Brock - St.Louis, Missouri
Entered on October 16, 2008
Age Group: Under 18

Zach, well versed thrower, stepped into the ring, as practice was winding down. Zach had had a struggle recently with the idea of throwing the discus forward; often throwing it to the left or right, causing many onlookers to be frightened as the discus hurtled after them, only to remember that there was a net to keep them safe. Zach threw throws that were fast. But low and behold, as Zach set his one discus down outside the ring, and gripped his other discus firmly, hoping to keep the others around him from the constant worry that comes with a discus bearing down on someone, Zach found a way to avoid the net and he threw the discus towards the shot put area. I, Brock Berenato, hovered over my shot put and leaned down to pick it up. Suddenly, I felt a cool breeze over my short, brown hair only to see Zach in shock, and our subsequent team members making jokes about Zach’s “killer” throwing ability. The discus had flown so close to my head, that if the discus would have fallen another inch in the air, I wouldn’t have been on this earth anymore or under it in a casket. The life and death situations of the discus ring are not exactly what made me a thrower.

Sweat streams down my face, as I grabbed my shot put and entered the ring after running some sprints to get my legs warmed up. I would have paid any price, taken any punishment, met the devil face to face, opposed anyone to ensure a good throw. To throw the shot put far, several things had to go correctly. Is this the right shot put? Is Coach Kniffen watching me? Whoever throws the farthest will be the champion. I grabbed my shot put and walked into the ring and my attention was caught once again. What did coach say to me on my way to the ring? Keep your body low, and kick hard. Why are these people standing right in front of me? Don’t they know that I’m trying to throw? Who’s talking over there? Coach Kniffen, in my peripherals, gave me a glance for reassurance. I got down in my stance and stuck my arm out straight in front of me. Am I down low enough? Rip with the left arm and turn your shoulders, release from the neck. Make it a high arc. Now is the time that you get 35 feet, just relax, kick hard, and pray to God that this shot put will go the distance you want or else Coach Kniffen will give you an ear full. The throwers stopped listening to the coach. I started to kick and my legs flew towards the front of the ring. Great kick! Don’t screw it up with a bad turn; keep all of your weight back. Is this going to be far enough? It started off well but that’s not enough, it’s time to finish. Please finish!

Coach Kniffen, coach and mentor, suddenly looked upon the ring. Gravity quickly forced my body to twist like a person having a seizure. Great job turning, really kept your weight back. Now time for the release, this is the easiest part. You’re rather good at this Brock just make sure you execute the plan. Here goes nothing come on! I threw the shot put very quickly. I turned myself to stay inside the circle, which like the hands of time, determined my fate. I stopped throwing when my foot landed in the ring. And then, the moment I wait for with every throw, silence. Not a thought was in my head, not a word was being spoken, not another human being in my vicinity was saying a word and it was just me, the shot put, and the air that I breathed very heavily as a sprinter, but lightly like a relaxed person. The eerie silence that whispered to me wonderful things, things only heard when in complete silence, suddenly ended as the shot put landed somewhere between the third and fourth line. Did I throw it far enough? It looked like it went pretty far. What does Coach Kniffen think? I’m pretty sure that I kept my weight back, kicked hard, and threw the shot put from my neck. I guess I’ll find out because here comes Coach Kniffen. The shouting teammates ran to the side after the throw. Then it was judgment time as I would find out how I really had done. “Broccoli! God dang it that is one of the best throws you ever had. You kept your weight back, kicked hard, and that baby flew. Why don’t you do that in practice? Christ, Mary, saints alive!” Coach Kniffen yelled as he approached me. My teammates approached me as well. My teammates knew the feeling. My teammates had understood. The markers went out and found the pin where my throw had landed, as my teammates and I looked on to find out my distance eagerly, like kids in a candy store. Slowly, the portly gentlemen that was managing the event pulled the tape through the back of the ring to the very tip and read at what seemed at a slow-motion pace “Thirty…five feet and two inches.” Adrenaline ran through my whole body like a world-class sprinter trying to finish a 100-meter sprint. I would have never gone through that again, if not for the reward. And there I sat, stunned as Coach Kniffen and the team moved on to the next thrower, his next mission, but the adrenaline still lingered in my body as I looked into the bright white clouds in the sky. As I sat, I thought of that one moment where the shot put was in the air, I was on the ground, and not a whisper was heard throughout, jealous at the tranquil perfection of that moment.