Personal Narrative-The Guilty Of Persecution

After the end of a JV football season, the varsity coach always selects a few players to move them up with the varsity. Getting moved up with varsity is a huge deal. It means that the varsity coach thinks you’ll make a good impact on the team next year and sees potential in you. I always knew I wasn 't a good football player, but that didn 't matter to me because I loved the sport. I didn 't start at any positions my freshman or sophomore year. In fact I barely even got in with practice squad at practice, I was small and my body just wasn 't fit enough for me to play any position. At the end of my second JV season in tenth grade, the varsity coach came and talked to us and called out the names of who he wanted to move up. I knew my name wasn’t going to be called but I was still

Running onto the field, I can 't believe we won it - the High School Girls ' Rugby Championship. We all celebrate our exciting moment of victory, but months later the tryouts for the summer travel team would happen. The fun-filled first day was also nerve-wracking, but we all have each other like a family. Then, the next day of tryouts with starting sprints and stretching. Next, the contact portion - tackling with passing - came upon us faster than we thought. The first times through the drill went well, but it’s finally my turn after waiting in line. I run with the ball, get tackled, and wait for my teammate to catch my pass so I could return to the line. SMACK! My teammate 's knee slams into my head leaving me dizzy and with a headache. My AP U.S. History exam came the next week with headaches and faulty doctor’s exams.

The day I had been waiting for for so long had finally arrived; the first day of the high school lacrosse season was finally here. That day was the day I needed to prove to my coaches that I deserved to be on the varsity team after not making it at tryouts. That day was a scrimmage at High Velocity, we were scheduled to play four games all in one day, against Saline, Okemos, Brighton, and Belleville.

This was also the first time I felt my heart had it’s own mind. My heart was saying ”Jump out of Mikayla and go back home…She’s crazy!” Back to reality…there was no turning back once all of the girls from each team lined up on the starting line. I remember telling myself that as long as I didn’t get last place I could possibly be considered a decent runner. Powwwww…the gun goes off and all I could hear was the echoes of feet hitting the ground. I continuously told myself to continue to running no matter what. It was only the first mile when I realized, I was the female coming into last place. All I could think of was to head into the woods to cry. It was there where I began asking myself “Why did I sign me up for this sport?” That day I did come in last place along with the pity clap for

My summer went as planned. Working very hard to achieve my goal of making the best team I could. Being smaller than everyone else, I knew I had to set my standards higher and work harder than everyone else to keep up. I became obsessed. There was always something about that crunch on the ice when I took that step into my cross-over, the speed of the game, the intensity, and the gift of being able to play alongside 20 of my brothers to achieve the common goal of doing something bigger than all of us. I opened that heavy entrance door for the ice rink and immediately felt that rush of eagerness to lace up the skates. With this in mind, I took a step onto that ice and my tryout debut was incredible. I was ecstatic feeling that all my hard work was starting

I have been playing soccer since before I could even walk. In fact, I joined my first soccer team at the age of five. Soccer is something I have always loved and been passionate about. When I was on the co-ed recreation league teams I was one of the only girls on my team, so I had to compete with boys who doubted me and thought I was weak. I worked hard during practice and out of practice to become better and, eventually, I became more aggressive than them. My eighth-grade year, I tried out for the school’s co-ed soccer team and was confident that I would make the team. During the three hard days of try-outs, I pushed myself to improve each day and received several compliments from the coaches. On the last day, the head coach pulled me aside to tell me

In my dazed state I was harshly awoken by a yank of my arm almost out of socket as I was pulled up. I searched for a comforting gaze from a teammate or coach something to reassure my fantasy that this was not my fault, but rather as looked at my coach my gut wrenched with disappointment as his disapproving scowl pierced my heart. I realized that this play would be my last that season, and I had forever marked my performance with a brand of failure. While on the sideline, the faces of coaches, players, and my parents occupied my thoughts and altered my reality. However as this final judgement on my performance was handed down, the cause for my failure was that I prepared for only what I anticipated. This myopic assessment of my game plan caused me to freeze with anxiety as my situation changed. I betrayed the very core of man’s survival nature that had carried him through the overwhelming trials of existence to that day and that time-adaptability. And as my

I have the standard set of beliefs as most people; don’t do anything illegal or to harm anyone, be a decent person, help those who need it. However, I’ve struggled most with the old adage of “treat others as you want to be treated”. It seemed simple enough to me as a child, and thus I began to do just as the age-old advice said. In most instances I have gotten what I’ve expected in return. My grades reflect my efforts at school, the treatment of me by my sister was indicative of how many names I had called her that day. Yet, there is still one issue that I’ve always wondered about. One could say that my experience in cross country has been far from normal. One year, I was running a thirty-minute 5k, and ranked eighty-sixth on the team. The

Nothing hurts more than being excluded. I learned this the hard way my sophomore year. This is a story about my high school lacrosse team. Most of my friends are on the team so we’ve become very close after playing together since the seventh grade. We play lacrosse in the backyard almost everytime we’re together.

It's the first day of two-a-days, and I was put on the varsity team for middle linebacker. I was not supposed to be on varsity, but since I was at every summer workout and studied the sport for the upcoming season I earned a spot. When we went to start practice I was starting on both defense and offense and I felt unstoppable.Two weeks went by and we had our first scrimmage against the hale center. I

Growing up i've always liked football. The Dallas Cowboys to be exact. My fantasy would to play on the Cowboy’s team, and now that fantasy is coming true.

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? I should have imagined what to do in this scenario, because it was the only one that actually happened.

Ready! Set! Go! As the elder referee fires the flare gun, the runners take off. Among the runners are several serious athletes, including Josiah, who are competing for the "Number One in the Nation" award. A serious award that not only would be a cool looking trophy, but a doorway to new beginnings. Beginnings such as being accepted into college for free, with scholarships, or being the first amputee runner to become the "All American Runner of the Year" award. All of these make Josiah want to come in first place even more, but competing at levels like this may be a challenge, especially for Josiah, the one-legged track star who lost his left leg in a car accident.

“Do I really have to do this?”, I asked my mom as we pulled into the parking lot. The lot was dim compared to the blinding, white lights on the lacrosse field. There were two giant, green fields that were side-by-side, with metal bleachers intersecting them. I pulled my hand-me-down gear out of my car.

Growing up, I spent most of my time playing sports and trying to stay active as much as possible. As I got older, I became more serious with field hockey, and I was determined to make the varsity team my junior year of high school. All summer I spent working on my stick skills on the field, and my endurance in the gym in order to do everything I could to make the varsity squad. When tryouts started in the end of August, I hadn’t performed the way I wanted to, and girls I thought had no chance of making the team, played so well over the three days. However, I was hopeful I still had a shot on the varsity roster. On the last day of tryouts, all fifty of us were to find out what team we had made, or for the few girls, that they were getting cut