My chest heaves, beads of sweat roll off my forehead, my lungs gasp ... I love to run. Running is not so much a passion as it is a yearning. It's a painful, disgusting sport almost entirely devoid of any glory or gratification, yet peaceful and satisfying. My body aches after a good race or a long day at practice, but for some reason I can never pass up an opportunity to sprint those one hundred meters of fury I crave so much. I'm not the best runner; I'm nothing more than a mediocre, partially decorated team member, bu ...view middle of the document...
Sometimes I hate track and just want to stop running ... but I can't. I refuse to give up on something so important, so real. Running is my release from all the pressures and conformist ideals placed upon me. When I'm on the track, I don't have to answer questions; I don't have to live up to any scholarly expectations or be the perfect son. I concentrate everything negative into one focal point and just run ... and that is why I do it.I joined the track team during the spring of my sophomore year. At first I was unsure about which event I would enjoy or be most successful at, but I found my niche. I run the 100 meters, the shortest and quite possibly most intense race. I have dedicated myself to improving my performance every time I step on the track, and the most effective way is always to keep my eye on the finish line. I push my mind, body and soul to the limit in a never-ending struggle for self-improvement, ignoring other competitors. If I come in last, but still manage to shave one tenth of a second off my time, I consider my effort a success. Although I've only been on the track team for a few years, I've been running all my life. I don't run away from my problems, but always toward my goals.
