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 BITTERSWEET BY ADRIANA RAYBOULD, JOHN F KENNEDY MEMORIAL HIGH SCHOOL, BURIEN, WASHINGTON.

 


It began when I was young; days of running around the track with not a care in the world, yet wishing that people would somehow agree to design every track with a smaller circumference for the sake of all humanity.

The sport of track and field, for me, has always been a challenge. It is a struggle, yet it can also lead to personal victory and success. To me, it is the greatest test of individual motivation and because of it, I have learned so much. From reflecting on my personal experiences, I have learned to grow and change, taking with me microscopic lessons that permeate from such a simple sport into my life. It is easy to see where hardships have appeared and I have learned because the sport of track and field, for me, has always been bittersweet, but I wouldn’t change it for the world.


Bittersweet Lesson Number One: Don’t try too hard!

The year was 2008, and it wasn’t even a league, district, or state meet, but I had placed first in every meet before this so I was sure this meet would be fine. Every sprinter lined up on the 100 meter starting line, the gun fired, and we all started sprinting. About half way down the track, however; I could hear that I was neck-and-neck with the runner next to me. We struggled until we each leaned to cross the finish line, each fighting so hard to win, but I leaned too hard and ended up falling and skidding on the turf, ramming my spikes into my leg."At least it looked cool..", I thought to myself as my coach bandaged my leg up."Did I win?", I asked, confused and exhausted. With a slight smile on his face, my coach patted me on the back, and we both walked back to the stands. My leg is fine now, but I still have the scars of over determination, both mentally and physically, learning that I came in second to my rival by one-hundredth of a second.
...I said they should have just rounded her time down and I'd settle...


 

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Bittersweet Lesson Number Two: Do not consume nachos before a Hershey’s track meet.

The year was 2003 in Wenatchee, Washington. The air was a scorching 105 degrees the shade, the sun was blazing, and my friend and I were ravenously starving before the races we were scheduled to run through the Hershey's Track and Field program. Our personal trainer, Coach Allen, took us to the nearest town center so we could buy some "sprintin’ food", as he called it. He urged us to buy carbohydrates or some sort of protein, but considering how loosely defined "sprintin’ food" was, my friend and I decided to take full advantage of the situation. Not long after I found myself seated at an Abblebee's ready to order. We ordered one huge plate of nachos with salsa, sour cream, and peppers. After devouring the large plate, we stepped back outside into the blazing sun, realizing that our meet was in about an hour. Staring blankly to the ground, with her eyes wide open, my friend proclaimed that she was in drastic need of some Pepto-Bismol. I seconded that.
 

About an hour later, our races were approaching and Allen was starting to worry, asking why we were just lying face down on the blanket in the stadium’s grass he provided rather than stretching. He urged us to go and prepare, and we did. Our races were called, and we still placed decently, but we both confessed to each other that the whole time we were running, we really just wanted to finish the race as fast as possible so we could have a nice visit to the nearest bathroom.

The lessons of life are learned best through experience, and I feel that I can say the same though my track and field career. Through ridiculous circumstances, delicious yet vengeful nachos, and my own personal struggles with balancing determination with success, I have learned to accept and love the bittersweet sport that track really is and I wouldn't trade it for the world.

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Track and field athletics in the United States dates from the 1860s. The Intercollegiate Association of Amateur Athletes of America, the nation's first national athletic group, held the first collegiate races in 1873, and in 1888 the Amateur Athletic Union (which governed the sport for nearly a century) held its first championships.

Fall Into Glory By Anon Runner.  I passed one girl. I accelerated faster with unbridled passion. I passed another, mentally pumping a fist of victory.

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