Some of my best high lights happened in high school, but I'm not sure if I really miss it, or would ever want to go back to, what some call, the 'glory' days.
I was bad, with power; bad to the point that "power" became meaningless. To those action movie fans, you know that "bad" and "power" make a VERY bad combination... Since my Sophomore year I've been having my way around the school. According to my school record, I cut a third of classes I was supposed to attend without ever getting questioned. For those who want to follow my notorious act, not that you should, the trick is to earn respect from every school staff, from custodian ladies to principal and superintendent. It wasn't that I purposely cut class, but that they were simply a waste of time. Physics made every sense after completing calculus in Grade 10 - the same year I cleaned up in the 800, 1500, 3000, XC and singles-badminton champion titles. Perhaps, that helped me to get the Presidential key to the senate office and all those end-of-the-year awards. The Jr and Sr years went even better in different ways; my favourite being leading our robotics team to the top quarter at Robotics World Championship.
Everything seemed to be in place. Good grades, girls, driver's license, none of that was what I was looking for. If I had to pick the most important of the three, it'd be the driver's license, that allowed me to go on my adventures.
Then late August finally came and I headed to college thanks to CMSF's overly generous scholarships that enscounced me in the heart of Montreal, on the beautiful McGill campus. Daily, I immerse myself a sea of student rushing to lecture halls from all over the world, and often bumping shoulders to get in Leacock 132 and fight for that seat at 8th row center, a bit off to the professor's right. Late nights of readings, infinite learning, translate to quiet time in my dormitory. Put on some tunes of acoustic guitar, which I recently fell in love with, light a candle, and pour a glass of soy milk, there I am, forming my own little space within the noise and parties of the legendary Molson Hall.
Pressure? Yes, like the giant's foot on an tiny ant. Yet a block of time is set aside daily to log the mileages in Cross-Country. Workout, practice, practice, workout; time - turns into meaningless numbers that obstructs the renewal of the laws of physics, since only time changes and distance doesn't. If I done it right, each time I reach exhaustion, the next day I should be a split-second faster on that last interval. There are the occasional escapes from the city-vibe on the long-runs up Mont Royal, rewarded at the top with an one-of-a-kind view of Montreal skyline; only then, I realize doesn't matter how far I run away from civilization, I am never too far away from it.
On the first night at Molson Hall, as my parents' car pull away from my sight, the new life had began. Alone in the big city at first, but joined by my new college friends. At my weakest moment, he had proven his loyalty, she, her sincerely kind-heart.
I don't know what word would one use to describe "The Transition"; ...how about apprehension?
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