A Blind Leap and Tackle

Throughout middle school and high school I racked up a substantial amount of activities. These ranged from volunteering, yearbook committee, symphonic and marching band as well as interest clubs. Many to do with arts and simple tasks. My sports record can be compiled of what I have done in required gym class and soccer and tee-ball teams offered at the local YMCA for elementary students.

            When I decided I wanted to join a sport in the midst of high school it seemed easy. There was a plethora of sports options offered to high school students. However the lists of sports also had words pertaining to try outs, varsity, J.V and meeting time requirements. It was enough to intimidate and discourage. All of these teams had dreams of state competition championships, there was no room for a girl who could offer no experience and no trophies. Let alone skills. So the dream died until a card in the mail changed that. The card was a double sided post-card type and only had enough information to tell you where to get more information. It was a invitation to join the Wayzata Girls Rugby Club. I had never seen a game. I could only imagine it was very similar to football. I knew it for the roughness. But the little sentence on the card that caught my eye and ultimately made my decision was “no experience required”. How could I deny an opportunity that no other sport was offering?

            Needless to say, the parents of non-athletic girl were not too thrilled. It took enough convincing for the parents to even attend the informational meeting. Being at the meeting made it real. I was doing this. It was happening and I was going to make it happen. The risk was there and so was the thrill of being a part of something. A team, a club of girls who were doing something that was not expected, that was harsh and raw. I refused to let intimidating health forms and medical release forms get me down. This was going to happen.

            The next day at school, I was telling friends about my new found decision and watching their reaction, savoring their surprise. However, there was discouragement. It seemed to outweigh the encouraging. People here and there were telling me how I would be broken, literally. Hyperbolic scenarios of death were the new trending conversation topic. No one was taking it seriously. As the actual date for the first practice was drawing nearer, nervousness grabbed my stomach. There were so many things I had jumped into with enthusiasm that never actually ended up on a list of completed accomplishments. Was this the fate of my rugby career too? Backing out was in my mind being examined and then chewed out. This was going to happen.

            The night before the first practice came fast and the argument that night with my parents was loud but productive. I got the papers signed. With parents and myself milling over the potential problems the health release form hinted at, I waited anxiously.

            I walked into the dome for practice and that is where I spent many weeks running, throwing, catching and tackling. There were days I went home in pain and self-doubts of being able to handle this. How would I ever be able to tackle in a real game? How would I be able to get tackled in a real game? As the weeks went on my comfort level grew as well as my skills. And when that day came and the referee blew the starting whistle I took my first running step and never looked back. The repeated impacts and the breathlessness of it all was thrilling. We only won a single game that first season. Unfortunately I did experience an injury. A broken nose nonetheless, excluding me from finals. Joining the toughest possible sport that I could pick was one of the greatest risks I have taken. The fear was gone and replaced with anguish at not being able to finish out the season in the sport I had come to love.

Cellar Door

This is why i write. I am sitting at my computer with the hum of the fan and my desk lamp, lacking a lamp shade, is burning my retnas. The televison is whispering dialog and even though i cannot make out the words it is essential, that noise, that lack of silence. To rid the nothingness. Even though my cluttered desk is offering a plethora of distractions I am focused on my task. For the most part because i never learned "home row" that well in elementry school and so my eyes are fixed to the key board as i type. This is my Writng, my naration. When i choose to truly enertaint my thoughts, give them real attention, it will become narration, dialogue. It will become plot. And while a girl is sitting at her desk writing an assignment there are castles taken under seige somewhere and secrets being uncovered and interesting things are happening to interesting characters. With all of this going on there are words being strung together describing the images. The words put together into such an order that beauty could be presented to the mind. Other minds. And then that beauty will become images. And other people will be able to see that amazing story unfold in front of them.

Orwell has said that one motive an author writes is Sheer Egoism. "Desire to seem clever, to be talked about..." I write without a pen. Everyday, whether in a review sesion, a long car ride, a lull in the conversation. I am writing without my pen to paper without my hands to keys. My mind is scrolling out words quickly to keep up with the images. If i choose to put they words into the visual world of other people, i do it with intent on others reading it. Of others enjoying it. Of others being able to share that thought, that fantasy. I am not sure if i would consider that true egoism, but what is a writer without his or her audience? And of course it is a plus if the audience would have possitive notions of the peice. And compliments are always nice =]. I am not saying the only reason to write is for other people. Some people write for themselves. To have that thought exist tangably, to exist in reality in its own way. I suppose i agree with that too.

Some of my writing is for myself, like notes to remember. Some is for others, to be praised like school work. Some is written with the intent of others being able to feel a certain emotion, to imprint on a reader in some way. Some times its a game of Mr. Destiney. I write for pleasure and work. But sometimes that turn work into something bearable. When it comes to writing my ideas compare and contrast with themself consantly. Is this the messege i want? Is this how i want it worded? Will they like it? Will this impress them? Do i like it? There is so much thought that goes into writing yet there are so many great peices that have no deep thought at all.

I write because i choose to, and when i am asked to. I write with pens and key boards. I write with images and emotions. This is why i write.

P.s-Title, Donnie Darko. Watch It.

AP Blogging?

AP compostition and language, a class to shape your writing, create essays worthy of college and blog of course.

For senior year the feeling of being a high school student is slowly shrinking away. Majority of the classes on my scheduel are college courses anyway and with only two months to submit college applications for early admission i cannot help but feel a little rushed...The only savior from actual classes this term is Marching Band. I play the clarinet and wear my funny big hat rather proudly. All of my friends I met through marching band. I came to school here (MN) sophomore year and since there was no band for non-freshmen only one option remained...and a teacher who really would not take no for answer and BAM i am a member of the "marching machine".  Marching has now become a big part of my life, our first trip to Northwestern comming up this friday (first week of school) is enough of a relaxer to get over the fact that school is actually in session.

On a major change of topic, last night i was not sulking about a first night of homework (well maybe a little) i was getting ready to see Wicked at the Orpheum. It was really quite amazing. The minute the pit stuck up the oveture and the dragons head swayed from side to side emmiting steam i was enthralled. The music was amazing and though the lovely Guhlinda added an extremely lovable and funny character i couldn't help but be struck by how trajic the story actualy was. The forshadowing had me laughing at the relevance to the story we know from the original movie and also feel nothing but sad for the poor Alphaba and her feeble hope to be excepted, which ultimately the viewer knows how the downfall will happen (as the play does apply the original movie's outcome, though twists some key characters and adds background story that was not hinted in the movie at all). It was amazing. With one of the opening lines being "Are people born wicked or is wickedness thrust upon them?" It is a story of tragety, love, friendship and so much more.

Class is now over, until next time.