The New York Marathon (马拉松) is my goal for this year. I know I am never going to win a race but now, when I get anything negative, I will think of the kind gentleman who really believed, “You very good… you very fast.”
At the time, I was living in the Bay Area, and my mother had come to visit for a few days. On the last day of her stay, I was preparing to go out for a run. I picked up a T-shirt I just bought the other day from a Chinese clothing shop — it had some Chinese characters on the front, and a scene of Honolulu Chinatown on the back. I didn’t speak Chinese, but somehow this special T-shirt was quite soft and good for exercise.Working in a very negative environment, I found morning runs very beneficial — body tired but mind awake.
And I had always met an elderly Chinese gentleman walking on the opposite side of the trail (道路) when I was running on other mornings. I had always said, “Good morning,” and he had always smiled warmly and nodded his head slightly.
As I was going out the door, my mother suddenly said, “I don’t think running is so hot — that famous runner died.” I started to recount what I had read about Jim Fixx, and how running had probably been the contributing factor to his living far longer than most of the other members of his family, but I knew there was absolutely no point.
As I started running on my favorite trail, I found I couldn’t shake my mother’s statement. I was so discouraged that I could hardly run. I began thinking, “Why do I run at all? Serious runners probably think I look silly! I might have a heart attack on the trail — my dad had a fatal (致命的) heart attack at 50 years old, and he was seemingly in better shape than I am.”
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My mother’s statement remained in my mind like a giant blanket.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Upon hearing the man’s words, I felt more unexplained strength in my step.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________For as long as her parents can remember, 11-year-old Breana Carsey has had this crazy dream. She has always wanted a mommy horse who would give birth to a baby horse, who would then grow up to become a racing champion.
“Absolutely, this was a fairy tale for her from day one. We put it off for five years because we don’t have a farm,” said her father, Brian Carsey, who explained that his daughter has “me wrapped around her finger”．
Her horse was born in the spring of 2013. Breana named it MJB Got Faith for the faith she instantly had in him.
“I really loved him. He’s super soft too,” she said.
But that quick bond posed a real problem for this Dad. See, for whatever reason, Brian thought once he explained to his daughter that her horse could never run in a race—that it was a runt from poor breeding stock—she would just agree to sell it.
“She thought her horse was priceless,” he said. “So I had a chat with my wife and we really got ourselves in a mess here. And I didn’t know how we were going to get out of this. So we took him to the races, the horse that I thought we should have got rid of already.”
Brian was stuck, committed to boarding and training this long shot to end all long shots. And this is not a wealthy family. Brian runs a small company. And Ohio racing, which is harness style racing, is a $900 millionayear industry.
MJB Got Faith was so slow that it was barely even qualified to compete but then somehow won his first race, then his second, third and fourth qualifying him for the state championship held in Columbus, Ohio.
“And I said to my daughter, ‘If you finish third, you should be so thankful,’” Brian remembered. “She said, ‘Daddy, if he finishes last, I’m going to be thankful. But he’s going to win.’”
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This little horse won an important match.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Her dad now has a racehorse whose name is Steve Hartman.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Super Roy
“You’re a halfback(中卫).” I looked over my shoulder at the empty field behind me. “Me?” I asked, pointing to my chest
“Yes,” the coach said again. “You’re a halfback. Yep, no doubt about it.”
The coach’s name was Super Roy. Someone told me his real name once, but it never stuck. When I got to practice that day I was a small kid with little athletic experience or skill. I wondered if I belonged there at all and what Super Roy had seen in me that I didn’t see in myself.
“Are you sure I’m a halfback?” I asked him the next day.
“Let me see,” he said, standing back to have a good glance at me, which made me nervous about what he would say
“Yep. You’re a halfback. Might as well get used to it.”
“Okay,” I said, puzzled but beginning to accept the idea, strange as it seemed.
Later that day we started running plays. Time after time the quarterback put the ball right in my hands. Me, the silly fellow who had to be reminded how many points a touchdown was worth. I expected to go all season without touching the ball. I expected to be a bench warmer, and now the ball was in my hands—literally.
Super Roy had a routine he did every day. As practice came to an end, he would pick one of the players to step forward. The player had to recite a quote Super Roy had given him the day before. It was a very important moment in practice. No one wanted to forget his quote in front of the whole team.
After practice was over one day, Super Roy spoke to me. “Your turn tomorrow,” he said. “Ready for your quote?”
“Okay,” I said, stressed in deep concentration. “I’m ready.”
“Well, here it is: ‘It’s not the size of the man you play, it’s how you play the man.’ Got it?” “Yes, Coach.”
Super Roy winked at me and gave me a pat on the shoulder. “And I believe the quote will help you make a miracle in the inter school match next month,” he added.
On the way home, my mind played like a broken record, which made me murmur the words repeatedly.
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Paragraph 1: There came the practice time the next day.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Paragraph 2: I stepped into Super Roy’s office after the match.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________From an early age, Patti Wilson was told that she was an epileptic (癫痫患者). However, she was a lively and enthusiastic girl, looking at her illness as simply “an inconvenience”. She never focused on what she had lost, but on what she had left. One day, Patti said to her father, who was a morning jogger, “Daddy, I’d really love to run with you every day, but I’m afraid I’ll have an epileptic fit.”
Her father told her, “Don’t worry, my girl. I know how to handle it! Let’s start running then!”
It was a wonderful experience for the father and daughter to run together every day. After a few weeks, the ambitious girl told her father, “Daddy, What I’d really love to do is to break the world’s long-distance running record for women.” The father checked the Guinness Book of World Records and found that the farthest any woman had run was 80miles.
That year, she completed her run to San Francisco, which is a distance of 400 miles. She was wearing a T-shirt, reading, “I Love Epileptics”. Her father ran every mile at her side, and her mom, a nurse, followed in a motor home behind them in case anything went wrong. But nothing happened at all while she was running.
As a senior high school student, Patti announced that she was determined to run from her hometown up to the White House, which is a distance of more than 3000 miles away. Her classmates got behind her. They built a giant poster that read, “Run, Patti, Run!” This has since become her motto and the title of a book she later has written.
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On her second marathon in Portland, she had her foot injured.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Half a year later, Patti ran in Washington and finally shook the hand of the President.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________My dad and I had been looking forward to the Stale cross-country race of my senior year of high school, which would be the climax (顶点) of my existence.
I was the fastest runner on my team, and I was supposed to make it into the top fifteen. We had been working towards this race for three years. It was everything to me, and it was everything to my dad. He was a runner and was wild with joy by my success in running. He made it to every race, even flying home early from business trips to see me run. I always listened for his voice, which rang above the crowd-telling me to relax my arms, calling out my time. He pushed me. He cheered for me. He believed in me. We spent countless hours on the sandy canals of Arizona. Breathing in the dust of the desert, the blossoms of the orange trees, and the terrible smell of the dairy farm, we made our way across the city. We pounded miles and miles into our running shoes, marking with every step the path to greatness. It was a journey that was just ours. A dream passed on from one generation to the next.
Then the big day came. It was hotter than normal - too hot. My throat felt like a field of cotton, cracked with the summer heat, as I waited for the gun to fire. I gazed out at the crowd; dozens of familiar faces from church and school flickered across my view. They had come for me. They were counting on me. I saw my dad set his watch, worry and excitement etched across his face. With the sound of a gunshot, the race began.
For the first two and half miles, I felt great. I had never before been so ready for something. The weeks leading up to the race were filled with hard practices and a strict diet. The scorching sun beat upon my back, blinding me with its brilliance. Nothing was going to stop me, though.
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However, without warning, my strength was running out.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________I whispered, “I’m so sorry I disappointed you, Dad.”
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Dealing with One Missed Workout
It’s a common dilemma (图局)for anyone on a training plan: You miss one workout and become awashed with guilt. To make up for it, you add those extra miles to your next workout. But according to the professionals, this isn’t the right way to go about it. “A single workout is not going to make or break a training plan. The key to training is consistency over time,” says John Raglin, PhD, professor in the Department of Kinesiology at Indiana University Bloomington.When you miss a workout, the temptation is to think, “Oh, I’ve got to do more tomorrow”. But when you try to catch up on your workouts, you run a couple of risks: “Certainly an injury, but also becoming over-tired, which could ruin your training after that, ” says Raglin. This is a phenomenon called ‘non-functional overreaching’, “he says. Eventually, this could lead to overtraining syndrome (综合症), which is characterized by a decrease in performance later due to a long-term increase in training load without adequate recovery.
So how do you move forward if you skipped a run or five?Well first, people download generalized training plans without understanding that they are meant to be adapted to life. There is a whole host of life stressors—job, kids, friendships, travel—and exercise is just another type of stress. Actually, when things get chaotic in your life, it may be necessary to just let go. Next, if you missed a workout, you have to ask yourself why: “Was it just because your schedule got out of hand or because you were feeling overly exhausted? ” Understanding why you missed the workout can offer some insights into how to tailor your program to suit your lifestyle.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Competitive Cheerleading
Over the years, cheerleading has taken two primary forms: game-time cheerleading and competitive cheerleading. Game-time cheerleaders’ main goal is to entertain the crowd and lead them with team cheers, which should not be considered a sport. However, competitive cheerleading is more than a form of entertainment. It is really a competitive sport.
Competitive cheerleading includes lots of physical activity. The majority of the teams require a certain level of tumbling (翻腾运动) ability. It’s a very common thing for gymnasts, so it’s easy for them to go into competitive cheerleading. Usually these cheerleaders integrate lots of their gymnastics experience including their jumps, tumbling, and overall energy. They also perform lifts and throws.
Competitive cheerleading is also an activity that is governed by rules under which a winner can be declared. It is awarded points for technique, creativity and sharpness. Usually the more difficult the action is, the better the score is. That’s why cheerleaders are trying to experience great difficulty in their performance. Besides, there is also a strict rule of time. The whole performance has to be completed in less than three minutes and fifteen seconds, during which the cheerleaders are required to stay within a certain area. Any performance beyond the limit of time is invalid.
Another reason for the fact that competitive cheerleading is one of the hardest sports is that it has more reported injuries. According to some research, competitive cheerleading is the number one cause of serious sports injuries to women. Generally, these injuries affect all areas of the body, including wrists, shoulders, ankles, head, and neck.
There can be no doubt that competitive cheerleading is a sport with professional skills. It should be noted that it is a team sport and even the smallest mistake made by one teammate can bring the score of the entire team down. So without working together to achieve the goal, first place is out of reach.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Billie Jean was always full of energy (精力)! One morning, Billie Jean’s friend Susan asked her: “Do you want to play tennis? You’ll love it!”
Tennis sounded exciting! That evening, Billie Jean asked her father, “What’s the best sport for a girl?”
Her dad had a think. “Tennis, of course!”
She felt excited. Maybe this “tennis” was the sport for her!
The next weekend, Susan took Billie Jean to the Virginia Country Club. It was a really great place!
There were beautiful gardens and ladies wearing white tennis dresses. She felt quite out of place in her baggy T-shirt and shorts!
But her nervousness disappeared when she got out onto the sunny tennis court (网球场). Susan handed her a strange thing that looked like a net.
“This is a racket (球拍). You hit a ball with it!”
Susan lobbed (发高球) a yellow ball at her. Billie Jean hit her racket as hard as she could. Her friend showed her how tennis should be played. They did their best to hit the ball over the net in the middle of the court. Billie Jean spent more time hitting the air than she did hitting the ball — but she loved playing tennis anyway!
Buying a racket was unaffordable for her family. From that day on, Billie Jean asked people in the neighborhood about any jobs she could do. Finally, Billie Jean bought a little wooden racket.
“Can we go to the Virginia Country Club to play?” she asked.
Her mom said, “We can’t afford it, love. What about the public courts at Houghton Park?”
Billie Jean quickly agreed! When she arrived at the park, she saw an old man waiting by the tennis court.
“I’m Clyde!” he said. “Do you want some tennis lessons?”
Billie Jean was worried. “Yes...but I don’t have any money.”
The man just smiled. “It’s free! Come on in!”
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This was only the second time that Billie Jean had tried to play tennis.
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Clyde said with a smile, “Billie Jean, with hard work, you can be a champion.”
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Chasing a Dream
I will never forget that November day. It was hotter than normal — too hot. My throat felt like a field of cotton, cracked with the summer heat, as I waited for the gun to fire. This was the day we had waited so long for. I looked out at the crowd; dozens of familiar faces flashed across my view. They had come for me. They were counting on me. I saw my dad set his watch, with worry and excitement on his face. Adrenaline (肾上腺素) pumped through my body, and the race began.
For the first two and a half miles, I felt great. I had never before been so ready for something. The weeks leading up to the race were filled with strictly controlled practices and a strict diet. My friends hadn’t seen me in weeks, but they understood the sacrifice required to make my dream a reality.
My dad and I had been working towards this race for three years. It was everything to me, and it was everything to my dad. He was a runner and was excited by my success in running. He made it to every race, even flying home early from business trips to see me run. I always listened for his voice — telling me to relax my arms, calling out my time. He pushed me. He cheered for me. He believed in me. We spent countless hours on the sandy canals. Breathing in the dust of the desert, the blossoms (花簇) of the orange trees, we made our way across the city. We pounded miles and miles into our running shoes, marking with every step the path to greatness.
But without warning, when I was 200 yards away from the finish line, my legs stopped working. My lungs fought to take in enough air, and my feet transformed into cement (水泥) bricks. I still don’t know what happened in those last few moments. Nothing I could do would make them hold my weight. They were as weak as jelly.
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Even though I knew my dreams of victory were destroyed, I had to finish the race.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________“I’m so sorry I disappointed you,” I whispered to Dad.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________When I entered my first rodeo (牛仔竞技比赛), I was 12 years old. It was more like a play day than a rodeo, but to a 12-year-old girl like me, I felt like I was at the National Finals Rodeo!
As to barrel racing (绕桶赛), I didn’t know much about it, only what my dad had told me. But I had been determined to enter the play and win the play ever since I was told that my not so much older competitive cousin Courtney would be there. This was my night to finally show her that I could ride a horse just as good or better, and do anything else she could do. She was in for a surprise!
Courtney always thought she was better than me. She always said her horse was better than mine, too. Courtney had a Palomino horse named Buck. He was fast, and beautiful. My horse was a big Appaloosa named Zipper. He wasn’t beautiful or flashy like Buck but he was kind and willing to please the skinny little girl that fed him sugars every day after a day of riding. That was the reason I knew we could beat Courtney, because we had something she didn’t — a partnership, one we both respected.
Courtney and I were in the 12-14 age group. As I watched the men in the arena (竞技场) set the three barrels up in their places, I felt nervous and a little scared for the first time that night. Though I had previously practiced a lot with Zipper, and Zipper raced fast and made turns stably, I still got upset when thinking about racing against Courtney!
I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. Suddenly, I felt a warm familiar hand on my shoulder. It was Dad. He smiled at me, saying, “Are you scared or nervous? Or both?” “Both, but I’m more scared that I’m going to mess up,” I replied, truthfully.
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“You won’t. Just have faith in yourself, and Zipper,” Dad said.
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Game over, I took Zipper to rest, giving him sugars for a job well done.
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