Madeline Arndt

Descriptive Essay

October 24

Nightly Sweat

The torn edges of my backpack call to me in a soft, yet serious whisper. As my hands

firmly grasp its aged straps, focus begins to placate my body. Energy courses through determined

veins as I trek to the distant field ahead. At six, the sky has only just begun to fall victim to

darkness. The chill effervesces from the sky, swallowing me whole. Sore muscles from the

previous training are the equivalent of wet noodles. Each step taken towards the destination

shakes my body like an earthquake. Approaching the start of the fields, elation joined the energy

in my bloodstream. The stench of hard work burrows its way into the depths of my flared

nostrils. I knew I was close now. Ambling past the tenacity of youth, observing their drive fills

my lungs with breath. This is the place where the passion of football dug its tendrils into my

naive heart. These measly soccer fields are my home. Commented [1]: terrific intro.

Pack in hand, my arduous travels have come to an end. As I reach the practice turf, my mind

locks in on purpose. There is a job to be done. I drag the zipper to acquire my black, patent

leather adidas cleats. As I carefully slide them onto my feet, I notice the immediate influx of

teammates here to reach the same goal - sweat. I bounce around to activate each pained muscle,

preparing for the session ahead. The surface below is mainly an undeniable green, yet

intermittently there lay pockets of unknown gravel bits. Suddenly the fibers within my built legs

feel like they are tearing at the seams. A hole in the uneven field grips my foot with contempt,

angering every ounce of my limb. Now one with the ground, my delicate hands push me from

the dirt. Once on my feet, practice is seconds from go time.

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Through passing with one another invisible patterns are created. As each touch caresses the

football, masterpieces are made. Perfection is quite literally at the foot of the beholder. These

husky players morph into carbon copies of Dega’s dancers. The movement of the team is candid,

yet choreographed. The studs that line our cleats effectively plow over what is left of the natural

turf. The barren landscape is home to a unique type of farmer. The human foot is a tool like no

other. Countless bones form the necessary equipment to successfully kick. These feet don’t care

where the are, these feet do their duty. Feet are inherently reliable, for their loyalty never wavers.

Practice continues as the sky darkens to a depth of black never seen. Cranking, clashing, and

clanging turn on a rickety portable light fixture to enable us to continue our work deep into night.

Those seemingly sweet white lights began to interrogate me, as their haze made my vision trip. It

became impossible to discern shadows from an incoming rocket of a shot. The glow from above

distorts all coherent vision. The familiar landscape is a complete blur. I am not the only one

struggling, as unforced errors plague my nationally ranked team. The darkness is overwhelming,

yet we fight through the obscurity. The concentration is at its peak, for that is the only way to

feel our way through the gloom. Sweat glistens from the forehead of each player, mimicking a

finely cut diamond. The uncertainty of night didn’t deter the goal that was set. The potency of

challenge never overcomes my will to sweat. The vigor of this unwavering drive is unmatched.

As practice concluded and I trudge off to my bag, I am accomplished. I yank each cleat from my

stinging feet, and promptly start back toward my car. Nights like these grow an athlete into a

champion. The consistency of steered sweat is imperative to the game that dictates my life. Commented [2]: Great phrasing.

Wonderful descriptive piece.

Labeling Key
verb form 95%
verb tense
strong word choice
poor word choice
spelling error
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awkward phrasing
capitalize word
lower case - do not capitalize
Provide an example to support your point
sentence fragment
run-on sentence
repetitive
Punctuation error

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Punctuation muscle
error