2024届高考英语一轮复习话题阅读素材26

My Greatest Olympic Prize It was the summer of 1936. The Olympic Games were being held in Berlin. Because Hitler insisted childishly that his performers were members of a master race, nationalistic feelings were at all-time high. I had trained, sweated and disciplined myself for 6 years. I had my eyes especially on the running broad jump, determined to earn one gold medal for America. A year before, as a sophomore at the Ohio State, I'd set the world's record of 26 feet 8 1/4 inches. Nearly everyone expected me to win this event. I was in for a surprise. When the time came for the broad-jump trials, I was startled to see a tall boy hitting the pit at almost 26 feet on his practice leaps. He turned out to be a German named Luz Long. He had easily qualified for the finals on his first attempt. I guessed that if Long won, it would add new support to the Nazi's "master race" theory. After all, I'm a Negro. Angry about Hitler's ways, I was determined do show Hitler who was superior and who wasn't. An angry athlete is an athlete who will make mistakes. I fouled twice on my qualifying jumps. Walking a few yards from the pit, I kicked at the dirt disgustedly. Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder.

I turned to look into the friendly blue eyes of Luz Long. "Hi, I'm Luz Long. I don't think we've met." He spoke English well, though with a German twist. "Glad to meet you," I said. Then, trying to hide my nervousness, I added, "How are you?" "I'm fine. Something must be eating you. You should be able to qualify with your eyes closed." He said. he seemed to understand my anger, and took pains to reassure me. Although he'd been schooled in the Nazi youth movement, he didn't believe in the Aryan-superiority business any more than I did. For the next few minutes we talked together. Finally, seeing that I had calmed down somewhat, he said, "What does it matter if you're not the first in the trials? Tomorrow is what counts." All the tension left my body as the truth of what he said hit me. Confidently, I drew a line a full feet behind the board and proceeded to jump from there. I qualified with almost a foot to spare.

As it turned out, Luz broke his own record. In doing so, he pushed me on to a peak performance. The instant I landed from my final jump -- the one which set the Olympic record of 26 feet 5 1/16 inches -- he was at my side, congratulating me. Despite the fact that Hitler glared at us from the stands not a few yards away, Luz shook my hand hard -- and it wasn't a "fake smile with a broken heart" sort of grip, either. I realized then that Luz was just what Pierre de Coubertin, founder of the modern games, must have had in his mind when he said, "The important thing in the Olympic Games is not winning but taking part. The essential thing in life is not conquering but fighting well."

2024届高考英语一轮复习话题阅读素材26

My Greatest Olympic Prize It was the summer of 1936. The Olympic Games were being held in Berlin. Because Hitler insisted childishly that his performers were members of a master race, nationalistic feelings were at all-time high. I had trained, sweated and disciplined myself for 6 years. I had my eyes especially on the running broad jump, determined to earn one gold medal for America. A year before, as a sophomore at the Ohio State, I'd set the world's record of 26 feet 8 1/4 inches. Nearly everyone expected me to win this event. I was in for a surprise. When the time came for the broad-jump trials, I was startled to see a tall boy hitting the pit at almost 26 feet on his practice leaps. He turned out to be a German named Luz Long. He had easily qualified for the finals on his first attempt. I guessed that if Long won, it would add new support to the Nazi's "master race" theory. After all, I'm a Negro. Angry about Hitler's ways, I was determined do show Hitler who was superior and who wasn't. An angry athlete is an athlete who will make mistakes. I fouled twice on my qualifying jumps. Walking a few yards from the pit, I kicked at the dirt disgustedly. Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder.

I turned to look into the friendly blue eyes of Luz Long. "Hi, I'm Luz Long. I don't think we've met." He spoke English well, though with a German twist. "Glad to meet you," I said. Then, trying to hide my nervousness, I added, "How are you?" "I'm fine. Something must be eating you. You should be able to qualify with your eyes closed." He said. he seemed to understand my anger, and took pains to reassure me. Although he'd been schooled in the Nazi youth movement, he didn't believe in the Aryan-superiority business any more than I did. For the next few minutes we talked together. Finally, seeing that I had calmed down somewhat, he said, "What does it matter if you're not the first in the trials? Tomorrow is what counts." All the tension left my body as the truth of what he said hit me. Confidently, I drew a line a full feet behind the board and proceeded to jump from there. I qualified with almost a foot to spare.

As it turned out, Luz broke his own record. In doing so, he pushed me on to a peak performance. The instant I landed from my final jump -- the one which set the Olympic record of 26 feet 5 1/16 inches -- he was at my side, congratulating me. Despite the fact that Hitler glared at us from the stands not a few yards away, Luz shook my hand hard -- and it wasn't a "fake smile with a broken heart" sort of grip, either. I realized then that Luz was just what Pierre de Coubertin, founder of the modern games, must have had in his mind when he said, "The important thing in the Olympic Games is not winning but taking part. The essential thing in life is not conquering but fighting well."