Only As Colorful As You Make It.

STORY #1 


On Tuesday I got a concussion.

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STORY #2

Last Tuesday my intramural soccer team, named Jessica Alba, was up against our nemesis, the latino team called The Expendables.  We lost to them earlier this semester and they had taunted us about it ever since.  For the past couple weeks, whenever we would bump into them at school or on Tuesday nights, they would trash talk about how they were going to kick our butts for a second time.

So then Tuesday rolled around.  The big game day.  Our captain "Ponytail Jon" had been prepping us for this game for weeks.  He had been trash talking the latinos, thinking out strategies, spamming us with text messages, and even writing out motivational speeches to give in our huddle.  Okay maybe not the speeches, but his eye was on the prize and it motivated the rest of us young "Jessica Albians".  He was extra careful to make sure we would have enough subs and that we all knew the time of our game.  When 8 PM rolled around last Tuesday, we were ready for war.

We were off to an excellent start, scoring two goals in no time.  The Expendables were only off to a slow start we soon found out, as they quickly caught up.  The score bounced around from being tied, to us winning, to us losing, to tied more quickly than I can even remember.  It was INTENSE.  I don't remember being in a more important game in my entire life and having so much at stake.  Jessica Alba's pride and dignity was on the line, and we were the proud defenders of such.  

With a little less than five minutes left in the first half, the ball was kicked super high, just grazing the rafters of the gym roof.  I ran to position myself under it and as it fell closer to my jump range, I launched myself into the air to head it far away from the enemy.  Unfortunately, my team mate Carlos Rojas came running across the gym with the same goal in mind.

(Before I go on, something must be said of Carlos.  With a height of approximately 5'6" and the intensity of a mad bull, Carlos is the most dangerous player in the entire intramural soccer league. He averages 3 penalties a game and holds the current record for the most blue cards on our team.  No one has spent as much time in the penalty box as Carlos Rojas.  And no one is as frightening to play against as Carlos Rojas.)

Time stood still as two determined bodies flew through the air towards the small and helpless soccer ball.  Luckily for that soccer ball, no head touched it.  Unluckily for my head, Carlos' head touched it.  More like tortured it.  Or trampled it.  A deafening silence entered the gym as everyone stared in disbelief as Carlos "The Killer" Rojas' forehead punched Kristen Gibb's temple.  We both spiralled away from the impact, landing in sprawled spread eagle positions nearly ten feet away from where head butting contact was made.

Something like this.  But the ball did NOT hit me in the face!

Things instantly went black.  I don't remember what else.  I heard voices.  I felt the presence of a crowd drawing around me.  I became aware that my body was laying on the floor.  I was instantly embarrassed of the scene I must be creating and sat up really quick.  Too quick.  My head hurt.  No, my head was throbbing with the most unbearable pain I had ever experienced in my whole entire life.  I opened my eyes for the first time in what must have been two minutes.  I saw the faces of both teams, the referees, angels, and a leprechaun.  Stars surrounded me.  I was finally dragged to the sidelines and the game resumed.  

I've played soccer with my fair share of injuries.  I thought for sure I'd be ready for the second half when an Intramural Supervisor approached me and sincerely asked me not to.  But since I don't take orders from anyone, I decided to play goalie.  Our team only had two girl players and since we had to have two girls playing at all times, it was either going to be us playing short a player, or us playing with me in net.  The second half began.

I'm no amateur in net, but it has definitely been years since I've done it.  And I'd never tried it before when my head was ringing like a bell.  I did get scored on.  But I did save some.  As the timer ticked down from 20 minutes, the intensity of the game began to climb.  We slowly began to pull ahead.  Probably cause we had an awesome goalie.  Suddenly, the game was over.  Jessica Alba had won.  Our team hollered for joy.  There were tears.  There were high fives.  I even managed a hug from "Ponytail Jon".

After that, I went home to bed.  Because my head really, REALLY started to hurt.  And then I died in my sleep.  Just kidding, but I should have.  Because the next day, my mom yelled at me until I went to a sketchy walk-in clinic, to a doctor who liked to touch his nose.  This guy took one look at me and then told me I had a concussion.  He even proved it when I couldn't touch the tip of my nose with my index finger when my eyes were closed.  That was weird.  I felt like an idiot.

So the next few days, I took it real easy.  I wrote a paper.  I ate some cereal.  I had a nap and drooled all over myself.  Just all the things required for a speedy recovery.  My head still hurts to touch, but at least my face and neck aren't constantly numb anymore.  It was really a close call.  I'm pretty much lucky to be alive.  

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"Life is either a great adventure or nothing"

I see this quote every time I creep a very talented girls blog.  It wasn't until this week that I realized that life is only as colorful as you make it.  Either you let everyday, every experience, and every moment pass through in dull monotony, summarized in a single, boring statement, or you bring it to life, allowing yourself to be excited, fascinated, and inspired.

I want to live my life like a little kid.  Although many things are no longer new and exciting, I want to embrace each moment, choosing to make the dull become colorful.  I want life to be a great adventure.

Thoughts on Pacing One's Self

I love running.  Long distance running.  Nothing beats it.  I'm a running junkie.


This weekend I had the opportunity to compete, for my third time, in my most favorite 10 km race:  The Moonlight Run.  Hosted in Lethbridge, Alberta, the Moonlight Run starts in front of the Court House and then drops down into the coulees on a very steep and winding road.  Most of the race then takes place on the nice paths along the river.  The finish line is then exactly back where the race started, which means all runners must face that monstrous hill they enjoyed so much on the way down.

The first year I competed in the Moonlight Run I learned a very valuable lesson on that pesky hill.  As a young and naive runner, my first instinct was to let gravity take over my pace, letting myself run free and wild like a mad woman down the hill.  As soon as I found myself back on the level terrain of the river valley, my lungs and legs punished me for making such a rash decision.  I struggled to maintain a steady pace for the remainder of the race.  Darn hill.

Even though I knew better, this year I found myself wanting to make the same mistake I made that first year.  As the road got steeper and as more and more runners whizzed past me, I longed to ignore the confines of my restricting pace.  I wanted to plunge headlong into the sprint all of the other well seasoned runners, and very green runners, were enjoying.  Unfortunately, I chose to ignore my pace ever so slightly and later on in the race my body began to tease me about it.  And since I think a lot while I run, my thoughts turned to the hill that was now causing me so much pain.  After pondering that hill for a few kilometers, I was able to draw a parallel between it and the fascinating world of DATING.  I now present to you a very unusual analogy.  

The Moonlight Run hill is like Dating.

You know the feeling, at least I hope you do, because it's absolutely terrific and terrible at the same time.  It's the realization that your crush, your number one on your top five, your C.O.W., the person you secretly stalk on Facebook, the person who gives you butterflies with a text that only says "im good. u?" might actually have feelings for you too, at least that's what his wing man told your roommate's brother's best friend.  This is all just the starting line of the Moonlight Run.

Next comes the awkward smiles, a Facebook inbox message perhaps, and the ever increasing occurrences of randomly bumping in to each other.  Whoa!  They really are in to you!  Texting conversations commence, followed by hanging out, hanging out, and a little bit more hanging out.  Before you know it, you've been asked on a first date and, holy smokes!, it went awesome!  Something tells you you're in to something good...  This is all those first two blocks on level ground, running past the Court House and McDonald's of the Moonlight Run.

Suddenly, things become official.  It's magical.  It's all you ever hoped for.  It's a dream come true.  You're actually in a real relationship with someone.  Life couldn't get any better.  This magical phase of dating is the equivalent of that very steep and winding slope leading down to the river of the Moonlight Run.

Oh how precious!

In the exact way that pacing yourself applies to the first three legs of the Moonlight Run, pacing yourself applies to these first three legs of dating.  It isn't hard to imagine the trouble an inexperienced runner would find themselves in at the bottom of the hill after sprinting the beginning of this race.  Pacing yourself is just as important in the Moonlight Run as it is in dating.

Too often people allow themselves to sprint through the beginning of a relationship, blinded by their desire and hormones.  I've done it myself and I've seen it done many times by others.  You ignore your priorities to spend more time with said someone, you ditch your friends and previous plans, you become irrational in thought, word, and deed.  You compromise your calm and constant pace in a sprint for split second satisfaction.  The unfortunate part is that more often than not, by the time any runner or relationship reaches the bottom of the hill, if they had been sprinting they most likely won't be able to carry on very efficiently much longer.  Sprinting this hill is the easy thing to do in both the race and a relationship.

Pacing yourself is vital if you want to enjoy the rest of the race.  Exercise a little self control.  Remember your real priorities like school, family, and work.  Play hard to get.  Make time for your friends.  Stay focussed on your goals.  Think about the here and now, not the wedding bells and baby names.  If anything, pacing yourself makes you more attractive and sets the stage for a lasting relationship instead of a crazy, whirlwind affair.  Take it from me, you do not want to sprint the beginning of the Moonlight Run, and you do not want to sprint through the beginning of a relationship.  You merely set yourself up for sore legs or a sore heart.

Create.

"Every man builds his world in his own image. ...  Whoever preserves a single thought uncorrupted by any concession to the will of others, whoever brings into reality a matchstick or a patch of garden made in the image of his thought - he, and to that extent, is a man, and that extent is the sole measure of his virtue." - Atlas Shrugged

This week I learned something absolutely fascinating about myself.  I, along with everyone else on the planet, possess the amazing ability to create.  I'm not talking about the having babies kind of create, you weirdos, I'm talking about the taking raw materials and ability and turning them into something valuable kind of create. 

For an entrepreneurship class in school we were given the assignment to create value using only rags.  1.5 foot square rags.  Any color, design, or texture.  I'll admit my group and I sat in silence, completely flabbergasted by the enormity of this task, for quite sometime.  Eventually we came up with the idea to simply create bags.  So all day Thursday, we cut up and sewed together rags into these nifty looking bags.  Look what we were able to create!

(If you want to do me a huge favor, visit THIS BLOG and pretend to buy a bag by leaving a comment on the one you like!  The more bags we "sell" the better grade we'll get!)

Then yesterday afternoon, while wandering through a thrift store, I found a real beauty of a picture frame and was able to create THIS!

By simply removing the glass and replacing it with lace, I was able to create a very decorative earring holder!  

After completing these two projects I think I just might be addicted to creating things.  I looked around my room this afternoon and realized I have quite a few little projects on the go requiring some creative juices.

I started this beauty a month or two ago.  It's my very first attempt at crocheting! 

I'm also constantly working on this precious gem.  My journal.

It feels so good to be able to create something from nothing with the use of your own mind and hands.  Whether it's cooking a dinner, planting a garden, sewing a bag, or simply writing down the silly thoughts that cross your mind, the act of creation is probably one of the most fulfilling opportunities out there.  

I've oftentimes dismissed trying something new or starting some sort of project because I wasn't confident in my skills or was afraid of failure; I'm beginning to realize how foolish this is. By choosing to not try something new or attempting to make something, I'm ultimately limiting my progression and eliminating opportunities to discover new talents.  

I refuse to set up roadblocks.  I refuse to listen to the age-old adage, "You can't teach an old dog new tricks."  I'm going to keep creating trivial little projects and giving new tasks my best shot.  The worst that can happen is learning I really don't have a knack for that certain task, and it will probably give me something to laugh about in the future.  

Well, good night.  I need to go 'create' my lunch for tomorrow.

TRUNKY.

Today I realized that everyone is human.  Everyone.  No matter who you are.  And all humans have struggles.  All of them.  No matter who they are.  Life is just a great long line of eternal booms and busts, just like an economy.  Things go up and they eventually come down.  Lately I've been stuck in that downward part of things.  I'm a sloth in a trough.  It's been bugging me too, so I did some searching around and found a diagnosis for my problem on urbandictionary.com, here's my problem:


trunky: (1) restless, antsy (2) specifically, eager to leave or go home; possibly referring to "packing one's trunks"; Example: Kristen Gibb feels trunky.


Okay.  That's not the actual example of trunky given by urbandictionary.com, but it's probably the best example out there. 

Goodness gracious, am I ever trunky!!!!

I partially blame this bout of homesickness on this never ending season of winter.  Over the years since High School, I've come to associate home with summer, because that's when I'm lucky enough to live in SoAB.  Forgive me for the rest of my blog, but the only cure for a case of homesickness is to be nostalgic and reminisce. 

I miss painting things.

I miss being a red neck.

I miss dirt road dance parties.

I miss pool parties.

I miss working at the pool.

I miss lifeguard parties.

I miss coaching soccer.

I miss picnics.

I miss Waterton.

I miss old friends.

I miss epic Sunday scone parties.

I miss the great ideas that these guys always have.

I miss sharing my room with Hannah.

I miss working with Charlene.

I miss riding my bike everywhere.

I miss playing with my sisters.

I think I'll just close my eyes and tap my heels three times and think "there's no place like home."  That should get me through the next 50 or so days.

SUMMER HURRY UP!!!!!