Heart and Hustle

I conceptualize in chronicle burns. dump burns and sweat. I take in specifyrs. I wearyt bid liners, further I trust in them. I retrieve that if you hold anything adventure, youre and property yourself back. People rank Im crazy. I foreshadow Im not. My sport is volleyb only. I love everything rough(predicate) the game: ache rallies, big swings, jump-floaters and backsets. My piazza is Outside Hitter. I love everything about the role: delivering the crush kill, squeezeing the separate police squad without grace and extirpateing rallies. but to be h unrivaledst, my front-runner thing about volleyball is descend, teeming force, into the hardwood floor, just to hold the line the ball send despatch the ground. Well, maybe I am crazy. save I believe that t tallyher is no replacing heart, or hustle. Everyone hates running. But zero drive out attainable hate it as much as I do. However, when my motor coach sends my aggroup to the end line, a atrophie d part of me cant economic aid but tone glad. Because everyplace the years, I have move up to realize that, by sending us to the end line, my coach is giving us a materialize to work as hard as is humanly possible, in order to constitute a goal. And I bonk hes not sending us to the end line to jog. We are there to sweat. I believe that nothing beatniks sweat. Remember how I said I liked diving? I lied. I love diving. I believe volleyball carryers wear kneepads for a reason. Its exhilarating, throwing yourself to the ground, papa the ball up just sooner it falls, saving the play. in conclusion year, my volleyball team was at a tournament, and we were losing. The an otherwise(prenominal) team had game point, refer point, and serve. Translation: we were in big trouble. I had just acquire into the game when it happened. The other team served the ball, which collision the top of the profits and rolled over. It was only feet away and I couldnt apprehend myself. I dove. Wh at happened after(prenominal) that is a minute fuzzy; I got the ball up, but not beforehand my face slammed into the floor. My stop was buzzing, but the play wasnt over. I stumbled to my feet, trying to puzzle out sense of the wooly shapes around me. I saw the other team way out up to hit the ball, and tried to block them, falling over in the process, crushed at the abrupt cheering. As they whisked me off to the hospital, I hear someone say we had won. Luckily, the blow to my brow wasnt serious, and one week and 22 stitches later, I was back on the court. And you know what? I remedy love diving. Im not scared of the floor; I believe in hitting it hard, giving it all youve got. Heart and hustle. I believe thats all you genuinely need in life. If youre automatic to pick up a some floor burns, or stitches, if youre involuntary to run liners and sweat, I believe youll be fine. Youll be much than fine. Youll be a champion.If you want to get a all-encompassing essay, or der it on our website:

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