As a little girl, I was always athletic. I used to play outside with my brother and his friends. We always had street races, played basketball, and sometimes I even played football. In elementary school I won several awards. My athleticism and prowess allowed me to become not only the fastest female sprinter, but also the furthest jumper. Unfortunately, when I got to middle school I was not able to do any extracurricular activities until my 7th grade year. In 7th grade, I started cheering, and when the season ended many of my friends decided to try out for the track team. Although I was very athletic, I was never interested in running track. With tryouts quickly approaching, I knew I needed to decide. My friends would not give me a break they even went as far as asking my mom to make me join the track team. So I decided to try out. I walked outside on a warm autumn day, the sun beamed down with heat against my back, I stepped on the track. The ashy concrete was gray and I could feel the gravel beneath my feet as I joined the other runners and got ready to start the race. The gun went off like a rocket and I shot down the track like a bullet. After the race I waited on the results to see whether I made the team or not. I felt butterflies rush through my stomach and a tingling chill rush through my spine. When my coach approached the group of nervous girls with the results, I got even more anxious. When she called my name I leaped with excitement. As the season progressed my talents began to form into something my coaches thought was extraordinary. My mom was very proud of me and she supported me throughout the season, but when she got me a personal trainer, it made me not want to run track ever again. Track was one of the hardest sports I have ever participated in. I hated running so much and getting tired so quickly, and because of the extra effort I had to put forth it made me want to quit. When I got to high school my mom blackma