When I was nine I had always wanted to be an athlete Essay

When I was nine I had always wanted to be an athlete. Whether it be running, football or weightlifting. I knew that there would be a sport out there for me. A sport that had my name on it. A sport, that once known to me, would be my one and only priority throughout life. I looked around for a long time going to any and every after-school club and competition. My parents helped me find it and they spent hundreds trying to find my dream sport.

When I was fourteen I had found my sport. I spent five long years looking for it and I had found it. This achievement taught me one thing. I could do anything if it was my main goal in life. No matter how hard it was I could do it if I put my mind to it. The sport I had found was race driving. I, instead of looking for it, found it by accident, just a simple day out of go-carting, but from their came my passion.

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By the time I was seventeen I was training 7 hours a day. Now that I had found my dream I wouldn’t let it go. I wanted to be the youngest ever F1 racing champion. Everyone believed in me but most importantly I believed in myself. Unfortunately that wouldn’t stop the accident from happening. The accident involved cars but not on the racetrack, on a road, just your average road where a drunk had got behind the wheel to go home.

I was walking home from a friend’s house. I was about to cross the road. I looked both ways. I listened for car engines. This didn’t stop the fact that a car was about to come round the corner at 40mph. It hit both my legs and I went over the bonnet and hit my head on the roof. Paramedics came. Police came. I had 2 broken legs. The driver had had too many drinks. I had a concussion. He got six points on his license.

The concussion wasn’t the only thing. I started to suffer from amnesia. I started to forget the accident then my training and then my dreams. I forgot but somewhere in the back of my mind, my passion was still alive, like a single match in a dark cave. One beacon of light telling me I could still live my life to the full.

One day the beacon of life exploded and I remembered fragments of the years before even the night at the friend’s house, the accident. Even the first day I sat in the go-cart and realised it was my life. Remembering was one thing but my two broken legs were still in bad condition. It took several months for my legs to get better. However I still couldn’t race. They told me that a single crash could crush my legs so bad that I would be in a wheelchair for the rest of my life. I couldn’t take being denied my dream. Being told that you couldn’t do something that you had aspired to do. Being told you couldn’t do the thing you loved one last time. I couldn’t take it.

After a lot of thought I decided to try and race again. It felt strange being in a racecar after not being in one for so long. At first it was hard just pushing the pedals but then I got the feel for it. My body remembered everything i had done. Everything I had wanted to do. I was in my element once again and it felt great. I trained in secret for a year or so until I was ready to race again.

And that is how I got myself here today. Ready to race against the greats. Here to prove people wrong and show that I can do what I love. Show that I could live beyond peoples expectations and achieve the dream of that fourteen year old inside me. I am nineteen now and I am ready to be a champion.

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