The following is an essay-like substance I created in my Creative Writing class and I thought you would enjoy it. My first attempt at essay writing wasn't as successful as I would have hoped, then in class we read an essay-like thing by Sherman Alexie so I patterned something after it:
I don’t know exactly what I’m doing. I’m worn out and tired, but the only thing I want to do is write.
Why I run
I.
As I enter the Olympic track stadium the lights blind me. For at least seven seconds I can’t see clearly, but then my eyes adjust. It’s night time and for an August evening in London it’s perfect weather for a 10,000 meter final. 6.2 miles around a quarter-mile track as fast as I possibly can. This is what I’ve been dreaming about for ten years.
II.
Every passion has its destiny. My life is a gift to me from my Creator.
What I do with my life is my gift back to the Creator.
—Billy Mills, 1964 Olympic 10,000 Meter Gold Medalist
III.
When I was a little kid, maybe two or maybe three, my dad would go running. He would sometimes take me along with him. He would put me on his shoulders and run. I think that’s when it started, although I can’t remember. It was probably recorded in the confines of my subconscious and there a seed of passion was planted that would grow, blossom and bear fruit. One time my dad stepped in a pot-hole while he was running. Both him and I were okay, just a twisted ankle for my dad.
IV.
My dad swims. That’s what he did growing up. He graduated from college. That’s when he began to run. He would go home and run. He would fly, he told me.
V.
Forrest Gump: When I got tired, I slept. When I got hungry, I ate. When I had to go, you know, I went.
Elderly Southern Woman on Park Bench: And so, you just ran?
Forrest Gump: Yeah.
VI.
My grandfather used to box. He told me about this time he almost won a championship, but he lost to this black kid who had a wicked left jab. I’m not sure what a left jab is, but if you have one that’s good.
VII.
A drum makes a sound
When you beat it.
Hands make a sound
When you clap them.
Rain makes a sound
When it hits.
Feet make a sound when they touch
The ground making a beautiful
Rhythm that slows up
And speeds down.
VIII.
Boy Scouts is where I started learning about goals, plans and dreams. One of the requirements for the Sports Merit Badge is to do an individual sport and I chose Track when I was in the seventh grade.
IX.
To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift. You have to wonder at times what you're doing out there. Over the years, I've given myself a thousand reasons to keep running, but it always comes back to where it started. It comes down to self-satisfaction and a sense of achievement.
—Steve Prefontaine, NCAA running champion
X.
Jacob is my younger brother. His times each year have been faster than mine except his senior year, this year. I think he could be great. He’s got bright red hair and he’s stubborn as heck! I think that’s a key to his running success—refusing to lose.
XI.
My father believes in God
And so did my grandfather.
My father believes in God
He said he received an answer.
My father believes in God
He shows it on the outside.
My father believes in God
I can feel it on the inside.
My father believes in God
So
Do
I.
XII.
When I turned fifteen we got a dog. We think it was a Black Lab/Great Dane mix. We named him Triton. I would go running with him and so would my dad. One time my dad wasn’t paying attention and he tripped over Triton. My dad fell down and cut up his hands. When I was 20 years-old I was living in Argentina serving a mission for my church. I went running early one morning and it was dark. I did a workout called a fartlek, a Swedish word for speed-play. The sidewalk wasn’t even and I tripped and fell down and I cut up my hands.
XIII.
Some people create with words or with music or with a brush and paints. I like to make something beautiful when I run. I like to make people stop and say, 'I've never seen anyone run like that before.' It's more than just a race, it's a style. It's doing something better than anyone else. It's being creative.
—Steve Prefontaine
XIV.
One time I ran away. Can’t remember what I did. Arms pumping, legs moving, breathing hard as I ran to a park nearby where I grew up. I hid underneath a picnic table. Lying on the rough cement. Concealed. It wasn’t hot or cold outside, just normal. I beat my dad there. Had he followed me immediately when I left I don’t think he would have caught me, but he would have seen where I hid. I watched him from underneath the picnic table as he arrived angrily. He didn’t see me. I’d never run away before.
XV.
When I was a baby my dad would hold me.
I would cry and my dad
With a twinkle in his eye
Would do the Indian dance
And I would stop.
I’m a dad and my son cries so what I do
Is I take him in my arms,
Then I take this stance
And start to dance.
He stops, sometimes.
XVI.
I’ve tried out for the BYU Cross Country team twice. The first time I was a freshman and I missed making the team by one spot. I tried out again last year, and I was right on the bubble. I think I’ll try out again.
XVII.
After reading “Born to Run” I started running barefoot at parks. You could call me a “park-hopper”. The university’s intramural fields provided a very flat terrain and a perfect three-quarter mile loop free of roots and debris. Saturdays I would wake up sometimes at 4:30 a.m. to be there and running at 5:00. It was summer so it wasn’t too cold, but the ground was. Then I would run for two hours. My feet would get numb sometimes, but I loved it. Lap after lap, pushing my body, breathing hard, legs hurting, lungs burning on a seventeen-mile run barefoot. The crazy thing was that it never got boring. I ran hundreds of miles barefoot and my injuries disappeared. I wouldn’t have believed it either.
XVIII.
When I run I feel like I’m flying.
No comments:
Post a Comment