To add approximately 100 words, I'll expand on some points and add a new perspective on the significance of these ideals and the role of future generations: --- We live in the greatest country on earth, perhaps the greatest country there has ever been. We have had many growing pains and bumps in the road, but what makes our country great isn't necessarily what the country is, but who the country is. Our country is every person who wants a better life for their family. Our country is every person who seeks something different. Our country is every person who, despite the odds, perseveres. We have driven the world into the modern age. We are the ones who strive to protect freedom across the world. We are a nation that many others wish to replicate. I will not say we are without our faults. At the moment, we are divided in many ways, which is very unfortunate. This division, frankly, is what makes me want to defend my country and our institutions. Our institutions are very strong; no one person has the power to bring them down. I want to be part of the wall that defends this great nation, my home. I want to protect our ideals: the freedom to be who you are, the freedom to do what you want, the freedom to choose who represents us. These ideals touch me deeply because much of my family came here from countries that did not enjoy such freedoms. So, I feel it is my duty to protect my country and preserve these ideals. Without the United States of America, I fear the world would slowly fall to authoritarian and fascist regimes that see freedom as a speed bump to power, not a human right. In life, I'm motivated by an internal desire to earn everything I've been given. I was blessed to be born in this great country. I feel the only way to repay this debt is to protect the country I was so lucky to be brought into. I am also motivated by a desire to set my family up for good lives and a bountiful world to inherit, as was given to me. I believe it is essential to ensure that future generations understand the value of these freedoms and are prepared to defend them. By fostering a sense of duty and patriotism in our youth, we can create a stronger, more united nation that continues to uphold these ideals and inspire the world.

Have you ever found yourself in a situation you didn't even think could happen? Well, that's my today. Like any other person, I was going through my morning routine. I woke up, snoozed my alarm, snoozed it again, and finally got up because, unfortunately, I need to make money to, you know, feed myself. I dragged my unmotivated self down the stairs and into the shower. I did the old scrub-scrub that was desperately needed. Don't tell anyone, but this was my first shower in three days. Anyway, I got out, and of course, it was all steamy because my ADHD brain forgot to turn on the fan. I have a tendency to forget things or even where I am, which is how I imagine I got into this situation. Welp, I finished getting ready and grabbed my breakfast before leaving. It's just a plain bagel I grabbed while running out of the house. Did I mention that I was about an hour late to work? Turns out if you snooze too many times, you don't wake up on time. Who would have thought that? Well, there wasn't really any time to dwell on it. I was really late, and today was important. As a company, we were having a meeting to decide the budget for the next quarter, and I was responsible for presenting my department's request. It wasn't until Monday, but I may have kind of, sort of, not made my slideshow yet. With burning motivation not to get fired, I got in my car, bagel in mouth. I felt really fancy with the little push-to-start button, which makes things way easier. I pulled out of my driveway and began my one-hour commute, which should hopefully get cut down to half an hour with my efficient driving. Don't tell anyone, but I was doing like 20 over. So, now here is where things take a turn, figuratively and literally. My normal route to work was blocked off due to construction. I don't believe in GPS because where's the fun in that? So I decided to take a different route I hadn't taken before, thinking, "What could go wrong, right?" I live in a typical city; everything's in a grid. It's hard to get really lost. Well, that's what I thought, at least. I really regretted not just getting the directions off my phone. After about half an hour of wrong turns, I gave up and tried to put the address on my phone. Turns out I had no service. Yay, me. Also, guess what? I'm about to run out of gas. I drove around trying to find a gas station and eventually found one. Very sketchy, but at this point, what else could go wrong? I'm an idiot. I pulled up to one of the two pumps. Always a bad sign when there are only two pumps, I figured I'd let you know. I got out to pump the gas, and well, it wasn't working. I went inside. It's a pretty typical sketchy gas station with barred windows and that smell—you know that smell. When I got in, no one was at the register. So I rang the bell and then began looking around for a map. Unsurprisingly, since it's, you know, 2024, there were no more paper maps. I was standing there for a solid 15 minutes before this very well-groomed young guy showed up. If I'm honest, I'm saying that just to make it seem like I'm not a completely oblivious person. He was very much not clean and very much old. He came up, and I asked how it was going. Then I quickly brought up that the pumps weren't working. He kind of just looked at me and blinked. I heard the clock ticking. It was so quiet, but then he said, "They haven't worked in a long time." Then a lot happened real fast. Also, at this point, I had accepted that I might lose my job. First, the door I came in through locked. Then the old man stood up straight, to what I would guess was about 6'10". He grabbed my shoulders, and then black. So now that you're caught up to speed, I say to the person next to me, "How's your day been? I'm James." He looks at me, then stares at the wall in front of us both. We are both chained to a bench in what feels like a basement or cellar of some kind. There's a door to our right and just another wall to our left with a small window at the top. I'm not quite sure what time or day it is, but I am sure that I will no longer need to present our budget, which does give me some weird relief in this moment. I look back at my fellow prisoner. We are about the same age, I think, but he definitely looks like he's been in here a lot longer than me. I hear footsteps coming down what I imagine is a hallway outside that door. The footsteps stop at our door. I notice my new friend's eyes dart to the door, and his eyes light up, which surprises me. He hasn't said a word this whole time I have been awake, and this is the most emotion I have seen from him. The large door creaks open. A man walks in, bringing with him a flood of cold air. He sits down in a chair across from us. I can't quite see his face due to the lack of light and the hood he's wearing. My prisoner friend seems very happy to see the man; he's smiling ear to ear. I don't share his happiness and am mostly just very confused. This man is absolutely massive. When he walked in, he had to duck his head, so I would say he's maybe 6'10"... It's the clerk. He looks up and says to me, "This is what could go wrong."

So far, I've accomplished quite a few remarkable things: I'm a multiple-time All-American in track, often the scholar of the year at my school, and the scholar-athlete of the entire SUNY system. However, I would say my greatest achievement was breaking my state's record in the shot put. This means something to me not because of what it is—at the end of the day, all I did was throw a metal ball really far—but because it represents a culmination of hard work. As a freshman in high school, I stood one day looking at our school's record in the shot put. It was 54' 10", which at the time seemed so unreachable. I'm blessed with many physical abilities, but by no means was I a track prodigy at the time—the farthest I had thrown was 34' 10". Later that day, I looked to see what the state record was, and it stood at 61' 9". I thought that was impossible. I made a commitment to myself that I would break these records, both of which had stood for over 40 years. Freshman year ended with me at 42 feet. Still a long way away from the records. Sophomore year, I hit 46' indoor, then COVID hit. I felt like all was lost, but I kept pushing. My goal was to throw 50' outdoor to keep me on pace, but there was no track season. Our junior indoor season also got canceled, which hurt a lot. Junior season outdoor, I threw 55', smashing the school record. I was on top of the world, but that meant I needed to add another 6 feet in one year. Senior year started, and I was training harder than ever, getting bigger and stronger. Indoor, I threw 57'. It felt like not enough—I still needed 4 more feet. When outdoor started, I was doing two-a-days. One meet mod season, on my second throw, I threw 61' 9". I tied the record. In my mind, I'd done it. But the state said it didn't count because it wasn't measured with a steel tape. Well, this was only halfway through the season, so I knew I had more time. But each week, I would be close but not quite there. Then came the big day, my last meet. I'd been training very hard, two-a-days plus lifting. I was more confident in my technique than I had ever been. The meet was down Pennsylvania at the Penn State track. I came into the national meet ranked 20th. I had no intention of winning. My one and only goal was to break that stupid record. My first throw was 61' 10", measured with a laser. It was easy. After that throw, I knew I could do something special that day. My next throw was 61' 11". On my final throw I walked into the circle knowing full well that I was capable of throwing farther than I ever had and farther than anyone from my state ever had. I got into my stance. I let go of any tension in my body. I had complete faith in my technique. I took a deep breath. I pushed. I threw. It landed. I waited a moment—it was definitely farther. I heard, "62' 11.5"." With that one throw, I smashed a record, became an All-American, and proved to the freshman kid who looked at the record and saw something he couldn't do that he did it. This is my greatest achievement because it is the result of years of work and dedication to something just for me. As a track athlete, we don't get the fame or fortune or recognition—it's all internal. On that day, I proved to myself that I can do anything. I have no limits. To be honest, I want to achieve a lot in my life. I'm not a person who is ever satisfied with what they have, so to say I'm looking to achieve one thing would be dishonest. So I will say this: I wish to achieve all the things future me has already done. This may be egotistical to assume I'll achieve anything else in my life, but I know the future me will work hard because past me always has.

In my life, I have been very fortunate. While my parents both came from dirt-poor backgrounds, my life has been much better. Things haven't been perfect, but I know people who had it far worse. This fortune has allowed me to develop a deep internal drive that leads me to be very passionate about certain things, one of them being movement. I love movement, whether it's long hikes up mountains, vigorous sports on the court, the intricate dances of hip-hop, or simple walks to the store. I find it all so fascinating. Unsurprisingly, this passion led me to major in kinesiology at my university. One significant issue in our society that is often talked about but not adequately addressed is our current epidemic of sedentary lifestyles. This lack of movement leads to weight gain, heart issues, and many other diseases. As an African American, I am uniquely aware of what some of these diseases can do to our community. Recently, my grandmother passed away after being sick for a long time. She died because her lungs could no longer provide her body with enough oxygen. Months prior, she had fallen, and it hurt too much for her to walk, so she stopped. Eventually, she couldn't walk at all—not because she broke a bone, but because her atrophied leg muscles could no longer support her weight. She stopped moving. As I watched her getting sicker and sicker, it became harder and harder to witness. I know the power of movement—it's what I love. Seeing one of my loved ones die because instead of the doctor telling her years ago, "Hey Rita, if you start exercising a bit, you'll probably improve your lungs," he just prescribed medication. When something else went wrong, he gave her another medication, and another, and another. There's nothing wrong with medication, but the human body was made to move. We heal when we move, we get stronger when we move, and we feel better when we move. People often think exercise has to be this big thing. If you can't walk, then we can do chair squats where all you do is stand up and sit down. If you can't stand, I'll have you extend your leg to strengthen your quads so we can get you there. You don't need to lift heavy weights or run a marathon; you just need to move. I hope to help people understand the power of movement. I don't want people to die from things that could have been prevented; it's a sad and uncomfortable death. I want people deep into their years to be able to run around and play with their grandkids, not worried about whether they should do something or not.

As a young kid, I was always afraid of sports. I had a deep fear of performing in front of people due to the fear of messing up and embarrassing myself. This lasted all the way up until 8th grade, when I gave football a shot in the fall. Being naturally a bigger person, at about 5'10" and 210 pounds, I was much larger than my peers. The season was great, and I fell in love with the sport. I was already looking ahead to what I could try next. Spring came around, and a friend of mine more or less dragged me to the track sign-up. I had known what track was and had thought about it, but at the time, I didn’t know what I had gotten myself into. Fast forward about eight years later, I write this now as a state record holder in the shot put for Vermont, a New Balance National All-American, a Division 3 NCAA All-American, and a four-time shot qualifier. I have also recently qualified in discus and almost in hammer. This one day changed my whole future. With each passing year, my drive and love for the sport increase. I love it not just for what it is but for what it has done for me. Through track, I have gained confidence in myself and have thoroughly developed an internal drive. Track is a unique discipline. It's a team sport, of course, but at the end of the day, your results are yours and are the culmination of the work you have and have not put in. The tape doesn’t lie, the laser doesn’t lie, and the bar doesn’t lie. These measurements are an objective measure of improvement that no one can take from you. Through track, I have also made connections I never thought possible. I was a lonely kid with not many friends or people I was close to, but it was through track that I forged relationships that will last a lifetime. I plan to one day go back to my high school to coach, as it would be selfish of me not to give back to a program that did so much for me. I had an awesome head coach, but unfortunately, due to the nature of high school track, I lacked a throws coach. This is something you’ll often hear, which is sad because I know there have been athletes that went unnoticed who probably could have absolutely changed the sport. I want to be what I didn’t have and show future generations of throwers that it doesn’t matter where you start; it matters where you finish. I love this sport, and frankly, I probably wouldn’t be alive without it. I will likely be a thrower until the day I die, and I'm quite lucky to have found such a strong passion so early in life.

COVID-19 was hard for a lot of people, and I was no exception. I spent most of my time growing up on my own,I was a bit of a loner and had a hard time making friends. My only real social outlet in highschool was school and track. Coming out of January 2021, I had just finished my sophomore season of indoor track, and it was awesome. I had won states in my event and was MVP of my team. School was going great; I had a 3.9 GPA with a really hard course load. I had recently gotten my first girlfriend. Life was the best it had ever been. As we rolled into March, I heard what everyone else was hearing about COVID-19. I figured we'd be fine. Then, in mid-March, school closed. They said we'd be closed for two weeks. Two weeks went by, then they said another week. I still hadn't lost hope yet, treating it like an extended vacation. Then we got the news that we would be closed for the rest of the year and classes were moving online. Track was canceled. School was canceled. I was alone. Up to this point, I hadn't realized how dependent I was on school for purpose and fulfillment. I couldn't see anyone, not even my girlfriend. I didn't really have any friends to call or talk to, and my one true passion, track, was taken from me. I started falling into a deep depression. I stopped attending classes online, and my grades plummeted. I started self-harming. One night, after a painful bout of overthinking and ruminating, feeling so alone, I made an attempt to take my life. Luckily, right before I committed the act, I received a text from my girlfriend asking how I was, which pulled me back into reality. I realized then where I had let myself get to. After this, I started attending class again, realizing that there was a lot I wanted to do in this world, and dying wasn't going to get me there, but getting good grades would. I also started practicing on my own with the mentality that whenever the next competition came, I would be a whole different animal. Things improved a lot. I salvaged my GPA, recaptured my love for track, and tried to reach out to people more and connect with the few friends I did have. I had gotten through it and in the following year I became a state record holder, and was named to my schools national Honors society. For every valley there is a hill and every hill a valley. Bad times exist to to make the good times better. I learned that, and it helped me prepare for the bad and embrace the good because both are necessary.

Overcoming adversity is crucial for personal development. During some of the roughest times in my life, I've developed strategies to cope. They all boil down to one key phrase: "just keep swimming." It might seem like a silly phrase from a children's movie, but for me, it truly resonates and has guided me through my darkest times. My mother kept swimming: When I was six years old, my mother lost her job. She had been working overnight shifts, and it was my sister's responsibility to watch over me. One night, my older sister let some of her friends into the house, and they robbed us. My mom had to quit her job because she couldn't trust my sister to care for me. While looking for a new job, we couldn't afford our apartment anymore, so we moved in with my uncle, sleeping in his kids' beds for weeks. Eventually, we moved into a motel using my mom's child support money, as neither my father nor my sister's father was in the picture. We eventually got accepted into income-based housing. I struggled in school and became the quiet kid who couldn't make friends. Being poor meant no birthday parties or sports. My mom didn't want me around the kids in our neighborhood, so I became very comfortable being alone. I tried my best to remain quiet and unimposing because I knew how much my mom had to handle with my sister, who always seemed to be in trouble. My grandfather kept swimming: When I lost my grandfather on my father's side, it hit me hard. Though I didn't enjoy visiting my dad, seeing my grandpa made things better. He was a great man who was single-handedly responsible for bringing his family to America from Haiti. His passing devastated me, causing my school performance to drop. At the time, I was young, in second grade, and this was the first death that hit me. Upon reflection later in life, I realized this is when I developed my approach to adversity. I started fighting: In middle school, my mom moved us to a trailer in a different part of town. By then, my elementary school peers had their own groups, and I felt isolated. As a sixth grader weighing 240 pounds, I was sad and depressed. At a summer camp I attended, I experienced severe bullying for the first time. They called me "dough boy" and mocked me for not playing basketball, saying I as too fat and that I probably couldn't even run. The following summer, I lost 40 pounds and joined the football team, earning MVP every game. When faced with adversity, I've learned not to falter or yield but to level up and keep moving forward. I owe this mindset not just to myself but to my family, who have faced far greater challenges without faltering, and also to a silly little fish who just keeps swimming. By pursuing higher education, I plan to use my experiences to help others. I aspire to be a role model in my community, showing that no matter how tough life gets, it's possible to overcome and thrive. My goal is to create support systems for young people facing similar struggles, ensuring they have the resources and encouragement they need to succeed.

As a first-generation Haitian American, I come from a family deeply rooted in resilience and hard work. My father immigrated from Haiti at the age of 14 with his younger siblings and father, while my grandmother had already been in America, working tirelessly to establish a home for them. This legacy of perseverance extends to my mother, who independently lifted us from living in motels after eviction to owning her own home, all while raising me and my older sister. It took a long time but she did it. I am immensely grateful for the sacrifices my parents made, and I strive to honor them through my actions. When I'm home from college, I contribute by helping my mother with various projects around the house. For my father, I look after my younger brother and sister, acting as a supportive figure and an additional authority in their lives. While my current contributions are valuable, I am determined to do even more in the future not just for my family but my community as a whole. As an Exercise Science student, I am passionate about movement and its benefits. I aim to leverage my education to support my family and community by promoting the importance of physical activity. Through teaching, coaching youth sports, and organizing exercise programs, I hope to foster a culture of movement. Heart disease is a leading cause of death in the Black community, influenced by both genetics and lifestyle factors. By encouraging regular physical activity and better nutrition, I believe we can combat this issue. We no longer need to merely survive; we can thrive. My goal is to empower my community to lead healthier lives, enabling us to enjoy the world we have created for a longer time. Post-college, I plan to remain actively involved in my community. Whether through local health initiatives, youth sports programs, or public health education, I am committed to using my skills and knowledge to make a positive impact. By doing so, I hope to honor my heritage and contribute to a healthier, more vibrant community.

For a long time, I cursed my fate. Why did I have to deal with issues that most people don't? Why do I have to have anxiety? Why do I have to be depressed? I cursed the world and couldn't understand why I was burdened with these problems. What did I do wrong? It's kind of funny how it all pulls together—an anxious person always worries about what they're doing wrong. It has shaped me, and as I've grown older, I've come to accept that these aren't curses but part of who I am. I have anxiety and depression, and these are just parts of me, like my sense of humor or my taste in clothes. I try my best to cope with them and do what I can despite these challenges. I've kept pushing on. I'm an excellent student with a 3.9 GPA, and I can give presentations even though I nearly have panic attacks each time. Despite the pressure trying to keep me in bed, telling me it's all going to be for nothing, I find the motivation each morning to get up and keep going. I pushed so hard that I was able to become an All-American, one of the most prestigious college athletic titles you can get. I've learned to focus despite my mind constantly racing, which has allowed me to climb to the top of my class. This is all me. The biggest thing I've learned about mental health is that these aren't curses—they're part of who I am. Everyone's different, and everyone has their own psyche. Understanding that I'm not the only one with these issues has really shaped me. It has connected me with others and given me some amazing friendships. My mental health challenges aren't something to be afraid of or hide from. They shape me and mold me into who I am. Without them, I wouldn't be me, and I love being me. I no longer wish to be normal. Most of the time, I embrace who I am, though I still have my tough days. I keep moving forward, understanding that I am who I am, and I love who I am. This is what my journey with mental health has taught me.

Intellect is a cornerstone of our humanity, enabling us to comprehend our world, recognize patterns, and adapt effectively to our surroundings. This intellectual capability has played a crucial role in shaping the modern world, building upon the valuable contributions of those who came before us. I aspire to add to this lasting legacy by continuing to contribute to the foundation of the evidence-based science community, ensuring that future generations can also progress and thrive. I am deeply passionate about the biological sciences, focusing on the physiological aspects of human movement. Envisioning myself as a researcher in this field, I am dedicated to the belief that understanding human movement is essential for the health and well-being of our communities. By blending my commitment to scientific rigor with a deep understanding of human physiology, I aim to make meaningful contributions that resonate within the scientific community and beyond. Heart disease presents a significant health challenge within the African community, profoundly affecting our well-being. Exercise is a critical factor in both preventing and managing this disease. My motivation in this field is deeply rooted; I have lost family members to such diseases, fueling my drive to research and better understand these conditions. I aim to contribute to a greater comprehension of how these diseases develop and explore physiological interventions that can help individuals lead healthier, longer lives. Regular physical activity has been demonstrated to enhance cardiovascular health, lower blood pressure, and help manage weight and blood sugar levels. Yet, despite these benefits, many in our community struggle with obesity and related health issues, a situation compounded by genetic predispositions, socioeconomic factors, and lifestyle choices. I aim to confront these issues through dedicated research from an exercise physiology perspective. I aim to develop more effective and culturally appropriate exercise interventions by exploring how our bodies move. These interventions would consider the unique social, cultural, and economic factors that influence health outcomes in the African community. As I pursue a STEM career, I am not just seeking knowledge but also aiming to apply it for the betterment of my community. My work in exercise physiology will contribute to evidence-based strategies and solutions, particularly addressing heart disease and obesity-related conditions. In summary, my dedication to STEM, especially in exercise physiology, is driven by a desire to positively impact the African community's health. I am committed to being a researcher who advances scientific understanding and plays a crucial role in enhancing the health and vitality of our community for generations to come.

Growing up, I wasn't encouraged to play sports. My dad wanted me to, but I mostly lived with my mom during the school year. She's amazing but didn't push me much in that area. It wasn't until middle school that sports began to pique my interest. In 8th grade, I started playing football and discovered an unexpected joy and aptitude for it. I was naturally bigger, stronger, and faster than my peers. This newfound enthusiasm for physical challenges led me to consider Track, especially when a friend who had been on the team suggested I join. The moment I stepped onto the track field, I was captivated, particularly by the field events like throwing. It was an instant passion. My inherent competitiveness, once a source of frustration in team sports, found a positive outlet in Track. Unlike football, where the team's performance could overshadow individual efforts, Track was a different game – it was all about personal bests and self-improvement. This shift in focus from external competition to internal growth is where my passion for the sport truly blossomed, and in many ways, it saved me. In Track, it's essentially you versus you. Whether setting up in the blocks, entering the throwing circle, or approaching the jump board, it's a personal challenge. Sure, we compete against others to determine the best, and medals are awarded to acknowledge top performers. But ultimately, every track athlete shares the same goal: to better themselves. We don't receive the same recognition or attract the crowds as even Division 3 football teams, but for those profoundly passionate about Track, that's irrelevant. Our dedication isn't for applause or attendance; it's about proving that, on that day, we're the best version of ourselves. This is why I'm so passionate—I strive to be my best self. This mindset has been lifesaving, particularly during challenging times like the COVID pandemic when we lost a season. I was close to losing hope, deeply affected by the loss of my passion. But my determination to improve, to refuse to give up, pulled me through that dark period. Track has been my anchor, giving me everything. I wouldn't be where I am today without it. It pushed me and forced me to grow and change. There was once a kid who thought he couldn't achieve anything, felt like a waste of space, and believed he was destined to fail. That person no longer exists. In his place stands a man who knows that with enough hard work, anything is achievable. Track taught me that as long as I keep pushing and working hard, there will always be light at the end of the tunnel. It also taught me about the natural ebb and flow of life. Just as there are hills, there are valleys, and these ups and downs make life worth living. My journey in track has been more than just athletic; it's been a journey of self-discovery and growth. From a hesitant youth to a confident adult, track taught me resilience, focus, and the importance of surpassing personal limits. It's not just about winning races, but about the relentless pursuit of personal growth and triumphing over internal challenges. This sport has profoundly shaped who I am today.

I have always harbored innate fears, common ones like spiders or snakes and deeper ones such as death and loss. These basic human fears are an inherent part of my being. However, my deepest fear is the unknown. The mere thought of being unable to explain or understand something terrifies me. Naturally, there are things beyond my grasp, but if there's a possibility to learn and understand, I am voraciously curious. My love for learning has been a constant in my life; I've aspired to go to college even before I fully understood what it entailed, knowing it was a place where my learning could flourish. Given the chance, I would be a perpetual student, forever engaged in the joy of learning, taking tests, and doing homework, all of which I find immensely enjoyable. My mind is generally more occupied with the field of science, and I would have enjoyed majoring in any scientific discipline. However, I am more interested in biological sciences, particularly kinesiology. I find humans to be such fascinating creatures. Our movement and physiology are incredibly unique. We are among the most incredible endurance mammals, possessing remarkable control over our muscles. Our hands are capable of completing the most intricate tasks. It's truly astonishing what our species is capable of, and it's equally intriguing how much we still have to learn about our bodies. My experience has greatly influenced my fascination with human movement as a track and field athlete. This sport showcases the true diversity of human movement most vividly. In track and field, sprinters test the limits of the body's raw explosive power, while distance runners explore how far and long we can push our endurance. Jumpers strive to reach new heights, demonstrating the remarkable extent to which we can launch our bodies. Meanwhile, throwers elegantly blend power, skill, and balance to launch implements. It's a beautiful symphony of movement that captivates me deeply. This deep engagement with physical performance in track and field set the stage for my academic interests as I entered college. As a freshman in college, I was confident that I had chosen the right major, but I was only quite sure of my exact career path once I took a research skills class. Although it was just an introductory course, it captivated me completely. I can't envision myself as anything other than a researcher now. The prospect of being a lifelong learner and standing at the cutting edge of movement science feels like the greatest aspiration I could ever have. This realization in college was a pivotal moment, linking my athletic experiences to my academic ambitions and further fueling my desire to delve into the unknowns of human movement. Like everyone else, I am human and have typical fears. However, my fear of the unknown has always driven me to achieve more, to move forward, and to pursue my most significant interest: human movement. This is one of the most intellectually captivating subjects. Spending my professional career learning about it is not just a goal but a passion that defines my path. My journey from the track to the research lab exemplifies how confronting fears and embracing the unknown can lead to a fulfilling and passionate pursuit of knowledge.

They day I stopped believing in the tooth fairy As a child, like many others, I held a firm belief in the tooth fairy. The concept was enchanting: lose a tooth, place it under your pillow, and miraculously find money there the next morning. This routine was more than a childhood fantasy; it was a glimpse into a magical world. Although I usually found just 50 cents under my pillow, while my peers boasted about receiving a dollar or more, the excitement was no less for me. My belief in this enchanting world was strong until a particular incident in second grade. I had lost a tooth and, following tradition, placed it under my pillow. However, the next morning required an early start for an errand, and in my rush, I couldn’t check for the tooth fairy’s gift. Upon returning to our motel, my mother rushed and wouldn’t let me in. This moment, subtle yet profound, marked the end of my belief in the tooth fairy. This experience was a small part of a larger tapestry of imaginative stories my mother shared with me, especially during challenging times. Like many parents, she spun tales of Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, creating a buffer of fantasy against the harsh realities of life. Unbeknownst to me, we were grappling with financial difficulties. There were nights spent on my uncle's couch, times we sought shelter with second cousins, and periods when we lived in low-income housing, our expenses covered by child support and food stamps. These aspects of my life were shrouded in my mother's stories, designed to shield me from the worries of homelessness and financial instability. It wasn’t until I was around 10 years old that I began to understand these struggles. The reality of our financial situation became clear: the concept of real money, the necessity of food stamps, and the significance of having a stable home. My mother's protective veil gradually lifted, revealing the challenges we had faced and the resilience we had shown. By the time I reached high school, our circumstances had improved. My mother had managed to save enough for us to move into our own home. Now, as a college student, I am acutely aware of the financial responsibilities ahead. Fully self-financed, my college education is a testament to the lessons learned from my mother: honesty, resilience, and the importance of facing reality. My aspirations extend beyond academic achievements. With a lifelong passion for learning, I aim to delve into research in exercise science, specifically focusing on physiology. Pursuing graduate studies and a Ph.D. is part of this dream. Ultimately, I want to lead a life that I am proud of, one that is shaped by the values and truths learned from my childhood experiences. These lessons, rooted in the simplicity of a child’s belief in the tooth fairy, have guided me towards a path of self-reliance, determination, and a commitment to living authentically.