Yesterday, I grabbed the tail of a venomous snake. It was most definitely unintentional, as it was the product of me carrying a 20 pound bag across algae blanketed rocks across a spring wearing flip flops I bought from old navy for three dollars during a black Friday sale. The three towels, wallet, headphones, and couple cans of seltzer in the long run, would've most likely not been worth the fatality from the snake bite. Since, the outcome was a fortunate one I got over the slimy residue left on my hand and enjoyed the refreshing gulp of a cold seltzer on a hot afternoon.
This experience was not an anomaly.
I push myself, and my own limits continuously whether it's something as petty as carrying too heavy of a load across a river bank or carrying a heavy load trying to balance professional and social life. Regardless, just like my bag from yesterday I make sure everything fits. Sleep usually doesn't get in the way as insomnia runs in my family but getting home around 10, falling asleep at 2:30, 3 every night and waking up at 6:00 seven days a week began to take a toll on my energy, and sometimes my immunity. Monday through Friday would entail school, the sport of the season, mock trial, then either crossfit or practices an hour from home. Saturday and Sunday were reserved for softball tournaments at the dome, cleats filled with the uncomfortable little astroturf tire bits, and popped ears from the change in pressure walking into the dome. Some days the only thing keeping me sharp was the flat syrupy coca cola purchased at dawn hours before.
Rereading the above paragraph, it sounds like the same message would have been delivered if I stated I spent Monday through Sunday in a cement square building that had iron bars over all windows and was encompassed by barbed wire fences and conspicuous video cameras, but to be honest I loved it. I would be lying if I said I woke up every morning with a spring in my step ready to take on the world, run a marathon, save the rain forests, and stop global warming,--or whatever Oprah does. In fact during winter most mornings were a battle between me and my alarm clock, and who was most persistent. My alarm having superior stamina buzzing every 2.5 minutes won--typically--but I would dreadfully get out of my bed with a box of tissues in one hand and a bag of cough drops in the other.
Looking back in this past year is what I'm going to remember: mock trial winning counties, the success of varsity softball team, placing in science Olympiad, and earning front page article on an issue of the school newspaper. I will remember working hard, and doing everything in my power to achieve what my mind has been set to whether its meeting deadlines, or being able to deadlift over 80kg.
In my opinion, moderation is not only relative, but a load of crap. If you crave something you don't shrug and say "Oh well I've already put 75% of my effort forward so if it doesn't work out it wasn't meant to be." People are incredible and should take control of everything in their power. Seventh grade I was diagnosed with mononucleosis and tried to continue to play sports and ended up missing two months of school. Fall of sophomore year I was told my Celiac panel came back irregular and that I must stop eating gluten permanently. As soon as I heard that news I ate a bagel; let's just say that did not go well for me nor the person whose house I was staying at. Those were foolish limits to push as they were for the most part not in my control, and for the portion that was I made the completely wrong decision. As for staying awake the extra few hours, studying the next few pages, or running the next few miles, not doing so is inexcusable.
I was lucky that the outcome of me grabbing the snake's tail wasn't the same as the gluten and mono scenarios. I would be perfectly content if I never have to get snake venom sucked out of me for the entirety of my life;yet just like I was determined to make it over the waterway and enjoy my already sizzling seltzer, I don't let an 8 feet long, 2 feet wide snake scare me from enjoying other aspects of my life.
Warning: If you get easily nauseous or grossed out, scroll down and start reading the next blog as the entirety of this story is based solely upon projectile vomiting.
It began as a typical family vacation just this one happened to be in Lake George. The day consisted of a game of Pirate's Cove mini golf--in which one of my brother's almost whacked me in the head with the club-- followed by a dip in the water--in which I was almost drowned by my other brother-- and some ice cream. Overall, the vacation I must say was going very well.
Famished from a long day of cooperating with one another we were seduced by the script neon green letters that whispered coaxingly to us, Olive Garden. The aroma of fresh oregano and parmesan of the never ending salad engulfed my thoughts, enigmatically drugging me, wafting through the pebble driveway that reminded me of my youth living in Sicily, eventually leading me to the wardrobe to take me to Italian Narnia.
We were all waiting for a seat and drank a disgustingly sweet cream soda drink. Jack drank two. That was the first strike of the night. Next, we were seated and the endless salad route became. Jack, my younger brother, took advantage of this rare opportunity and had bowl after bowl. Strike two. The third strike was jack asking us if anyone would pay him to eat a peppercini, and although everyone said no he did it anyways. Why, I don't know however he paid the price moments later fanning his mouth, and tears running down his face he chugged a giant glass of chocolate milk. Meanwhile, my brother Alex, my Dad, and I are hysterical ourselves tears running down our face chugging our giant glasses of chocolate milk. A real family bonding moment.
The moment he started to tilt towards the other table and opened his mouth the silence in the restaurant was deafening as he vomited on the other table, then on my mother's skirt, then once again on the other table.
This time there was no stopping the three of us unaffected. Not since then nor prior have I ever been in so much agony from laughing so hard. I'm not a sadist but something about the rapid escalation from cream sodas and the 99 cent umbrella straws to jack throwing up on the family next to us who probably will never go to Olive Garden again.
My mother and jack go to the bathroom to clean up, and unmarred by Jack's puke fest the two boys and I eat our breadsticks.
No this is not considered my most comfortable place as that would probably be the vineyard--Martha's that is--but I cannot think of this day without laughing about it. In a twisted way it did bring my family together, and at the end of the night we were in complete bliss unfortunately at the expense of one of our own. Povero Jack!
I've cried seven times in my life. Whether it was being trapped in the doctor's 90 degree office during a sweat test to check to see if I had cystic fibrosis, or tripping over a brand new lamp located smack in the middle of the tight hallway--how convenient--and splitting my chin wide open, or needing to have endoscopies on end I never shed a single tear. I don't think it's because I'm numb, nor naïve and unaware of the significance of these events and the worry that should have accompanied each. I considered each a minor inconvenience; going to the doctors was a simply chore, a tedious stop before I could ride on my merry way. I had an understanding of what was happening, and to what extent.
My lack of emotional outpour was a result of the in depth comprehension I have had as well as a knack for minute details and comparing such to the "big picture." The "big picture" is built upon a magic triangle each surface symbolic of three main ideas: love, success, and happiness. The way the triangle works is that if you obtain two then the third will follow.
Love: My grandfather was a dentist so naturally, every visit he would give me a full tooth examination and consequently a lesson on flossing 101. Most people would find this invasive if not just a pain, but it was out of love. The idea that my grandfather loved me so much that he would ensure my health inspecting tooth and nail (ha) was reassuring therefore his appraisal served as an impetus to clean teeth, and consequently cleanliness in all aspects of my life. This sense of pleasing others through success became a motif in my life. My mantra was that if it made others happy my happiness would be a given. This carried into my life on the softball field with my father, and in the classroom for myself.
Success: Aside from getting my first cavity this year, I got my grandfather's approval. There is nothing like learning work ethic from the people you love. My father was all-star all-state athlete who went on to play baseball in college; sharing his DNA, I was doomed to have a knack and unquenchable thirst for the sport as well. From my fifth birthday on I began training for the USSA world series, PONY nationals, and of course sections for varsity softball. Seven buckets of ground balls. Sprints. Seven buckets of batting practice. Sprints. Seven buckets of pop flies. Sprints. Number seven plastered with sweat against my back. Sprints. Practice was habitual, and the sport a majority of my life. Eighth grade I played high school softball, and as a freshman started Varsity in sections, hitting a three run home run to win the game. This is cached away in my portfolio titled with a glitter gold pen "SUCCESS". Love for my father transmuted into love for the sport following in success. 2/3 of the magic triangle in the works.
Happiness: Success breeds satisfaction. Love breeds satisfaction. Happiness breeds success. Happiness breeds love. A life concentrated with love and prosperity is inevitably happy. Whether it was family walks along the Lantana shore, outings to the best Italian restaurants in the north east, speedies (love), rounds on the merry-go-rounds until we were on the verge of vomiting I always felt happy. Though I felt stupid while we watched jeopardy and a genius during the following wheel of fortune, I was happy regardless.
Pythagorean Theorem.
