“Alright, you guys have run the course before. You 've all trained hard throughout the whole month for this. For many of you, this will be your last race this season, so make it count!” Coach Guzmán announced during a whole team huddle behind the Sports Pavilion and next to the track at Tustin High School. This was the day before the race, the Empire League Finals, which determines which schools will move on to the CIF Southern Section Preliminaries, the Cross Country equivalent of the quarterfinals in other sports. Today’s practice was two grass loops, going around the baseball fields from the Concessions building to the bleachers and back to the Concessions for more or to stop. Compared to the runs we have done out in the community, grass loops are the easiest our practice will get.
Today is the race, but we still have our classes, as this is on a Wednesday, and to be precise, October 28th, 2015. We’re departing at 12:30 p.m. during fifth period, but we leave our class earlier at 12:15, only five minutes after class begins, to head to the locker room, change, and buy lunch. It is fifth period now, and fellow classmates and teammates Sebastian, Jonathan and I are anxiously waiting for the five minutes to pass. We are in room 421, Mr. Rice’s, sitting in the back corner table next to the door, where Sebastian and I are
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The race that I am running in is the Boy’s Frosh-Soph at 3:30, which means we are warming up now. Following a much longer than usual warm up run around the park, although I was comfortable with it, our group sat in a circle and went through our stretches. A few senior runners came into the circle for speeches, including an attempt at a motivational speech, and a campaign “vote for me” speech for Homecoming Queen. As soon as we finished our stretches, we walked over to the starting line, where we did additional stretches such as high-knees, butt kicks, and strides. Completing the additional stretches, we were ready to
“Ivan staggered a few yard, then stopped at the stone wall that surrounded his house, and bent over. A swell of nausea rose from his gut. His diaphragm jerked tight, and he vomited. Good Run. Damn Good Run.”
I didn’t even know what cross country is before I came to this school. And by the end of the season, I was one of the best runners in the team. This transition didn 't come from nowhere. I was literally the slowest person in the whole team(including girls) when the season began. And I remembered what one of the girls in the team told me: Kenny, just go join another activity, there is not chance for you to make the APAC team.
Making it to the national high school rodeo finals is something I will never forget. Nationals is the biggest youth rodeo in the world and is made up of over 1,500 contestants. Each contestant competes in 2 rounds and possibly a short round depending on how well they do. Making nationals had always been a dream of mine and last year I achieved that. I made it in the cutting horse division and to do
The situation that I will be talking about in this multi-media rhetorical narrative is what I learned from my last track meet. Going into the end of the season of my senior year, I was ranked in the top 10 for discus throwers in the state. When the state meet came I was expected to come in fourth place or better. That meet turned out to be one of my worst meets of the year and I performed much worse than expected. As a result, I did not qualify for the regional meet and my season was over.
I had spent months training for those 20 minutes. I prepared for every possible thing that could have gone sour during those fleeting moments that would determine how my freshman season would end. If the start was too slow I would gradually speed up after mile one. If my hip injury worsened mid-race I would alter my stride to avoid pain. What about if I completely fell apart one mile in?
Though the physical pain of running had never vanished, the sport eventually became more than a way of dealing with my past scars. When the coach resigned, I wanted and needed to keep the club afloat. Scheduling the meets, running the team practices, and motivating my fellow peers, I became responsible for the success or failure of the club. My ambition was to create and foster an environment in which my peers could also benefit from the discipline of track. As I took on this role, I realized it wasn’t so easy.
There we were, in Houston Texas, Dejah, Aniya, and I were warming up, practicing handoffs in tent city. We had made it to the Houston Texas AAU National Junior Olympics. It was No Limits Track Club’s second to last day on our eight day trip. It was the most competitive day of them all. It was time for the four by one hundred meter relay.
I grew up in a rodeo family, my parents did it, my grandparents did it, even my great grandparents did it. I have been on a horse, well, since before I was born. I have had a rope in my hand since I knew how to walk. I even won my first buckle when I was three, my first saddle when I was five, and won a trailer when I was eight. I was the best around.
As I ran across the finish line for the last time I could not help but smile; all the memories and lessons learned from my years on cross country and track flashed before my eyes. Salem Cross Country and Track has impacted and shaped me into a leader, friend, daughter, and student. The competition and friendship I found on the cross country and track team is amazing and has aided me in personal growth. The challenge of running is something that I have learned to cherish the most during my years as a high schooler as it taught me to always work hard.
In March of 1993, there was a NASCAR race in Atlanta in which my dad and four of his friends decided to take a road trip to. The weather predicted for the race was supposed to be cold and rainy. My dad was the kind of person to prepare for anything, so he took gear for rain and cold weather. My dad, pulling a pop up camper behind his Chevy Silverado, met his four friends in Chattanooga. They finally got to Atlanta, where they set up in the middle green of the raceway.
Despite the newspapers and previews saying we would not contend for the state title that year, I kept in my head that anything could happen. Going into the year I told our team “lets focus on what we can do to improve, and not worry about anyone else”. At the beginning, other teams were too strong for our inexperienced runners to compete with, but we didn’t change the focus. Practice after practice, I made sure we were doing everything we could to be at our best for the end of the year. I didn’t care what other teams were doing because we had no control over that.
The course was muddy and slippery and damp. I knew that the last runners who were going qualify to state were going to run a nineteen-minute race. While other teams were practicing and warming up, my team was playing in the playground. From what I’ve been through this week, I know I wasn’t going to make it to state, but I still wanted to know how close I would be .The teams were called to the starting line and I was nervous.
One incident I can recount when I experienced failure was when I joined Cross Country. Since, I can remember I have always excelled at everything I did, from my academics to dance class to music lessons. When I entered into my freshman year of high school, I decided I would to join an athletic team in order to keep myself occupied outside of academics. I figured joining a sport would be another good attribute to add to my resume.
Soldier Hollow Mountain Bike Race Clean cassettes, sharp shifting, the ride ruinning smooth, the bikes awaited their finale: Solider Hollow. The month up to this race was the most stressful by far. Races every weekend, along with training in the week, it was a tough 30 days.
My passion for track and field began with a Nike advertisement. At age ten, I opened the newspaper to a two-page spread of the hometown distance running legend Steve Prefontaine overlaid by a paragraph of inspirational copy. It concluded asking, “Where is the Next Pre?” The story of his small town Oregon roots, gutsy racing style, and ambition to be the best resonated with me like nothing ever had before. I told myself I was the next Pre, and then tore off for my first run through the streets of Eugene, Oregon – “Tracktown USA”.