Chinese men are not sprinters.

There are Chinese divers and Chinese gymnasts represented at the Olympics every year, and we participate in a plethora of other sports, but this one omission from the pantheon of athletes persists to this day, in both national and international competitions. The Chinese do not run.

Therefore, at the beginning of my second year on the track team, I felt a little discouraged.
During my freshman year, every meet I attended had one common denominator: the fast runners were African-American. Their long, lanky limbs stood in sharp contrast to my own, genetically-predisposed skinny and short ones. This, I thought, looking down at my legs, was not the physique of a sprinter.

When my mother dropped me off at the Gahr High School track early one Saturday morning, I had little hope. I set my gym bag down next to the tree where my team had gathered, and I surveyed the field: typical -- stereotypical, even. The shining, muscular bodies glistened as they stretched and warmed-up. My own legs trembled in the cold as I passed the time by cheering on my own teammates, but it wasn’t long before I heard the ominous “Last call for the 100 meters! Last call!” intoned into a megaphone. Gulping hard, I walked over to the starting line and surveyed the track in front of me. I wondered if the practicing I had done since freshman year, exhausting my body with repeats, conditioning, and weight-training every day, would have any benefit when my shoes hit the pavement.

My competitors seemed to be doing their best to intimidate me. The seven of them jumped up and down around me, towering into the sky and stretching their formidable leg muscles. I pulled off my warm-ups, and the cool air on my exposed skin made me shiver.

The next fifteen seconds seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. When I was finished, I barely remembered running the race at all, and was only convinced that I actually did when my coach congratulated me on a third place finish. I had come in just slightly above the middle of the pack, despite genetics, despite everything. I realized that sprinting had nothing to do with being African-American or Chinese-American. My medal, which I received later that day, was embossed with a winged shoe. That’s the best thing about shoes: no matter who you are, you can always put on the same pair as anyone else.

點評：

文章沒有太多的修飾，基本是以描述一個故事的形式來敘述自己的經歷！

寫ESSAY本身就不是在進行作文大賽，它更多希望通過描述真實的經歷來體現一種覺悟。當然，學校希望看到一個與眾不同的經歷，不管是出于新鮮好奇的心理還是出于對申請者的經歷考察，都有一個需要就是，要與眾不同！

作者運動員的身份正給了他很好地展示自己的機會，而特別是100米短跑的特點，講求爆發力，而中國運動員在這方面的過去確實讓人有點泄氣，這除了有先天條件外，從作者最后的感悟可以反推出來，一定程度上信息也是一個重要的原因：如果你覺得你自己行，那么你很可能行；如果你覺得你不行，那么你很可能不行。

短暫的十幾秒鐘，可以出現一個也許會改變作者命運的感悟，而這一切不僅僅基于作者堅持比賽的勇氣，而在背后更能看出作者付出的汗水。作者強調一點是天性，黑人天生有那種優越性，而強調這一點，最后自己還是輕松超越超過一半的對手，這正暗示給讀者自己背后經過了不少汗水的洗禮才擁有這樣的能力！

付出+堅持=收獲！

譯文：

中國的短跑手

中國人不是（天生的）短跑手。

每年在奧林匹克運動會上都有代表中國的跳水和體操項目，而且我們也參加了許多其它的運動。但是，短跑這一疏漏一直以來都存在，不管是在國內還是國際上的比賽中。中國人不跑。

因此，在加入團隊的第二年我感到有些失望。

在我大一期間參加的每場比賽都有一個共同點，那就是跑的最快的總是非裔美國人。他們那又細又長的腿站在那里和我那雙遺傳的又短又小的腿形成了鮮明的對比。每次看著我的腿，我都想，我根本不是練短跑的料。

那個星期六，當我媽媽把我送到GHAR高中時（比賽進行的場地），我幾乎絕望了。隊伍集合了，我把我的體育袋放在樹邊，環視四周。我看見由于熱身，那些泛光的健壯的身體閃著光。而我的腿在我為隊友們喝彩的同時開始冰冷發抖。但是這種狀態并沒有持續很久，我聽到預告“最后一次。一百米賽跑。最后一次。”從喇叭里傳出來。我艱難的走近起跑線，看著面前的跑道。我不知道之前在大一時的鍛煉，一切的幾乎使我筋疲力盡的重復、訓練、重量訓練，是否能對現在的比賽有所幫助。

我的對手們看起來都要盡全力來超過我。他們中的7個人在我周圍跳起又落下的，在空中伸展他們那令人望而生畏的大腿肌肉。我做了熱身，但周圍的空氣卻讓我冷的發抖。

接下來的十五秒就好像是一眨眼的事。比賽結束的時候，我幾乎忘記了我是在參加比賽，知道最后有人來祝賀我的時候我才相信：我成功了。盡管遺傳條件不好，但是我很輕松的超過了其他選手的一半。我明白了，短跑其實與基因與種族毫無關系。那天我得到的獎章上面印了一雙帶翅膀的鞋子。我想對這雙鞋子最好的詮釋就是：不管你是誰，都可以穿上一雙與別人一樣鞋。