Some call it death, but I see it more as a couple near death encounters, and a lot more gaining wisdom. If I see it any other way, I will die.
Here go. My hopes.
Athletic Training: OK. Pray that this will actually be useful in my short career in season. (best class)
AP Physics B: If I don't fall asleep, this might actually be a party full of smart kids. (just smart kids)
AP French: Dear blowoff class, I love you. Except this language is so useless I keep forgetting why I took it. (edit, I was wrong, and I am terrible)
AP Chemistry: This teacher. Teach me chem! I'm probably going to ask for a rec letter from her, so I have to keep a good face... meaning eyes open. And hopefully continue acing those tests like she's used to... just kidding... hopefully not. (B+)
AP Calc BC: Oh baby. Prove yourself. (I lost)
Lunch: I think I'm just going to go make (clay) pots during this period. What a waste of a period. (hoho)
AP US History: I'm doing my homework on McDonalds and Jewel Osco. With luck, my teacher will approve of this liberal side... or else I'm screwed. (still am.)
AP Lang: Supposedly the teacher will like me. I'll take all I can get.
As for badminton and math team, I have big dreams, but I can't tell anyone until I reach them.
And Oasis... I can't wait to see what God has in store again.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Spieglan's Wisdom
This is probably the only good justification for me joining Science Olympiad in 6th grade (I didn't medal in all 3 events I had in JV, while the rest of my friends were placing blue ribbons. The varsity that year went to nationals and took 22nd place.)
I was running this morning on my usual trail. Nothing was different, besides the sickening feeling that I was running against a wall. Less than a mile in my plodding, there came a call, "No way! Nerd Herd?!?!" And indeed, it was Nerd Herd. On my shirt, that is. Actually, on the back, it says Nerd Xing, but any true Kennedy SciOly competitor would immediately recognize the old, faded blue and yellow on maroon any day. The caller was Spieglan, international competitor in Physics, World and Classical Languages student of the year, nominee of many other awards, and of course, a passionate and competitive runner.
He is a friendly man (I can call him a man, right? He's an incoming freshman to college.), slowing down to hold a enlightening and largely one-sided conversation with me for a good 4 miles. Nevermind that his usual pace is a 5:30 mile, 12 at a time, and that he was running 6:30 to 8:00 miles with me. I'm just trying to remember what he told me, because I've obviously been doing many things incorrectly.
1. Land and push up from the toes, not the heel. This takes lots of impact off the knees and shoes, which makes this a very good physical and economical investment.
2. Do workouts. 6-5-3s, apparently. I forgot what these were, but I'll find out soon.
3. 90 minutes should be my max. Supposedly, I shouldn't run a marathon until I'm 18 due to growth problems.
4. Legs lie. The best indication of fatigue is through the lungs, not through muscles.
5. Eat before, even a little, as to trick the body into being willing to burn calories for energy.
6. Say good morning to more people. I'm a nub.
And that left me stumbling back into my neighborhood, very satisfied, and very, very tired. "yolo."
I was running this morning on my usual trail. Nothing was different, besides the sickening feeling that I was running against a wall. Less than a mile in my plodding, there came a call, "No way! Nerd Herd?!?!" And indeed, it was Nerd Herd. On my shirt, that is. Actually, on the back, it says Nerd Xing, but any true Kennedy SciOly competitor would immediately recognize the old, faded blue and yellow on maroon any day. The caller was Spieglan, international competitor in Physics, World and Classical Languages student of the year, nominee of many other awards, and of course, a passionate and competitive runner.
He is a friendly man (I can call him a man, right? He's an incoming freshman to college.), slowing down to hold a enlightening and largely one-sided conversation with me for a good 4 miles. Nevermind that his usual pace is a 5:30 mile, 12 at a time, and that he was running 6:30 to 8:00 miles with me. I'm just trying to remember what he told me, because I've obviously been doing many things incorrectly.
1. Land and push up from the toes, not the heel. This takes lots of impact off the knees and shoes, which makes this a very good physical and economical investment.
2. Do workouts. 6-5-3s, apparently. I forgot what these were, but I'll find out soon.
3. 90 minutes should be my max. Supposedly, I shouldn't run a marathon until I'm 18 due to growth problems.
4. Legs lie. The best indication of fatigue is through the lungs, not through muscles.
5. Eat before, even a little, as to trick the body into being willing to burn calories for energy.
6. Say good morning to more people. I'm a nub.
And that left me stumbling back into my neighborhood, very satisfied, and very, very tired. "yolo."
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Confidence is sexy.
If I noticed before, the word sexy hadn't come to my young mind yet, but now it does. And it's true. It may help to have nice boobs to thrust outwards or hips to push forward. Image matters, but its nothing without the attitude. Nothing more strikes the shock-tone chimes of my heart than solid self-possession. Dat spunk. Tenacity. Daring. Dashing, handsome man. Just kidding. I'm just using thesaurus.com (free advertisement!) now.
Recently, I have met a couple people whose esteems are like sandbags. They're too squishy and movable for good use unless they're washed over by a wave of water (metaphorically people, compliments, accomplishments... money... stuff) that will allow them to be anchored by the sheer force and weight of the water. But the water dries. These people are lucky when God rains down some blessings, but he takes away too. Blessed be his name. (check dat play on lyrics...haha)
Sometimes, I'm still a sandbag. But I'm done believing that I'm stuck being one. I used to be one that thought a strong (fisher)man could move and support me (I'm just extending the metaphor...so you will have to excuse my parentheses), but the only strong man, who happens not to be really a man, is God. Then I was a sandbag that tried to live off of essentially no water at all. Those attempts were always immediate failures (although not as much so on ARML tryouts. dang ARML). Hopefully I won't be any sort of sandbag in junior year. I've been sort of YOLOing my first weeks as a junior.
Not that my intention is to be sexy. Of course not.
Recently, I have met a couple people whose esteems are like sandbags. They're too squishy and movable for good use unless they're washed over by a wave of water (metaphorically people, compliments, accomplishments... money... stuff) that will allow them to be anchored by the sheer force and weight of the water. But the water dries. These people are lucky when God rains down some blessings, but he takes away too. Blessed be his name. (check dat play on lyrics...haha)
Sometimes, I'm still a sandbag. But I'm done believing that I'm stuck being one. I used to be one that thought a strong (fisher)man could move and support me (I'm just extending the metaphor...so you will have to excuse my parentheses), but the only strong man, who happens not to be really a man, is God. Then I was a sandbag that tried to live off of essentially no water at all. Those attempts were always immediate failures (although not as much so on ARML tryouts. dang ARML). Hopefully I won't be any sort of sandbag in junior year. I've been sort of YOLOing my first weeks as a junior.
Not that my intention is to be sexy. Of course not.
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