You Must Be This Tall To Lift

When I was very young, about three or four years old, I walked into my parents room
curious as usual. That day my mother was fixing her hair in the bathroom because she had a
party to go to. Now in the master bedroom my mom kept a set of dumbbells for working out
whenever she had the free time. I myself was drawn to the ten-pound weights that I had seen my
mother curl with because they looked interesting. As I picked up the ten pound weight with my
left hand I strained to raise it to my forehead. I only made it two-thirds of the way before my grip
slipped and the dumbbell fell. As it rolled off my left hand I made a desperate grab it with my
right in hopes to catch it. Unfortunately at the time my motor skills were nothing if not clumsy so
instead of gracefully catching the weight it slammed into my wrist. On the way to the hospital I
had a lot of time to think about how I was never going to touch those dumbbells ever again. As it
turned out I had a slight fracture so I had a wear a cast for a few weeks and then a wrist brace for
another week. This incident was my first memory.
Your Not Gunna Have A Good Time
Winter of 2013 I went on a skiing vacation to Snowmass Colorado with my family. A
cool, crisp blanket of snow covered the mountains, tall pine trees stretched as far as the eye could
see. It was by far one of the coolest things I have ever done and whether its snowboarding or
skiing you defiantly have to try one at least once. Its what you would call a bucket list item.
Anyways, I was in the mountains for about a week and by the end I was kicking up powder down
level black hills with no problem. I thought of myself as a younger Shawn Whiteif he decided
to ski instead of snowboard. Of course it wasnt always smooth, in the beginning I had my share
of knocks, tumbles, and falls. The only strategy I had going into skiing was the French Fries and
Pizza form that I had learned from an episode of South Park. In a nutshell, when coasting
downhill my skis should be parallel to each other (kind of like french fries) and if I wanted to
stop all I had to do was angle the front tips of my skis toward each other (kind of like a pizza
slice). If I abided by these rules I would avoid not having a good time (quote from South
Park). Now this advice was greatfor a six year old on a bunny hill, but for me on a level blue
hill, this strategy failed horribly. As I pushed myself off the peak of the hill with nervous
excitement, ecstasy quickly shifted to terror as I realized that the control over the skis was

swiftly becoming in the hands of gravity instead of my own. With rational thought flying out the
window I flailed my arms in a desperate attempt to slow down. As my pizza form failed me I
leaned to my left so I could bail, tuck and roll. As I flopped ungracefully to my left hand side the
wind was knocked out of me. At first I didnt understand what had happened, it all occurred so
quickly, but the next second I realized that I had speared myself in the ribs with a ski pole. The
shock was worse than the pain, but the embarrassment topped it all. I had ripped my borrowed
ski jacket to shreds. The funny part was that my dad was mad about the jacket and couldnt care
less about the fall. In the end all it took was one lesson on proper technique and I was skiing like
a pro.

Water resistant or nah?

A black, 2005 edition, Motorola Razor flip phone. This was the birthday presents of all
birthday presents for me at 11 years old. This was back before the iPhone was big and a flip
phone was just about the coolest thing in the world. All my friends had flip phones, and I felt
excluded. So its understandable that I was ecstatic when I unpackaged the phone and gazed
upon it for the first time, I cherished this piece of modern technology. The Razor was a half a
pound of metal, plastic, and pure magic. It was black and sleek to the touch, the screen was as
smooth as pained glass. On cold days the phone would chill in my pocket like an unmeltable ice
cube.
Unfortunately my obsession with my phone would be my undoing. Two months after my
birthday I was invited to a pool party by my friend Chris. It was a hot day in April, the sun had
heated the concrete outside of Chris house to near 100 degrees. My cotton shirt clung to the
sweat running down my back as I walked from the car towards the house. The air was heavy
with humidity, so heavy that I felt as if I could cut through the air with a knife. As I rang the
doorbell, the crisp, cool and refreshing waters of the pool was forefront in my mind. When Chris
answered the door, Usain Bolt himself couldnt have beaten me in a race to the pool deck. I
kicked off my shoes in a flurry, shrugged out of my t-shirt and leapt into the pool. Even today all
these years later, it is difficult to remember a more perfect moment. The water instantly drenched
and refreshed me, the heat of the day and the cool of the pool juxtaposed each other creating an
almost perfect summer paradise. It was pure happinessuntil I realized that something was

sinking in my right pocket. Joy turned to horror as I slowly pulled out my most prized possession
dripping with water and chlorine. I was devastated, I floated in the deep end of the pool in shock
just starring at the phone. As my friends caught on to what was unfolding the pool deck got
quiet.
Can you hear me now?!!?
That one liner from Chris was the ultimate insult that day, but as I look back at it I still
find it hilarious. In the end neither rice baths nor prayer would resurrect my poor Razor.
Fortunately my parents where nice enough to replace the phone. The moral of this story is to
always check your pockets before doing a front flip into a pool, no matter how impatient you
may be.

The Longest Yard

Football in August is blood and sweat, pain and gain, effort and exhaustion, heat and
water. I called it hell month because for three straight weeks we football players toiled through
100 degree heat indexes in full pads with hitting drills every day. During the regular season
Monday and Tuesday practice were full pads. Wednesdays were half pads, Thursday was
helmets and t-shirts, and then on Fridays we played a game. Full padded practice always meant
contact, which most of the time was fun. Although during the three straight weeks of full padded
practice in August was exhausting. I did this for four years and in a lot of ways football has
molded me into the man I am today. Between the white lines I learned life lessons that I still
hold. To me football is much more than a high school sport, it is a noble tradition that glorifies
the best of human character: toughness, effort, and discipline. My coach taught me that football
is very similar to real life, to accomplish you full potential you must give your full effort. In high
school football I found a brotherhood, a home, and a passion.
There is no doubt that football is a contact sport so over the years I collected numerous
scrapes and bruises from practice drills and game days. One of the more major injuries occurred
two years ago in August during a tackle drill. The drill was simple, two players would stand
facing each other 20 paces apart, one as a ball carrier and one as a linebacker. To start the drill,
the ball carrier would catch the ball and run through a funnel of tall, skinny black bags. After the

quick pushup, the linebacker would mirror the ball carriers movement and tackle him at the
bags. That day I was the ball carrier. As I stood at the line with sweat soaked pads, I filled and
emptied my lungs of the hot, humid, summer air. A shrill whistle cut through my tense focus and
my head snapped to the left. My eyes instantly locked on the football that flew slowly through
the air from Coach Gerbers hands into my own. I planted my foot in the dirt and pivoted
towards the bags as I sprinted down the sideline. My eyes locked with the linebacker and my
mind raced for a way to juke him out. The distance between us quickly shrank as I turned up
field and barreled towards him. He hit me on the left shoulder and as we both went down I felt a
sharp pain in my left arm. At the time I dismissed it as a collision related pain but as I ran back to
the end of the line I felt something wet and sticky run down my arm. I looked down I noticed
that from my left shoulder down to my elbow I was covered in blood. As my teammates
shoulder slammed into my chest the force popped the metal clasp of my shoulder pads out of its
socket. The clasp was connected by an elastic band ran under my arm so when it popped out it
sliced up the inside of my arm. Two weeks and 9 stiches later I was left with a quarter sized scar
that looks like cartoon heart on its side. Most people would see this as a bad memory but I dont.
My scar is a reminder of a great part of my life. A war wound hat is a trophy I carry with me
everywhere.

So Whats The Point?

All these stories or memories from my life are about something bad that happened, an
injury, a embarrassing fall, the public destruction of a prized item. To the reader these may seem
like horrible memories, but I dont see them that way. I have grown wiser and stronger from each
of these incidents. Each of these stories represents a time in my life were I learned a life lesson
that shaped me. In Colorado I fell in love with winter and skiing. On the slopes I found passion
in speed and snow. When I dropped the weight on my arm I realized that I need to be careful and
think things through. When I jumped in the pool and damaged my new phone I realized that I am
careless when I allow my excitement to overpower my caution. And finally when I look back on
my years playing football I wonder how different my character would be if I never joined the
team. This assignment caused me to take an inward look at myself and see if where my

mannerisms originated from. These crots are a few of many but they as a whole paint a picture of
my life.