Sometimes, you just have to look back on your life and realize that it's not going to happen again. Your life seems to get faster and you have to make the most of every opportunity.
Sometimes, you just don't get what you want most in life.
And sometimes, you have what you want, but you don't know it.
Last night, after my football team's first victory, I celebrated with some friends. We had a fire and roasted marshmallows in the back yard. Late into the night, I walked them home.
As we were walking, they asked me questions about my adoption. Not uncommon. I was glad to share my history with them. But then they asked me a question that I didn't have an answer for.
"Isaiah, do you ever miss your birth dad?"
I didn't answer right away. But they waited patiently, so I felt that I should give them an answer.
"I never knew my birth dad; he left before I was born." I replied.
We walked in silence after that until we got to their house. Before they turned to go into their house, I quickly added, "To answer your question, every child fantasizes about their parents being something they're not. I don't miss my birth dad. I'm happy with the one I have."
I walked away with my hands in my pockets after they thanked me for walking them home.
I had a lot of time to think.
My answer kept echoing in my head, "I'm happy with the one I have."
If that is true, why do I treat him like I don't want him?
In the back of my head, I know the answer. Because he loves me as if I were his own. As if he were my birth dad. And he would risk his life for me.
And it hurts to know that my own birth dad couldn't do the same. But I'm tired of comparing them.
By birth dad was a jerk. It takes no fantasy to see that. He's just my father. He's not my dad.
My dad. Now there's a man I could live with forever. I act like I hate him, when the truth is, I love him.
He's always there for me when I need him the most.
I love my dad. I always have. He's the opportunity in life that I've missed. I want it back. Now I know it's true, that sometimes you have what you want most in life.
But you just don't know it.
And for once, you have to be glad--to look back on your live and realize that it's not going to happen again.
© 2013 Isaiah P. Henn, all rights reserved.
Copyright notice: All content, including writings, artwork, photographs, or videos, posted on this blog is original to Isaiah Henn and the HennHouse unless otherwise stated and may not be reproduced without permission.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Sunday, September 1, 2013
It starts now
I have never been so excited. In all my life, NOW has left me speechless. My heart pounds at the thought that I, Isaiah Henn, get another shot for my name to be heard.
I've been preparing. Don't doubt me. You'll see it the next time I race. Failure is not an option this year or the next. I work my muscles at football practice, doing squats until I can't. I condition until I'm ready to throw up. I work my core repeatedly.
I do it because it starts now. I can't take a break when my life's goal is so close.
What is my goal? The Olympics.
Rio. Brazil. 2016.
But it starts now. With squats and conditioning and core work. In the gym.
So, I'm going to keep on training. Because it starts now.
Track 2014. I'm coming.
© 2013 Isaiah P. Henn, all rights reserved.
Copyright notice: All content, including writings, artwork, photographs, or videos, posted on this blog is original to Isaiah Henn and the HennHouse unless otherwise stated and may not be reproduced without permission.
I've been preparing. Don't doubt me. You'll see it the next time I race. Failure is not an option this year or the next. I work my muscles at football practice, doing squats until I can't. I condition until I'm ready to throw up. I work my core repeatedly.
I do it because it starts now. I can't take a break when my life's goal is so close.
What is my goal? The Olympics.
Rio. Brazil. 2016.
But it starts now. With squats and conditioning and core work. In the gym.
So, I'm going to keep on training. Because it starts now.
Track 2014. I'm coming.
© 2013 Isaiah P. Henn, all rights reserved.
Copyright notice: All content, including writings, artwork, photographs, or videos, posted on this blog is original to Isaiah Henn and the HennHouse unless otherwise stated and may not be reproduced without permission.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Late Bloomer
According to the laws of my family, I have been pronounced "a late bloomer."
Why, you ask? I will tell you why. "I'm tired of driving. If only you had your driver’s license, Isaiah. I’d let you drive."
Yes, that’s right. I don’t have my license yet. And my mom hasn't let me forget about that either. I'm saving up enough money to pay for driver’s ed. Let's just say that it would be a lot easier for mom and me, if I got my license.
Oh, and another thing, it's really horrifying if I haven't had my first kiss yet.
Mom: So, Isaiah, have you had your first kiss yet?
Me: Uh, no.
Mom: What, why not? I had my first kiss when I was fourteen. When did you have yours, Tim?
Dad: I had my first kiss when I was twelve.
Because that's normal, right?
Me: I am waiting for the right person.
Mom: Well, that's okay because the longer you wait, the more special it will be.
Glad we got that one figured out. Yet, I will always be a late bloomer in the eyes of my sister.
"Hey, Isaiah. Did you know that Micropachycephalosauruses were very tiny?"
I stared at her blankly.
"Esther-Faith, what in the world are Micropachycephalosauruses?"
She gave me an equally striking look.
"They’re dinosaurs, duh!"
Oh. I guess I should have known that.
Well I know my goals for this year. I better start working on them soon. I really need to learn my dinosaurs.
© 2013 Isaiah P. Henn, all rights reserved.
Copyright notice: All content, including writings, artwork, photographs, or videos, posted on this blog is original to Isaiah Henn and the HennHouse unless otherwise stated and may not be reproduced without permission.
Why, you ask? I will tell you why. "I'm tired of driving. If only you had your driver’s license, Isaiah. I’d let you drive."
Yes, that’s right. I don’t have my license yet. And my mom hasn't let me forget about that either. I'm saving up enough money to pay for driver’s ed. Let's just say that it would be a lot easier for mom and me, if I got my license.
Oh, and another thing, it's really horrifying if I haven't had my first kiss yet.
Mom: So, Isaiah, have you had your first kiss yet?
Me: Uh, no.
Mom: What, why not? I had my first kiss when I was fourteen. When did you have yours, Tim?
Dad: I had my first kiss when I was twelve.
Because that's normal, right?
Me: I am waiting for the right person.
Mom: Well, that's okay because the longer you wait, the more special it will be.
Glad we got that one figured out. Yet, I will always be a late bloomer in the eyes of my sister.
"Hey, Isaiah. Did you know that Micropachycephalosauruses were very tiny?"
I stared at her blankly.
"Esther-Faith, what in the world are Micropachycephalosauruses?"
She gave me an equally striking look.
"They’re dinosaurs, duh!"
Oh. I guess I should have known that.
Well I know my goals for this year. I better start working on them soon. I really need to learn my dinosaurs.
© 2013 Isaiah P. Henn, all rights reserved.
Copyright notice: All content, including writings, artwork, photographs, or videos, posted on this blog is original to Isaiah Henn and the HennHouse unless otherwise stated and may not be reproduced without permission.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
The Lonely Kicker
Welcome to my world. The world of sports and conditioning. Where I do track, but excel in a field event. Where I play football.
Football. In the rest of the world, football is played with a ball at your feet. Hence the name. Here in the USA, it's played with your hands.
Unless you're the kicker.
Which I am.
I am a sophomore. This surprises a lot of my teammates due to the fact that I beat every single one of them in kicking.
I am everything, but the punter. And--so I've been told--the future, because I can kick five field goals in a row.
Surprising, since everyone wants to kill me when I miss one and they have to do push-ups.
I don't credit myself as the best kicker at Westland, I just try to get things done when needed.
And it looks like I'll be doing that a lot this year, under the lights, on Friday nights.
My team is still trying to find a back-up kicker in case I get hurt. I just let them try and I often laugh. For two reasons:
1. I don't plan to get hurt since I am the kicker and no one is allowed to tackle me.
2. While everyone else enjoys using their hands, I love to play the right way, with my feet. And unless you play soccer or are the kicker, you wouldn't understand.
© 2013 Isaiah P. Henn, all rights reserved.
Copyright notice: All content, including writings, artwork, photographs, or videos, posted on this blog is original to Isaiah Henn and the HennHouse unless otherwise stated and may not be reproduced without permission.
Football. In the rest of the world, football is played with a ball at your feet. Hence the name. Here in the USA, it's played with your hands.
Unless you're the kicker.
Which I am.
I am a sophomore. This surprises a lot of my teammates due to the fact that I beat every single one of them in kicking.
I am everything, but the punter. And--so I've been told--the future, because I can kick five field goals in a row.
Surprising, since everyone wants to kill me when I miss one and they have to do push-ups.
I don't credit myself as the best kicker at Westland, I just try to get things done when needed.
And it looks like I'll be doing that a lot this year, under the lights, on Friday nights.
My team is still trying to find a back-up kicker in case I get hurt. I just let them try and I often laugh. For two reasons:
1. I don't plan to get hurt since I am the kicker and no one is allowed to tackle me.
2. While everyone else enjoys using their hands, I love to play the right way, with my feet. And unless you play soccer or are the kicker, you wouldn't understand.
© 2013 Isaiah P. Henn, all rights reserved.
Copyright notice: All content, including writings, artwork, photographs, or videos, posted on this blog is original to Isaiah Henn and the HennHouse unless otherwise stated and may not be reproduced without permission.
Monday, July 22, 2013
Finally. A goodbye.
Today, we put my grandpa in the ground. I did. My dad and I knelt on the ground and lowered the small box of ashes into the ground.
I don't even know what to feel or think about that.
It was a four-hour trip to Pennsylvania. My dad drove, battling through the rain that threatened to invite danger.
Finally, we reached our destination. It was a little cemetery, with family buried there. We waited until my grandma, aunt, and cousins arrived.
Reluctantly, I walked over to the grave stones. There, in front of me stood the newest grave stone. Something in me gave.
It was my grandpa's.
It was a year ago, May 8, 2012. My grandpa died in a nursing home with all of us around. I'll never forget it. Or him. He loved me. He never cared about all the problems I gave him. He never cared about my past. He cared about now. That I was his grandson. That is why I never left him without his prayer.
I snapped back to reality when it was time to put the ashes into the ground. No one expected me to do this. To be honest, I was scared.
But I realized that this was the end. His ashes were all that remained in this world. This was the closest I would ever get to feeling his embrace again. No memory or dream would ever change that. He was gone and so was part of my heart.
I wanted to be strong. So strong. The day my grandpa died, I never cried. I saved it all, not wanting to give in.
But it hurt, as it did today. And for the first time, I am at a loss for words.
My sister said it well. She cried because she missed him.
"I don't want to say his name anymore," she sobbed.
My mom asked, "Who?"
Then my sister said, "The one I loved."
With that, the rain poured down.
I don’t know what else to say. It hurts. I hate it, because it controls me.
I guess that's what grief is; it is love's pained departure.
If possible, I would spend one more minute with him.
© 2013 Isaiah P. Henn, all rights reserved.
Copyright notice: All content, including writings, artwork, photographs, or videos, posted on this blog is original to Isaiah Henn and the HennHouse unless otherwise stated and may not be reproduced without permission.
I don't even know what to feel or think about that.
It was a four-hour trip to Pennsylvania. My dad drove, battling through the rain that threatened to invite danger.
Finally, we reached our destination. It was a little cemetery, with family buried there. We waited until my grandma, aunt, and cousins arrived.
Reluctantly, I walked over to the grave stones. There, in front of me stood the newest grave stone. Something in me gave.
It was my grandpa's.
It was a year ago, May 8, 2012. My grandpa died in a nursing home with all of us around. I'll never forget it. Or him. He loved me. He never cared about all the problems I gave him. He never cared about my past. He cared about now. That I was his grandson. That is why I never left him without his prayer.
I snapped back to reality when it was time to put the ashes into the ground. No one expected me to do this. To be honest, I was scared.
But I realized that this was the end. His ashes were all that remained in this world. This was the closest I would ever get to feeling his embrace again. No memory or dream would ever change that. He was gone and so was part of my heart.
I wanted to be strong. So strong. The day my grandpa died, I never cried. I saved it all, not wanting to give in.
But it hurt, as it did today. And for the first time, I am at a loss for words.
My sister said it well. She cried because she missed him.
"I don't want to say his name anymore," she sobbed.
My mom asked, "Who?"
Then my sister said, "The one I loved."
With that, the rain poured down.
I don’t know what else to say. It hurts. I hate it, because it controls me.
I guess that's what grief is; it is love's pained departure.
If possible, I would spend one more minute with him.
© 2013 Isaiah P. Henn, all rights reserved.
Copyright notice: All content, including writings, artwork, photographs, or videos, posted on this blog is original to Isaiah Henn and the HennHouse unless otherwise stated and may not be reproduced without permission.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Love You Forever
Last night, I had a dream. It was a dream. I didn't pretend to believe it was real. I could feel it, and for the first time, I cried.
It was eleven o'clock at night and I had just finished preparing for the following morning. It felt good to be organized, for once. My eyes were heavy as I climbed into bed. Slowly, I fell into a deep sleep.
But while I slept, I learned so much.
In my dream, I was once again an innocent baby. I was in a dark room, scared of what lurked behind the shadowy walls. I cried, but no one answered. I cried again and still no answer. Just when baby Isaiah lost hope, I was in the hands of a woman.
She sang the most beautiful song that I ever heard.
Baby Isaiah instantly stopped crying. I knew that song. I looked into the eyes of the woman. I recognized her: my mom! The one who adopted me, was holding me now.
I woke up with tears on my face. I felt... happy. My mom, my real mom, the one who told me jokes, sang to me and read me books, held me. Then I remembered the song in my dream. It's from the book that my mom read to me when I was little. The book is called Love You Forever. In the book, a baby is born. His mom held him and sang the song from my dream. The boy grows up, and yet the mother still goes into his room every night and sings him the song.
Eventually the boy is a man, and has a child. He sings the song that his mother sang to him.
My mom tries so hard to make me happy. She regrets never being able to rock me. Today, I guess, I wished I had that chance. I wish now, that I had made the most of every day great for her.
I found that book this morning. When I finished reading it, I flipped to the first page. My mom inscribed it to me eight years ago. This is what it said:
My sweet Isaiah-
Sometimes there doesn't need to be any occasion to give a gift when you're giving part of your heart. That's what this book is- a special message to you from me. Just remember that there isn't a single moment of a single day that I don't love you forever. Because I do. I love you forever.
Love Mommy.
May 14, 2005
One day, when I have my first child, I will remember everything my mom did for me. I love you mom, I truly do.
And I'll never forget that you'll love me forever and you'll like me for always. And as long as you're living, I'll always be your baby.
For once, I can't help but feel happy.
© 2013 Isaiah P. Henn, all rights reserved.
Copyright notice: All content, including writings, artwork, photographs, or videos, posted on this blog is original to Isaiah Henn and the HennHouse unless otherwise stated and may not be reproduced without permission.
It was eleven o'clock at night and I had just finished preparing for the following morning. It felt good to be organized, for once. My eyes were heavy as I climbed into bed. Slowly, I fell into a deep sleep.
But while I slept, I learned so much.
In my dream, I was once again an innocent baby. I was in a dark room, scared of what lurked behind the shadowy walls. I cried, but no one answered. I cried again and still no answer. Just when baby Isaiah lost hope, I was in the hands of a woman.
She sang the most beautiful song that I ever heard.
I'll love you forever.
I'll like you for always.
As long as I'm living
My baby you'll be."
Baby Isaiah instantly stopped crying. I knew that song. I looked into the eyes of the woman. I recognized her: my mom! The one who adopted me, was holding me now.
I woke up with tears on my face. I felt... happy. My mom, my real mom, the one who told me jokes, sang to me and read me books, held me. Then I remembered the song in my dream. It's from the book that my mom read to me when I was little. The book is called Love You Forever. In the book, a baby is born. His mom held him and sang the song from my dream. The boy grows up, and yet the mother still goes into his room every night and sings him the song.
Eventually the boy is a man, and has a child. He sings the song that his mother sang to him.
My mom tries so hard to make me happy. She regrets never being able to rock me. Today, I guess, I wished I had that chance. I wish now, that I had made the most of every day great for her.
I found that book this morning. When I finished reading it, I flipped to the first page. My mom inscribed it to me eight years ago. This is what it said:
My sweet Isaiah-
Sometimes there doesn't need to be any occasion to give a gift when you're giving part of your heart. That's what this book is- a special message to you from me. Just remember that there isn't a single moment of a single day that I don't love you forever. Because I do. I love you forever.
Love Mommy.
May 14, 2005
One day, when I have my first child, I will remember everything my mom did for me. I love you mom, I truly do.
And I'll never forget that you'll love me forever and you'll like me for always. And as long as you're living, I'll always be your baby.
For once, I can't help but feel happy.
© 2013 Isaiah P. Henn, all rights reserved.
Copyright notice: All content, including writings, artwork, photographs, or videos, posted on this blog is original to Isaiah Henn and the HennHouse unless otherwise stated and may not be reproduced without permission.
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Painful photos from the past
Today was no different from every other day. I woke up. I ate. I went through the motions. My family went through stacks of papers and binders that were piled in the garage.
My dad left for work, so I brought in boxes and containers with papers inside of them. My mom and I went through the stacks, looking at pictures and adoption material.
There were my dad's work papers and anything else people could dream up.
That's when we ran into my old life's pictures.
In the stack, were pictures of my birth mom, birth sister, old family. On the back of most, there were captions, telling me who each person was. On a few of the pictures, there were letters, to me. I felt as if I had been slapped in the face.
I never wanted to be reminded of my past. But every day I am reminded.
Every day, someone else wants to know what happened to my birth mom, and every day I tell them, I don't know and I don't care.
But today, I was reminded that all my ignorance, was a lie. I do care. Even when I want to hide it. It rips me apart inside, just to know what she did with her life after I left.
I am scared.
Will the answer be good? Do I even truly care? Sometimes I feel guilty. The parents that I have, love me. They do everything they can just for me. And all I think about, is the life that was taken from me.
I am angry.
I should have never looked at those pictures. To think, I will turn 18 next year. I will be an adult. An adult, that gets angry every time he hears his birth mom's name.
I am hurt.
Nothing will ever change that. I can not express my pain. I can only do it in the best place and way I know how: In my home, written in words.
I am torn.
That memories and pictures could so easily inflict wounds.
That is all I have to say.
I won't look to make it right. That won't change what I feel or believe. I only hope that she has changed her life.
And that every memory hurts her as much as it does for me.
© 2013 Isaiah P. Henn, all rights reserved.
Copyright notice: All content, including writings, artwork, photographs, or videos, posted on this blog is original to Isaiah Henn and the HennHouse unless otherwise stated and may not be reproduced without permission.
My dad left for work, so I brought in boxes and containers with papers inside of them. My mom and I went through the stacks, looking at pictures and adoption material.
There were my dad's work papers and anything else people could dream up.
That's when we ran into my old life's pictures.
In the stack, were pictures of my birth mom, birth sister, old family. On the back of most, there were captions, telling me who each person was. On a few of the pictures, there were letters, to me. I felt as if I had been slapped in the face.
I never wanted to be reminded of my past. But every day I am reminded.
Every day, someone else wants to know what happened to my birth mom, and every day I tell them, I don't know and I don't care.
But today, I was reminded that all my ignorance, was a lie. I do care. Even when I want to hide it. It rips me apart inside, just to know what she did with her life after I left.
I am scared.
Will the answer be good? Do I even truly care? Sometimes I feel guilty. The parents that I have, love me. They do everything they can just for me. And all I think about, is the life that was taken from me.
I am angry.
I should have never looked at those pictures. To think, I will turn 18 next year. I will be an adult. An adult, that gets angry every time he hears his birth mom's name.
I am hurt.
Nothing will ever change that. I can not express my pain. I can only do it in the best place and way I know how: In my home, written in words.
I am torn.
That memories and pictures could so easily inflict wounds.
That is all I have to say.
I won't look to make it right. That won't change what I feel or believe. I only hope that she has changed her life.
And that every memory hurts her as much as it does for me.
© 2013 Isaiah P. Henn, all rights reserved.
Copyright notice: All content, including writings, artwork, photographs, or videos, posted on this blog is original to Isaiah Henn and the HennHouse unless otherwise stated and may not be reproduced without permission.
Friday, July 5, 2013
Track season never ends
It can be said that track season never ends. Over the years,
I have come to believe that statement is true. Call it an accident. Call it intervention.
Call it providence. But involvement in the sport that I love is no joke. I don’t
believe in luck. Luck does not win a state championship. When I say that track
season never ends, I really mean that the time I spend preparing yourself does
not change. I prepare the same whether it is training season or competition
season. That is the lesson that I have learned. That I am still learning.
When I learned that my detaching retinas would end my spring
soccer season before it started, I was devastated. I had come from not knowing
anything about soccer to being the leading goal scorer on my team. And I admit,
I had an ego about it. Soccer just seemed too easy for me. That all changed the
day I was told that I would not be playing soccer the next season. Unsure of
what I would do with myself during the spring, my mom suggested track.
Reluctantly, I agreed.
I signed up for track. It was my seventh grade year. There
were no tryouts. No one got cut from the team. Countless people had told me
that I was fast—that speed was my advantage in soccer. It was time to test that
out on the track.
I didn’t miss a single practice. Then, came the day of my
first track meet. We were facing Reynoldsburg middle school. I was very
nervous, not knowing what to expect or what the outcome would be. I learned
that the sprinters ran in heats ordered by ability. Due to my speed, I was in
the first heat. I chose to run in the 100-meter dash, the 400-meter relay, and the
800-meter relay.
When it came time for the first heat of the first race, I took
a deep breath. I wasn’t sure where this would lead me. The track was empty in
front of me. Mine to claim.
What would I think about this when it was all over?
“On your marks!”
I got on my knees,
palms facing the ground. Sure my form was wrong. Questioning everything about
this race.
“Set!”
My body raised as adrenaline rushed through my body. No time
to think. Or question. Or wonder.
“GO!”
I jumped off the blocks and ran with all the speed I could
muster. I came in third place. And as I bent over resting my hands on my knees,
trying to catch my breath, I came to the realization that I loved that feeling.
Of an empty track. Of using every muscle in my body to pour myself onto that
track.
I loved this sport and from that first race and every day
since I promised myself I would do whatever it took to be the best. That year,
my school went to the district meet and got first place.
That was two years
ago …
“In lane six, Isaiah Henn from Westland,” I raised my hand
to show the starter that I was here. I was on the varsity track team my freshman
year in high school. I was again in the
first heat. This time was different though. I could feel it. This year was
going to be great.
Long jump was my favorite this year. I was undefeated going
into our fourth meet. You could say this next meet was a rivalry, since our
high schools are located practically right next to each other. My school district is pretty big. There are
four high schools—all of them with more than 1,000 students.
We traveled to Franklin Heights on a beautiful evening. The
weather was good. The team was energized. I was confident. My first jump of four
was a new personal record. I jumped 19 feet 113/4 inches. Still in first place,
I was feeling good about myself and I left the sand pit to run my race. I jumped
off the blocks and raced as fast as I could. As fast as my trainers and coaches
had been teaching me. And I finished the race crossing the line with a new
record of 11.3 seconds.
Something wasn't right though. I started to walk and felt a popping
in my leg. Pain shot through my left leg and up into my glutes. I limped off to
see my coach so that it could be wrapped. Thinking it was just a muscle strain,
I went back to jumping. It hurt a lot, but I finished my jumps. I went to do
the 400-meter relay. I was second leg on my team. It was a very close race. When
the baton came to me, we were behind. I raced ahead and passed the baton to the
next person. As I stopped running, I immediately felt a burning sensation in my
leg. It was unbearable.
After checking in with my parents, I had it checked out by
the trainer and it was determined that I wouldn't be able to run in the next
meet. I was hurt very bad. I went to the
doctor. She told me that I had torn my hamstring. I started physical therapy
and continued physical therapy for the next four weeks. Those four weeks were
the most horrible and longest weeks of my life. All of my teammates were
competing. I sat in the stands and watched. I lost my spot in the 400-meter
relay.
I was so excited and nervous to get back to competing. My
first meet back from that injury was tough. It was like I was starting all over
again. Slower times. Shorter jumps. Lower confidence. By the second meet, I was
getting better.
I made it back to competition just in time for OCC
championship meet. I was very nervous considering that I needed to place third
or above in the long jump to get to the districts. Needless to say, I got third
place in the finals with a new personal
record of 20 feet 1 inch and I qualified to compete in the districts
competition. I was one of only two students on my team to get a medal.
Districts proved to be the most nervous time of the year for
me. I needed to place fourth or better to go to regionals. I was in the second
flight of nearly 50 total jumpers. Each jumper would get three jumps and the
nine students with the longest jumps would be in the finals later that day.
I was desperate to be part of that nine.
With one jump left, I
took a deep breath. As I had told myself two years earlier, when the most
important thing in my life was to run, when decisions didn't matter or a single
mistake did not cost so much, I had to make this moment count.
Where would this lead me? What would I think about this when
it was all over?
With that in mind, I looked all around. People had come to
watch me. My parents and siblings were there. My Grammy. Other students from my
high school. My mom was tweeting and instagramming the whole thing. I realized
that this moment was the start of something bigger. For me. And for my family.
I focused in on the board with only one thought in my mind: I will not let them down.
Adrenaline rushed through my body as it had done two years
earlier, and I started to run. I hit the board perfectly and I jumped. The
world seemed to slow down as I hung in the air. I was able to process so much
and forget so much at the same time. It was a high, long, exhilarating jump. I
felt my body descend, and when I finally landed, I felt amazing. Like I had
just given everything I could. I stepped out of the pit. “20 feet 21/4
inches,” the judge said. I set a new personal record! I was in the finals!
I jumped in the nineteens in the final. When the last jump
was made, I knew that I had not made it to the regional competition. I was disappointed
when I learned that I was in fifth place, just inches from going to the
regionals. I didn't respond well to what I considered a failure. I would not
let it go. I was tired of being barely in or barely out of competitions. It did
not matter if I was just a freshman. Or that I had only been back to competing
for 14 days. It didn't matter to me how many more years I have to go. I was
upset that it was all over.
Then, I was told that the track season never ends. In a way,
I guess that statement is right. The district track meet was a few weeks ago,
and I just spent last week of my summer at
a track camp. Hours of running, conditioning and teamwork in the only place I feel
inspired. On the track in the place I hope to run and compete someday. The place
that I would love to go to college—that I think can best prepare me for another
one of my dreams: the Olympics. That place is Ohio State, where they taught me
that I could never be perfect.
Accidents happen, I realize that. I guess that’s why I run
from my problems. Track wasn't an accident though. There is a reason I was
introduced to this sport. It might have been to learn from those
better than me. I believe that it was to learn patience. Whatever the reason,
track has inspired me to do more, to know more, to be more. In reality, that is
all that I am asking for.
I will not stop preparing, no matter what. I have overcome a
lot since seventh grade. Looking back, that’s all that I asked for. I am sure
that in a few more years I will realize that I did make the right choice. Track
and field is MY sport. Crouching down, adrenaline flowing, my head is clear. With
the whole track empty in front of me, I
cannot wait to show my opponents that all I do is prepare. For competition. And for life.
© 2013 Isaiah P. Henn, all rights reserved.
Copyright notice: All content, including writings, artwork, photographs, or videos, posted on this blog is original to Isaiah P. Henn and the HennHouse unless otherwise stated and may not be reproduced without permission.
© 2013 Isaiah P. Henn, all rights reserved.
Copyright notice: All content, including writings, artwork, photographs, or videos, posted on this blog is original to Isaiah P. Henn and the HennHouse unless otherwise stated and may not be reproduced without permission.
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