I cannot believe we have another marching band rehearsal. I have to walk out to the school’s marching band practice field again for the third time this week, just to go over what we already did yesterday. It is hot, humid, and I am tired. We go through all of this work, and we do not get anything from it. Why do we have to work for five hours a week for a ten-minute show anyway? I have homework to do, and this marching band rehearsal is just a waste of time. All of the thoughts that went through my head before the band’s first Friday rehearsal reveal how I did not understand the greater purpose of each individual rehearsal throughout the season.
On Fridays, the band practices for an hour and a half before playing at football games. We went out to go over the first movement of our show, Skitzo-Circuso-Phrenzia, to perform at halftime at the game that night. It was our first performance, so everyone was saying that the rehearsal had to be extra focused, and everyone needed to
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We ate, dressed, and marched out to the stadium. We planned to perform the show after the game so that we would have more time. During the whole game, I went over the music, my marching, and my sets. I did not want to mess up-to earn ten more push-ups. The game had just five minutes left. I was worried, just thinking about how I would mess up and ruin the show for everybody. The game finished. It was time to march out on the field in front of the 2,000 people sitting in the stands. I had never performed in front of that many people. I marched the first nineteen sets, or positions on the field, perfectly and I started to pride myself. Suddenly, I forgot where I was supposed to go. I freaked out and resorted to following a fellow trumpet player next to me for the rest of the show. I blew it. I messed up everything. My section leaders were mad at me, and informed me that I had to run a lap at rehearsal the next