Personal Narrative On Track

It was a sunny bright Friday afternoon and I was at school. I knew today was going to be the day, the day I get my new bike. After school my dad picked me up and drove home, so I can change out of my uniform and grab something to eat. I remembered my stomach feeling strange, I was so excited getting my new bike that I couldn't even eat. We went back in the car to go to Kmart. Even though Kmart was only like five minutes, it felt like I was in the car forever. I remember I was thinking of all the features my new bike was going to have.

He knew it was going to be a no excuses to lose to weather and it was going to be a good day for fans to watch football tonight. He had met with Kyle Cannon who was the quarterback for the team and a running back on the team named Dion Gordon;

When I started track and middle I never knew what track was or how it even worked but I needed a sport that I could do. Even though I would have people from my middle school who would try to discourage me from running and even call me slow and the process but I continue to go through with track. But those people that talk and say they were going stay and track but didn't and I stayed and continue running and learn how to use the words they called to me to discourage to fuel my running to where I was winning medals and showing it in school. Then between eight grade to tenth grade I begin to have problem with my hip and which cause me to slow my time down but I still stayed in the sport. Even switching from different high school was tiring

There I was on the block next to the High Bar. It was about 5:00 at night when my coach told me to do a Kip. As I got up on the bar my nose filled with the smell of chalk. I started to swing, and as I came out of my half turn I looked good. Everything seemed fine but as I came to the part of the Kip where I have to pull my legs up to the bar, I slammed my shins into the bar. My momentum was stopped and I dropped on to the mat, missing the Kip. I felt like I had let down my coach and I had let down myself too. That day I experienced failure. That failure made me want my Kip even more so I worked harder and had support from my teammates.

When I was in seventh grade I fell in love. Not with a person, but a sport. I fell in love with track. I enjoyed the workouts, the races, the team, the events, the meets, but most of all I had found a passion for sprinting. I worked everyday during practice to prepare for the meets. I pushed myself as hard as I could and never gave up. I couldn’t get enough of it. I was mad for the feeling of your lungs bursting for air and your legs burning with pain. The long, exhausting workouts, the freezing practices, and the crazy memories you can make. There was nothing about it that I found unlikeable. Track was consuming my thoughts, I couldn’t stop. I was in love with it in every single way.

I was thinking if I should go straight or turn right onto the track when I was leaving school one miserable day. I had made my decision to go right because I would get less wet. So I walked home on the long deserted track when I saw Barry Bagsley and his little puppets Doug and Danny playing catch with a little Moorefield primary boy. I kept walking down the track thinking that I could just avoid them by running fast through them. As I got closer I realised that they were grabbing the contents of within his bag and throwing it everywhere. I felt like I had to help out the little guy but at the same time it felt so wrong to go down and come into contact with my foe.

Hi iam Edgardo Flores i was born in casa grande, az not that far away from our state capital,Phoenix, Az.theres nothing better to do in a hot summer than going out with the friends to a lake and have a blast riding jet skis boats and my favorite, swimming!My activites of the day are shooting,riding horses,and my favorite one is quad riding.Thats right! ive been doing these fun exciting hobbies since i was 9 years old.pretty young huh?

As the sun’s nutritious rays fuel my body; sweat races down my back and accumulates into the threads of my cotton t-shirt. I peer over my neighborhood park fence and gaze over the spacious scenery. The track field was well in shape, free of small debris and ready for a test run and light jump activities in the sand-pit. Soon enough the high temperature fills my head, leaving me in a state of allusion. Images of my friends and I sporadically unfold in front of me and unto the track; as if being placed in a desert mirage. I feel a sense of peace and eagerness surge through my body, while the images continue to appear. Then, a whisper comes into the mix saying some sort of gibberish. Stepping a bit more cautiously then I regularly would I walked

I like to beat the rush for lines and do not prefer being late, but

She carries symbolic bracelets and tangled up headphones and torn playbills. She carries crumpled sheet music, a highlighted play script, a rusty gun and holster, an old calculator, worn out journals for writing fragmented lyrics, passionate feelings, unforgotten memories, and so much more. Twice or three times a week she carries packets of law and a lunch that was packed that morning. She carries a water bottle that is always half empty, or much like herself, half full, depending on how you see it. Wyatt carries the priceless shark tooth necklace she gave him, locked away somewhere unknown. Hannah carries the cheap but meaningful books that she gave her, unread but still valued. Her mother carries the candy she gave her, hard but sweet, a reflection of her soul. Something they all carried in common, was that they all carried something that was given; taking turns, they carried pieces of her shattered heart.

On a warm, sunny Texas afternoon I walked through the Southlake strip mall. In the air a pungent odor danced around me. My hand went immediately to my nose, to block out the smell. The sun’s heat came glaring down at me as I shielded my hands in front of my face to keep the ray of light from hurting my sensitive eyes. The clouds seemed to dance across the vibrant blue sky. The pounding of my feet echoed across the

I hear noises coming from my room, I walk upstairs and see that the door is closed, I peer in, “I don’t know where Donnie is my lord”, Sarah talks into a silver flip up transmitter, “find him, I need him alive” Bob says angrily. I shut the door, but it made a loud sound, Sarah looks over and thinks, oh no, my cover is blown. I walk out to the backyard and stand facing the back fence looking out onto the ocean, thinking how did I miss that she is a cleaner? A few minutes later Sarah comes out and stands next to me, “you had me going when you told me about your dream yesterday” I said, “How can I trust you now?” I continue. “Yes it’s true, I am a cleaner” she admits, “I was going to tell you, I swear Donnie”, “when? Right before you kill me” I asked. “The truth is, I don’t want to be a cleaner anymore, I hate it” she starts to tear up, “and then I met you, and thought my life could be different”, “and I’m supposed to believe that?” I asked, “yes” she answers, I look deep into her eyes and see no trace that she is lying “yes it’s true I was supposed to bring you back to Og to be killed, but I fell in love with you the moment I say you”.

I was not an intentionally bigoted twelve-year-old. I was raised in an affluent suburban community where the vast majority of people are white. The 100% white private nursery school which I attended was chosen by my parents largely due to its proximity to our home. My public elementary school was about 70% white as it was populated with students who resided nearby. Finally, the private middle school which I attended, located almost an hour from my home, provided me with exposure to the most diverse student body of my youth as it was comprised of about 65% Caucasian children. What each of these formative academic experiences shared in common was both that their student bodies were disproportionately Caucasian, as well as that their senior administrators

If you were to ask me why I love running the hurdles you would probably expect to hear this long story about this life changing event that happened to me which made me love running, but that’s not the case. In high school I was on the shuttle hurdle team, I wasn’t the best nor the worst, but I was the most motivated. Everyday I went to practice and pushed myself to the point were my coach would make me stop. I wasn’t motivated to be the best nor to win every race. I was motivated by the thought of going to state or even winning state.

Some nights when sleep is evading me, I lay in bed I think about my past. I often dwell on little things and exaggerate the stories in which they happened; however, a single instance captures my attention. Feelings of disappointment and regret drown my thoughts every time this painful memory comes to mind, and my life has been greatly altered because of it.