Allie Blogs

Green… grass, tree leaves, limeade, watermelons, toothpaste, highlighter, socks, money, shamrocks, green, cucumber, frog, green, christmas tree, gran’s favorite color, green, crocs, pickles, crayons, alligator, lettuce, green,  t-shirt, seaweed, half my high school colors, emeralds, dinosaurs, marker, magnet, green, apple,  flower stem, plaid, green, graduation gown, converse sneakers, sweater, snow pants, green, pens, go, green, pea pods, cars, poland springs water bottle labels, venus fly traps, green, mix of blue and yellow, traffic light, springtime, green, mouthwash, grasshoppers, turtles, mold, green, gumby, grapes, wicked witches, gree n, fungus, frisbee, peppers, green, nail polish, easter eggs, tea, green, what i see.

Mom, today at gymnastics i got a rip on my hand and its like a blister that rips open when you swing on the bar a whole bunch and i got my first today and Pat said it’s kinda like a rite of passage every gymnast experiences even Shannon Miller even though she wears grips on her hands cuz those are mostly so she doesn’t slip but mine is just a little one and one time Amanda ripped up her whole hand and even though i bet that hurt i would do that to be as good as her someday…

Limbo.  That’s what last summer was like… I was stuck in limbo.  I was transitioning, I guess.  High school days were over and the infamous world of college life lay uncertain before me.  Time passed like molasses and my days were carefree yet busy.  Hours were spent in the gym, coaching and working out.  Weekend grad parties turned into an endless string of partying.  Same friends, nearly every other day, at a different house, with slightly different food, meeting different relatives and making meaningless small talk.  It seemed like it could never end.  But transitions know how to be discreet.

Hump day.  An overused term.  I don’t think one Wednesday passed during my junior year of high school that someone didn’t proudly announce during homeroom, Hey, guys!  It’s Hump Day!  The highlights of an ever so stressful year.  Wednesday – almost Thursday – then Friday.  The pressures of college-hunting, sports, grades, and finding time to sleep were smothering us. Our only salvation was the brief joy of the weekend ahead.  Friday’s final bell comes.  A smile.  Then it fades, realizing we would spend the majority of our time driving to another college, taking the tour, dozing during the information session.

Sometimes Burt and his Bees come to my rescue.  When my lips are screaming, out in the cold Vermont air.  My constant companion.  He soothes my chapped lips and serves his owner well.  I take Burt on daily field trips.  He tries out different pockets to determine which suites the two of us best.  In high school, we settled on the chest pocket of my shirt.  Close to my heart (and my lips).  Always reliable.  Late at night, he’d stay up ‘til dawn with me while I studied.  Tip:  Burt’s Bees on the eyelids is quite helpful when pulling all-nighters.

It was my senior year and life was sweet.  I was acing my classes, into college before Christmas, captain of my dynasty track team, loving my friends.  But what I wanted – victory – lay uncertain, in the distance.  After 4 years of never losing a single meet, I was not ready to be the captain that let the winning streak slip away.  And I wasn’t.  Victory.  Repeated winter and spring – 5 years.  It felt so good, complete.  Now, I look back at my team, my friends, and congratulate them on their 6th consecutive win.  The legacy lives on.

How to Get Into the Best College  Ever:

Start studying for the SATs in Kindergarten.

Play the piano from the time you can walk.

Volunteer.

Don’t sleep.  That is time you can use studying.

Load your schedule up with AP classes to boost your GPA.

Play a sport for at least 12 years of your youth.   Plan to play in college.

Take classes that look good on your transcript. 

 Buy all of the over-priced study materials advertised by The College Board.

Eat eggs the morning of the test.

Fill in the bubbles completely.  Only use a standard No. 2 Pencil. 

Mmm… nothing tastes better than fresh watermelon on a balmy summer afternoon.  Summer has always been my favorite time of the year.  It far surpasses Christmas in my book.  I usually start craving the freedom, heat, and lack of homework in January or February.  I’ve had enough of the snow and I’m ready for my usual summer routine.  Lounging, in the sun, of course.  Shorts, tank tops, swimsuits, flip flops are the required uniform rather than the stuffy oxford shirts and wool skirts of high school.  Schedules are there, but not filled with classes and studying.  It’s my time.  Carefree.

Departures and arrivals.  Late flights, early landings, missed connectors, lost luggage, jet lag, layovers, delayed departures.  Destination unknown.  Greetings and good-byes mix together.  A time for tears – of sadness and joy.  Connecting completely different worlds, all together in one building.  It’s a weird concept when you take the time to stand back and observe, rather than take part in your own reunion of some sort.  Kids home from college, relatives arriving for a funeral, families brought together for the holidays, students submerging themselves into new cultures, troops returning to their loved ones.  The range of emotions goes on forever…

To be early, is to be on time.  To be on time, is to be late.  To be late is, well, just unacceptable.  So don’t do it.  That initial rule is what I remember most from that summer.  After 6th grade.   It’s funny how random some of my most vivid memories are from years past.  The director made it clear that punctuality was essential.  I was at my future high school for band camp, yet what I remember most has nothing to do with muscial technicality.   Maybe if I had paid attention past that initial requirement, I would still be playing my flute and possibly pursuing music education rather than sports psychology – but who knows?  Maybe I would never be on time.