Mrs. Garner’s SAMPLE ESSAY PERSONAL NARRATIVE
Miscalculation
A million thoughts were circulating through my mind as I made my way to the track. Did I put in
the practice hours I needed to? Do I have my lucky socks on? Will my parents be proud of me? As I
walked down to the starting block, all I could hear was the thoughts swirling in my head and the murmur
of other runner’s. Being back at North Penn High School was not the place I wanted to be at seven
o’clock on a Saturday morning—but I had no choice. I was here to run my race, and as I made my way
towards the starting block, I couldn’t stop the nerves that were pulsating through my body.
I finally reached my destination and saw my coach, a couple of the girls I knew and a team’s
opposing coach. She always made me nervous. She gray hair that was tied into a neat ponytail. She
held herself very straight. She rarely smiled and always seemed so confident. I have raced her team
before and I always felt as though she was sizing me up and whispering about me. Her eyes held no
expression, and her hands clutched a clipboard tightly to her chest. I handed her my ticket and waited
impatiently. She glanced towards the starting line , and then she gave me my race bib and pins. “Lane
three, First Heat,” she said in an emotionless, rehearsed tone.
I walked onto the track and into my lane was immediately greeted with the strong smell of
asphalt and icy hot. The stands were scant except for the family of the runners and a few close friends.
Nothing like a Friday night football game. One of the fans read, “Enthusiasm ignites greatness.” Well,
it’s kind of hard to be enthused about running the race when I felt like I might throw up . I cringed at the
realization that I would be in this race and the outcome would probably stay with me for years to
come. Kicking stones on the track ,I tried to calm my nerves.
I glanced around the track for familiar faces. The inner track and my heat was composed mostly
of strangers. Trying desperately to calm myself , I began to stretch. I carefully situated my laces on the
top of my Nikes. I made sure they were lined up perfectly. Then, I pulled my socks making sure to cover
my heals. I could feel the callous on my Achilles from the blisters I had from my early training. I felt as if
I was a surgeon prepping for surgery—every piece of me must be carefully positioned. I felt myself
calming and the nerves turned to excitement. I was ready to do this . I longed for the starting gun to go
off. I looked at the official clock above the rack. Five minutes until start time.
As I anxiously waited for the race to begin, I noticed the stern coach that checked me in to the
right of me. She wore a Nike race jacket just like mine, except hers looked broken in and faded. Her
long fingernails looked freshly painted with a French manicure. I looked back at her face and saw that
she was applying a fresh coat of chap stick. This women looked eerily like a future me. Great, just what
I need, someone to distract me while I am trying to get in the zone. I wish she would stop looking at
me. I tore my eyes away from this women who I thought was just another distraction .
Being the obsessive compulsive person that I am, I decided to check (again) if my shoes were
perfect . I grabbed my laces and pulled them . The left shoelace snapped. I tried to adjust but nothing
worked. A jolt of fear shot through me like a strike of lightening. I looked panicked and began
frantically searching the inner track. Why didn’t I bring extra laces? I brought everything else except
laces! Sweat was dripping profusely down my forehead. With no luck of finding laces, I threw my shoe
on the track with anger.
Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I whipped my head quickly to the right and was staring at
the coach. What does she want? My face showed a combination of fear and aggravation. I noticed your
lace snapped.” I have a lace ,” the coach whispered. I was utterly shocked. This coach , who I had been
making critical comments about in my thoughts, was offering me laces. “Uh, yes. Thanks,” I said
quickly. She stayed with me for the two minutes I had to make sure my laces were okay. She remained
calm and whispered to me how she knows I can do this. She mentioned that she has been watching me
all season and has seen me get better. She told me to stay confident and keep my head up. I ran my
race. Thirty two hundred meters around the track. I came in second in my heat and qualified for the
CYO archdiocesan championship. I achieved my personal best during that race. It has become the race
that I compare all of my races since.
As I made my way to my dad’s car out of the stadium that day, I saw the coach who graciously
provided me with laces. “Hey!” I called out loud enough so she could hear. She turned around and
faced me, her gray bun still perfectly in place. “Thanks again, you really helped me in there.” She
flashed me a smile and said, “No problem.” I haven’t thought about my laces in awhile but the lesson I
learned from the coach’s kindness has stuck with me throughout my life. When in doubt I try to never
hesitate helping someone or telling them something positive because you never know if you might be a
difference maker for that person.