I woke up to the shimmering beam of sunlight shining through my bedroom window. Despite the time and the comfort of my warm and snug bed I manage to wake up. Waking up for me is a constant struggle in my life, but this past summer that changed. This summer I learned to love something that I never would have imagined. I learned to love running, nevertheless, running is still a love hate relationship for me. Running is an escape for me and allows me to forget about all my worries and to relax. However, this day was a little different than my usual days of running. This running adventure is one I will never forget. The door screeched closed behind me as I walked out into the scorching July summer heat. I walked unhurriedly to my car taking …show more content…
At this point in time we are now at about 3 miles into our run and about half a mile away from the college. Neither of us have our phones, so they only option we can think of is that I try and carry her on my back. I could carry her on my back with each foot slowly hitting the ground and each leg trembling as I walked. Having to stop every few steps and take a rest, well at least I had to considering I’m the one carrying her on my back. Finally, we reached the end of the sidewalk that led to the gym. I remembered just looking up at the door and puffing out a sigh of relief and exhaustion. Reaching the training room, Miranda hobbled off my back and I let my body fall to the ground, completely sprawled out on the floor with my once light red shirt to now dark red shirt on. That beautiful hot summer day when I woke up I pictured my run to be the same as it always is, run three miles with Miranda and be dead when were done. Although we thought we were going to be mauled by a dog and Miranda basically broke her ankle, that run was one of the best runs because it was different and now we have a great story to tell. Our running adventure was very unusual than most and definitely was not as we planned, but I was glad I could experience it with my best friend. I know that both Miranda and I will remember that run
Sports are not for everyone. I tried a variety of sports throughout my childhood but I was never really athlete material. I am as slow as a turtle and I have little to no hand-eye coordination, but I gave each sport a try. It was truly a shock when I decided to run cross-country since I had no speed whatsoever.
Not only have I had a great experience with running, but it has also taught me many valuable lessons
With amenities such as cars and buses, I have no pragmatic reason to use my feet, especially if I lack a destination. I do not run to the gym to acquire a stylish figure, for my slender frame does not require it. And this grueling run differs from a relaxing jog to a coffee shop. I am pushing myself constantly to run faster and farther, for my team as well as for personal glory. Somehow with tireless effort and unflagging commitment, I run through the sleeping streets of my neighborhood with the awareness that I am steadily reaching my goal-maintaining the discipline that cross-country demands. In my mind I see a victory line that symbolizes the results of perseverance and hard work. This line makes me realize that ambition and tenacity do not go in vain.
This application would fail to capture the true essence of who I am if I did not delve deeper into my relationship with the great sport of running.
With music blaring from tiny earbuds crammed into your ears, you are off. Heading down the road from your house. You have mapped out a two mile loop for yourself, figuring two miles would be plenty hard enough to start with. Every step is pure agony, your muscles, or lack there of, are screaming in protest. Struggling to take each ragged breath, you feel as if your chest is on fire. Pure will power is all that is forcing you forward. This running stuff is harder that you remembered. Only half of a mile has gone by, and you are already seeing stars from lack of oxygen. Suddenly there is the most intense, searing pain in your chest. You start to grab at your shirt, but the blackness is already closing in. Your body falls limp on the s...
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.
His legs were burning and his feet were aching. Every step felt as heavy as stone. Gasping for air, he decided to continue despite his body screaming at him saying otherwise. Kevin’s back was covered with sweat. The shirt was sticking to his back as if his back was coated with glue. He thought of why he liked to run; it was his determination and the thread that kept him going. Kevin began to think about the hard work and training he had spent preparing for this race. The training had made him stronger mentally and physically. It was too late to give up after months of hard
That sunny, blue skied day started like any other. Waking up to go to school, pondering if I should stay in bed or get up, I chose to wake up. I went to school and nothing big happened, I had a project that was assigned to me but I did not want to start on it. Then, as the bell right for most kids to go home, I stay after to go do the one thing I love - Track and Field. I have ran Track and Field for four years before interring my junior year of high school, and this year I was told I was not going to be doing my main event because of a freshman who is running it; I was upset.
It was my sophomore year in high-school, and I was frantically awaiting the start of track and field season. Cross country ended about two months prior and since then training has been under way. Six days a week of heart-wrenching, sweat inducing, and exhausting runs. All to which would have never prepared me for what laid ahead. It began.
Once the race began, the chant “I can, I can” rippled through my body. It beat through my heart, repeated in my mind, and mirrored in the rhythm of my crutches hitting the soft ground. As the race went on my cast grew heavy and my arms grew weak, but my head did not waiver. On that sweet spring day, my determination and perseverance carried me past the kids who chose to trudge in the back of the pack.
As the hot wind blew over the runners on the start line, I started to jump up and down in preparation for the imminent race. We were at the first cross country meet of my junior year, and nerves were abundant. I readied myself at the start line and I began considering my success in past years. The first two years of high school passed quickly, and I tried to recall the rapid improvement I experienced. The coming year was different; with other commitments to consider, I was worried my running career would suffer.
My adventure began when my friends and I had to spring to life every morning at 5:30 and swim to achieve the endurance necessary to last during the mile swim. We would wake up and walk about half a mile to get to the swimming lake. The lifeguards watched us swim different lengths, swimming longer and longer each morning. We were not the only ones swimming the mile, as there were about fourteen people swimming, six of which I knew. There were four practice days and then on day 5 was the Mile Swim.
Haruki Murakami’s What I Talk About When I Talk About Running is a detailed memoir that describes his struggles with running and his life experiences of becoming a novelist. He presents his experience of his life as a runner in an honest and simplistic way that is enjoyable for the reader. The book is a kind of part running journal and part memoir. Throughout the memoir Murakami presents his experience as a developing novelist, along with his escapades as a nightclub entrepreneur, all within the construct of his daily run. The book should be appealing to runners, but can also be taken as a testament to a way of life that others can learn from.
Running is my sport. I’ve made so many memories with my friends and team. One of my favorites is our trip to Coach Corry’s cabin. Every year we travel up the mountain and run together until we reach his cabin. But this year was memorable for several reasons; my friends, the rain, our team captains, and my coach.
The miles increased each week and before I knew it, the last long run before the marathon was only twenty miles. Then came the marathon, 26.2 miles of runners’ high, pain, agony, and unstable weather.