Personal Statement
9-year-old me was sprinting down a soccer field, made indistinguishable from a mud puddle. It was a frigid September morning, made colder by the driving rain. Bogged down with soggy socks, baggy shorts, and a jersey that had doubled in weight, 9-year-old me pumped my twiggy legs as fast as I could to get the ball that had been haphazardly kicked down the field. As the only girl on the team, I felt particularly driven to catch that ball, and score a goal in the same heroic fashion as the protagonists in the soccer movies. The ball came closer, and the boy to my right began rounding me off for the steal. No way am I going to let some snotty nosed twig steal this ball from me, I thought to myself, and started to run even faster. I was quick for a 9-year-old, and before I was really expecting, I was in prime striking distance. Still at full sprint, I threw out a leg to kick...and promptly slipped backwards into a pile of mud. This would be the dramatic slow motion part of the movie where the star player makes a questionable shot, and it looks like it won't go in. The time is running out, the goalie's arms are outstretched in full effort as he falls to the side, and then meticulously, the ball slides cleanly into the goal while the whole crowd erupts into cheers. And I would like to say that this moment was the slow motion moment. It was special, but not because the ball went effortlessly into the goal, and the whole team carried me off into the sunset. It would be more accurate to describe my shot as a careless mess that somehow managed to stay in bounds while teammates and coaches face-palmed on the sidelines. But as I sat there in a puddle of mud, soaked to bone by freezing rain, I realized that the only part I actually liked about soccer was the running. While the other kids complained when we had to run two laps around the field, I jumped up in excitement and ran three. When the kid had tried to outrun me to the ball, I reviled in the thought of having a challenger. I remembered how on Sunday mornings I would chase the balls down at the tennis court while my mom practiced her backhand, and play fetch with my friends during recess with the very same balls. As I sat there in the mud, shivering, and soaking wet, all I could recall was how much I really loved to run.
Now fast forward 7 years, and you find 16-year-old me, the not-so- twiggy teenager who loves track and Benedict Cumberbatch. I gave soccer up many years ago, in favor of pounding the pavement Monday through Saturday. I still love having a challenge, and luckily I go to the best high school in the state, where they are never short competition, both academically and athletically. While I suffer through the hell that is cross country season in the south, I fondly anticipate the cold and rainy track meets, where fingers are numb and breath hangs in happy clouds above you. It makes snuggling back up with the team that much more enjoyable.
I enjoy a challenge in everything I endeavor. I won't be able to compete athletically forever, so that means strengthening the brain is even more important. I'm not picky in what I study, but medicine has always been a subject of particular interest. I love helping people, however I can.