<p>Tell us about a personal quality, talent, accomplishment, contribution or experience that is important to you. What about this quality or accomplishment makes you proud and how does it relate to the person you are?</p>
<p>I was hoping the kind folks at CC could read my essay and offer any criticism or suggestions they had on it. With only 5 days until the deadline, any suggestions to perfect my essay are greatly appreciated. Thanks!</p>
<pre><code> Left, right, left, right. My legs quivered with the unfamiliar but exciting feeling of moving in a new way. The wind howled and the scenery blurred as I went faster. I couldnt control myself any longer and I fell hard onto the pavement. The agonizing feeling of pain was overshadowed by the euphoric feeling of triumph. A gash had formed on my knee, the blood of success trickling down into my shoes. I did not care. I had finally learned to ride a bike.
I was thirteen when I taught myself to ride a bike. It was always embarrassing to me that I didnt know how to ride a bike. It was something that everyone seemed to instinctively know how to do from a young age, almost like walking. It seemed everyone knew how to ride one, except me. Two weeks before my birthday, I asked my parents for a bike.
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<p>I dont want anything fancy, I told them just something that I can ride.
My parents were confused. But you dont even know how to ride a bike and we dont either. How are you supposed to ride it?
Ill teach myself, I answered. I was insulted by their question, their doubt. </p>
<pre><code> I wasnt sure if they would get me a bike for my birthday. But two weeks later, a brand-new blue bike was in the backyard. It was a dark blue bike, nothing fancy. There was a hint of red on the frame, difficult to see unless one looked closely. My parents made it clear to me that if I wanted to learn how to ride my new bike, I would have to teach myself. I nodded and said okay several times in my childlike excitement, which seemed to convince them that I was serious about teaching myself. It was getting dark, so I couldnt start. I went to sleep thinking, In a few days, Ill be able to ride a bike. That is what I thought, anyways. It would actually take me much longer than, in my own naïve words a few days.
Over the next few months, I would spend most of my spare time trying to teach myself how to ride my bike. I got up early in the morning before school to sneak in a few minutes of practice. No matter how much I practiced, it did not help. I would fall often, landing on the cold stone of my backyard which would remind me of my failure each time I felt it. Each time I fell, a few minor scratches would appear on my arms and legs. My bike suffered the same. I grew infuriated. The excitement that was once there was fading; I wanted to quit. Yet, I would still get up early in the morning, still practice whenever I could. One afternoon, a month before school ended, I found myself gripping the handlebar lightly; there was a scrape on my hand that prevented me from holding any tighter. I took a deep breath, hoping for success but expecting failure. I let go of the wall and began to push the pedals. Left, right, left, right
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<p>I have a new bike now, a bigger one. My first bike is still in the garage. Sometimes I still ride it around, to make sure it still works. There are many paint chips on it. The original dark blue frame is now covered with metallic silver scratches. My dad offered to repaint it for me so that it would look brand new again. There are still many paint chips on the bike; I dont mind. I like looking at them.</p>