My (very short) time as a track and field athlete.

To be honest, I've always disliked sports. My parents would force me to take basketball and karate lessons, but every weekend I would complain and whine about it. I must have been so annoying! They paid a lot of money for those lessons, and I didn't appreciate it at all. But, to be honest, I would have rather stayed home and played Super Mario 64 or Final Fantasy VII. I was lazy.

But there was one sport I was good at in school: track and field. Specifically, I was good at high jump. This is exactly what it sounds like: you run and jump over a bar and onto a padded mat. That's it! I liked how simple it was. No complicated rules!

In 8th grade, I was very tall, so it was easy for me to jump over the bars. However, there was a problem... I jumped high, but I also jumped far. Too far. I jumped so far that I would often jump right off the padded matt and onto the floor. Bang!

One day, during high jump practice, I jumped over the bar as usual. It was easy, and I felt really good about myself. Really proud. "Wow, I'm so amazing. I'm a true athlete," I thought. Then I landed directly on the hard ground and cracked a bone... I didn't touch the mat at all. Ouch. Sometimes that bone still hurts.

That's when I decided that, on second thought, I don't like high jump.

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