Holding my knee tightly to my chest, I can't help but notice the faded scars lining my shins. Each mark tells a story of adventures and misadventures I've encountered over my seventeen years - constant reminders of the mistakes and discoveries I've made so far in my short life. I begin to dream, carefully remembering every detail as I sit comfortably on my bedroom floor. On the inside of my left ankle I see the very faint scar from the summer I turned six. My older brother Geoff was cycling and invited me to join him. As I climbed onto the handlebars of his little green bike, I wondered where we were going to go; the power lines down the road? The private road on which we were not allowed to travel? Or down the giant hill that ended right in front of my driveway? I continued to shout suggestions in a way that only little sisters can, even though it was clear to me that he would make his decision; we were going to climb to the top of the steep hill. When we finally reached the top, he was standing on the pedals, using all his strength to get us there. he released the brake and the wind brushed past us as we raced down the hill. We quickly made our descent and our home was only seconds away. Geoff tried to turn the corner, slamming on the brakes as he entered the dirt driveway. The bike skidded beneath us, throwing us both onto the rocky ground. I got up as quickly as I could only to realize that my foot was stuck in the tire spokes of the bike wheel. At the sight of the blood, I immediately burst into tears and my brothers rushed me inside. My parents took me to the doctor only to discover that the fall had caused a severe sprain in my ankle. The next day I was cycling again. Furt...... middle of paper ...... y feet before he could even realize what had happened. I walked in to a shocked and angry father as my eyebrows and forehead began to swell to the size of a golf ball. I went to the doctor and learned that there was no real damage and that we could expect the golf ball on my forehead to heal on its own and go away. A week later, before the swelling had completely gone away and the bump had even started to heal, I hit my very first baseball, with the same baseball bat. So, with my knees tucked under my chin, as these videos ran through my mind. , I admire the scars. To me, they are more than wounds that have faded, they are constant reminders of healing from mistakes and bruises that only make me stronger. I keep this in mind as I stretch my legs and get up off the ground, determined to keep going no matter what gets me down..