerly looked at my apple coloring sheet. It had a giant letter A in the top right corner and APPLE written across the bottom. I could not wait to color it. I slid my red crayon out of the box and began coloring. As I proudly finished coloring the red, I felt a tug on the back of my head. I ignored it, maybe he wouldn’t do it again if I pretended it didn’t bother me. I reached for my box of crayons and he pulled my hair again. This time it hurt more. I whipped my head around and whispered, “Could you please not do that? It hurts.” Then I turned forward. I thought to myself, “That’s strike one.” I returned the red crayon to the box and took the brown one out. Then it happened again, a sharp pull this time. Annoyed, I turned
TROY I sat in a hot, stuffy school bus filled with nervous middle school kids. It was a Saturday morning around 8 am. I was sitting next to my friend Adam, he was on his phone probably texting about the huge meet that was about to happen. It was a cross country meet and there was supposed to be over sixty schools participating in it.
Finally, following what seemed like an eternity, Friday arrived. After dwelling on the race, I had butterflies the size of pelicans waiting for the opportunity to take me away. While running a warm-up lap, I realized I had let my tension get the best of me. My leg muscles felt like rocks. All you need to do is focus and put things in place. Just then, coach tapped me on the shoulder. He had been informed that I had the third fastest time in my heat, and I would be running in lane five. "Run the best race of your life, and you have a great chance at going to state," he said. I was relieved to know I only needed to recover one place to advance. My fears slowly and gently began to subside, and my confidence started to build. While I was engrossed in my wind sprints, I heard, "Second call, all 100-meter low hurdles.
Summiting the infamous Spark Hill, I hear the heavy breathing of four runners and the grinding of loose gravel beneath aching legs. As the course levels and veers left between the boys and girls dorms, I accelerate into the lead. Not one hundred meters later, I question my bold strategy. With still over a mile to go, my body tells me that it’s feeling a lot of pain. I decide to push even harder, for this pain is nothing compared to the pain that woke me up one night during spring break my Junior Year.
Running hurdles has proved to be one of my greatest passions in life. I love the fear, unpredictability, and brief feeling of flying over the hurdles, just barely hovering over the top of each one. Most importantly, I am infatuated with the feeling after each race: my heart beating intensely in my chest and the feeling of relief and accomplishment washing over me. Although I cannot say running hurdles has been the greatest adversity I have faced in life, I have found that my life has always been like a race, running from one hurdle to the next, always having to figure out how to get up after each fall or to overcome each obstacle in front of me.
As my tense muscles spring into action, the race starts with hordes of people crowded around cheering. But you don’t notice all the people as you start a race, when you start a race all you can think is……. “This is gonna suck”. And why wouldn’t it? Most people when they start a race, that’s what goes through their head along with how much they wish they weren't doing this.
... had found my vocation: sprinting. Entering my sophomore year I found myself replacing an injured runner on the varsity 4x100m. After showing marked improvement all season long I hit a hurdle that prevented me from bettering previous times; had torn my left quadriceps. Remembering my commitment to my teammates I limped through the wind and rain to practice daily. All my hard work had led me to the the starting line of a regional qualifying race; where my team would ascertain whether or not we would qualify for states. 43.72 seconds and a personal best later, we qualified for the state meet, something I never would have believed possible. Sadly, I had to defer my spot because after running on my injured leg for so long I could barely walk much less sprint. Injuring my leg taught me that even when life gets tough I have the determination to finish what I start.