"Girls shouldn't play soccer, they'll get too muscular and look like guys!"
Playing with the boys is intimidating. But I've been doing it since I was a scrawny nine year-old, and I was (always?) pretty good at it. I needed to play soccer like I needed to breathe. Even though the boys were getting bigger than me, I had no qualms trying out for the boy's (boys) team as a fourteen year-old.
It started with a simple enough exercise on the field: tryouts for the best club in Doha - the dusty capital of Qatar. The tryouts were on a Thursday afternoon in mid-October. The sun was at its peak and it was blistering. Stepping onto the field felt like walking into a steamy oven. Unlike the rest of the barren city, the field was lush and green like an oasis in the sand. The coaches were huddled together on the sidelines and I assertively approached (approached assertively) .
But stepping on the field to play, I started getting butterflies in my stomach. Not the type you get when you're playing a big game. This was outright anxiety (the preceding sentences might work better as two sentences, not three. connect either to the next - easier reading) . These guys were big. They had the muscles of professional players with tree stumps (trunks) for legs. Their movements were exact and severe, like drills in the army. My heart started beating faster and so intensely('so hard and so fast' would provide better symmetry) I could almost hear it. Every player on the field had a red jersey on. And there I was, in a plain white t-shirt. My confidence was shot. I, for the first time, felt small and self-conscious on the soccer field. And I was reminded of what my dad said: I, being a girl, shouldn't play soccer.
(The usage of 'I, ..., ...' isn't really a common one. Seems awkward, perhaps you could try revising. It might just be cleaner to say 'For the first time, I felt small...')
The ball that had been my friend for so long was now foreign, (;) I couldn't control it. It wasn't curving or bending the way it was supposed to. Drills only lasted fifteen minutes, but each one was excruciating. I finally excused myself, ran to the bathroom and began to sob. It was my lowest moment. My sense of self came from the soccer field and knowing that I could do anything that the guys could do. At that moment I lost it, and I stopped playing.
When I came back to the States as a sophomore in high school, I was too scared to try out for varsity. I was sure I wouldn't make it. I spent the year watching the team play, wishing I were on the field. I was angry but wasn't sure why. It was easier to blame the world than to take responsibility. Still, I knew the fear of failure couldn't feel worse than sitting on the sidelines. And being angry wasn't going to get me back on the field. It slowly and painfully dawned on me that I had it all wrong. It was me who had allowed (let?) other people to shake my confidence. That realization helped me understand the difference between confidence and bravado. My dad's words made me question myself, but they also made me truly confident. I can (could) accept his views as his alone without losing my sense of purpose. As for soccer, I'm back on the field again. But this time, it feels different. It's no longer about impressing coaches or other players. For me, it's about the love of the game.
Well written essay, except for a few typos. However I have to say that the topic of girls playing sports has been done to death. I can enjoy your essay, but for an admissions officer on his 2134th, it might seem too plain. My suggestion would be to add something different, something new. Perhaps it was the way your dad said it, perhaps it an account of a teammate. But it has to be something new.
Also, the structuring might need some work. In a transformation essay, you're better off with the transformation happening closer to the middle. That way you have more space to talk about the new you and the lessons you learnt, which is what they're really looking for. The journey you've had is important, but not as important as the you that they're admitting.
Oh and take a look at mine, let me know what you think. Deadlines are almost here!
