Personal Essay
This personal essay was modeled after college essays we've read in class. The emphasis of the essay assignment was to show my personality/ voice in the writing as well as depict my identity in a positive manner.
A World Apart
I figure there would be less suffering in the world, if we were just given a white flag at birth. Living in an endless cycle of training, traveling, and competing in sport, I could have used a break every now and then. From running early in the morning to working in the gym at night, from sitting in a plane for fourteen hours to living in shabby hotel rooms, every moment echoed with the same goal of one day listening to a famous British drinking tune for three minuteswith my hand clutched at my chest.
Elsewhere in the world, my opponents were working much harder. I witnessed the vocation of professional athletes when I was invited to train with the Japanese national fencing team at Tokyo. Their training regime was very thoroughly planned. Everything from hiring a foreign coach to tracking the athlete’s nutrition was aimed at supporting potential champions. I was joined in their facility by the French, Polish, and Russian national teams -- all at the top of the world ranking.
I must have looked quite pitiful -- sitting on a chair and watching the others train. I fenced a few bouts, but most of the athletes were not fond of practicing with a kid. As I was about to get changed, I saw Olympic silver medalist, Yuki Ota, approach in the periphery. His presence was quite intimidating. We fenced to ten points whence I got crushed ten to two.
Still in my sweat drenched clothes, I lay in solitude. I heard the voice of my coach saying, “If you want to be a champion, you have to know what you’re doing and be able to think.” The mistakes I made that day were rerun over and over in my head. What had taken minutes was drawn out to hours and days. I plugged my ears with dull noises from my iPod -- allowing the same song to play and repeat.
Inside, I was numb. A phantom took over my mortal body, driving me into an unreasonable mentality. I lingered in this trance, sustained by evil emotion. To me, the prospect of new experiences did not warrant the burdens that came with failure. I was only happy with performing beyond my capabilities. I knew my best wasn’t good enough. It never occurred to me to reduce my expectations, to acknowledge that I was only fifteen years old -- not ready to compete at this level. I didn’t believe in this kind of shameful surrender.
I, instead, viewed my failure as more of an illusion. The pain was certainly nonfatal and could probably be cured, like any sickness, by sleep. I awoke to a brighter day; the numbness had faded, but the reality of my weakness only sunk deeper. Even when my skills were changing for the better, a growing dread hovered over me that prevented me from smiling.
If I were wise, I might have picked up my toys at this point and gone home. Home being somewhere far removed from the struggles of athletes -- perhaps engaged in some rudimentary problem at school. But there was no escape clause in my book. My dream had enslaved me to its bidding. Every misstep along the way was punished with severe psychological torture.
My first breakthrough occurred at a world cup in Montreal, following a month long losing streak. I was up against the number one seed Polish fencer in the round of 32. He had no clue who I was. During the bout, I competed like a maniac. Harassing him with my footwork, I didn’t give him a chance to develop his attack. And after each point, I yelled my heart out.
In the second half of the match, the Polish fencer regained his focus. He took control of my rhythm and trapped me with well-executed actions. But on his last action, I forced my blade past his defense and hit him in the chest -- winning the bout fifteen to thirteen.
Outside the piste, I glimpsed Yuki Ota watching with a curious expression on his face. I was proud of my victory, but no less surprised. I scanned the Polish athlete’s dull eyes and dejected expression before gently shaking his hand. He reminded me of my own frail self.