You can't always get what you want...

Lately, I've found the 1960's Rolling Stones lyrics "no you can't always get what you want, but if you try sometime, you just might find, you get what you need" going through my head.  What was once a fun song to sing along to as my parents drove me somewhere, has become a constant, reoccurring question of mine:

When is it okay to settle?

As children, we dream of being astronauts, doctors firemen, police officers, pilots.  But what happens when life gets in the way and you find out you can't get through chemistry, no matter how many hours you study?  Or that even though being a pilot or astronaut sounds like fun, you have a crippling fear of heights.  Or that running through fire or gunpowder turns out to not be your thing.  Or even worse, what happens when you find out that you genuinely and completely love English and can't see yourself majoring in anything else?

Yikes, what happens then?

What happens?  You spend four years immersed in the written words of Chaucer and Poe.  You're swept away by the passion of Hawthorne, the practicability (or sometimes not) of Thoreau.  You pity the engineers, so literal, missing out on all of the wonders and beauty that can come from words instead of numbers.

But once that is over, you become practical.  Unless you are going to be a teacher (the question that never seems to cease if you've majored in history, english or psychology) or you have the good fortune of becoming a famous novelist, you may as well sign your own name to the unemployment list.

Once any old job comes along, do you take it?  When does it become time to say I have enough to be taken care of and that should be enough.

When have you reached the fine line between striving and thriving?

As an English major and literature nerd at heart, I have always thought passion comes before all else.  But in present day, is that still the case?  Maybe that's why all the people I considered magnificent, even geniuses in my lit. classes remained almost penniless throughout their lives.  Because they chose passion over all else.

I find myself wanting more.  More passion, more opportunities, a higher position. Traits that would have made me determined or driven in a sport seem more like greed and irrationality now that I am in the working world.

We tell ourselves to dream big, the proverbial "reach for the stars"!  But when is enough, just...enough?  

So the question remains: do we listen to our once 6-year-old self and follow our dreams?  Or do we follow Mick Jagger's words, settle, and merely "take what we need" and move on?

Bills, Bills, Bills

There are certain things I expected when I "quit" swimming.  The first and most obvious was weight gain.  Regardless of trying to work out or not, I prepared myself and knew this was inevitable.  The second thing I prepared myself for was missing the sport, getting the urge to swim again.  I knew I'd miss friends and the feeling in the water.  What I did not expect to gain was anxiety.

Up until this point in my life I've considered myself a fairly calm, easy going person.  I hope people would describe me as driven, goal-oriented and hardworking as well, but for the most part I tried to take things as they came.  Roll with the punches, if you will.  But lately, I've found that I am anything but laid back.  I find myself stressing about everything.  But at the top of that list are bills, bills and more bills.  I know I am not the only person worrying about these things.  They're natural things to worry about and in a way, it's good that I am concerned about my spendings.  But because I no longer have the outlet of swimming and the constant pushing my body to exhaustion, I find myself staying up at night worrying about things completely out of my control, while my yellow lab, Deuce, snores peacefully on the bed next to me.

Deuce, always cool and calm under pressure

I recently accepted a seasonal position with a company in the DC area.  While I am excited about the prospects of a new adventure with a growing company, I find that my excitement is completely overshadowed by my crippling anxiety. I worry how I will be able to pay rent.  Will I find the right roommate?  How can I pay for a place to live with such a low income?  And forget just the rent.  How can I possibly manage to pay my utilities, my phone bill, my car insurance, my health insurance, not to mention gas, groceries while leaving (if even just a little) room for a social life so I don't go insane?

As if this doesn't give me enough anxiety, I tack a few more things to the list.  I worry about fitting in time for working out,  having enough time and energy for a long distance relationship (should I have stayed near him?  Will he ever move to me? Will we be able to make it?  Will the last four years be for nothing?).  Add to that the anxiety over having my stuff spread between my parents house, in a suitcase, and in a storage center (adds to the stress because of the monthly cost) and it's enough to drive a person completely and utterly insane.  It's exhausting and its enough to leave me defeated before I've even begun.

My mom suggests yoga.  That I need to find a way to release all of my worries and learn how to cope with them again.  I know I need to learn how to let people help me, but as an athlete, you get used to helping yourself.  You're under the impression that as long as you work hard enough, anything is possible.  This theory is similar to the fairy tale ending where a prince will sweep you off your feet and ride off into a sunset with your hair strategically and beautifully flowing in the wind.  Dream on.  Hard work is great and it is an admirable quality that I believe is imperative, but it doesn't always equal success.

But I'm starting to ask myself the question, what is success?  Is it happiness?  Financial security? And more importantly, where do I fall in all of this?  Do I need to stop putting so much pressure on myself to be in the "right" job with the "right" salary?

Hopefully I'll find in the end that this is just a normal phase in a post-athlete's search for normalcy and everything will soon calm down, that I'll learn just as every one else has, to adjust to "real" life and find a way to make it work.

But until then, here's to countless tablets of Tum's and relaxing breaths!

When life gives you lemons...

When life gives you lemons...well, you know what you do.

I am officially homeless.  Well, not homeless (thanks mom and dad!).  I'm over exaggerating of course.  But I have officially moved out of my New Haven apartment and am currently in the "what-now?" phase of my life.  Again.

But I've learned to just go with it.  It's not the worst thing in the world to not know what comes next in life.  Being the very planned person that I am, this has taken me a long time to realize, but I'm getting there.  There are certain facts that are irrefutable and you can either accept them or fight against them.

Here are the facts:
1. The economy sucks.
2. Barely any company is hiring people with no experience.
3. "Entry" level jobs have become jobs requiring 1-2 years prior experience.
4. It seems that a bachelor's degree is just about as good as a high school diploma.
5. Using your connections is no longer a shameful act but one of necessity.  Companies are shamelessly admitting to this, only using a friendlier term: "networking".
6. Your first job will NOT be your dream job.
7. You are not as smart as you once imagined.

Found on: http://www.glasbergen.com/job-interview-cartoons/

In short, those four years you put into countless papers, late nights, early mornings, in many athletes' cases years of juggling a sport, classes, physical rehab, mandatory athletic functions, etc. was worthless.    Well, that's how it seems at least.

So what do you do while waiting for a company to recognize how amazingly talented and wonderful you are and how they will never succeed as a company without your zero years of naturally nurtured ability?  Well, you probably sit on the couch that your parents paid for with their hard-earned money, watching "Say Yes to the Dress" or "Keeping Up with the Kardashian" re-runs for the millionth time on a TV your parents paid for, using the cable they pay every month and eating the food that they...you guessed it, paid for...without your help.  In the meantime, your parents begin to wonder why they took that second job to put you through college.  Sound familiar?  Maybe just a little?

Found on: http://www.distance-education.org/Articles/Top-Five-Financial-Mistakes-New-College-Graduates-Make-135.html

Well, I can only watch Kris and Bruce Jenner fight about Kris meeting up with a former flame so many times before I crack and realize that my boredom and lack of productivity is no one's fault but my own.  So here's what I did...

I became pro-active with my life.  Novel idea, eh?

Granted, I have been very, very lucky to have such great and caring people in my life that see something in me that I perhaps do not even see in myself.  But whether you know it or not, we all have those people who are not only willing, but want to help you.  So let them.

The one thing that I have learned in waiting for a permanent job is STAY BUSY.  Make money any way you can.  Work odd jobs.  Companies would rather see that you're at least staying busy, that you're not the type of person who feels bad for themselves and gives up because, poor you, no company wants to hire someone with zero knowledge of their product and even less experience.

The more odd jobs you work, the more people you will meet.  And *ding *ding *ding more networking!  For the last month I've worked the most unlikely jobs.  I've worked in a dog grooming shop (which is more fun than work when you love dogs the way I do), I've driven a car to the Hamptons for someone who is uncomfortable with driving the distance from Maryland to New York, I've house-sitted, dog-sitted, child-sitted, given swim lessons.  You name it, no job is too small or too big for me to accept at this point.  And let's face it, if you don't have many options at the time, then why not?

Not only am I staying busy and making money, but I have made lasting connections with the people employing me for these jobs.  It's inevitable that they're going to ask things like, "So what are your plans?"  Tell them.  Explain what you want to do.  Chances are, they know someone in the business and this may come as a shock, so prepare yourself...you are NOT the only person to be unemployed.  You are not the only person struggling to find a job straight out of school.  You are not that special, sorry.

When my dad graduated from college, the economy was just about as awful as it is today.  Instead of feeling sorry for himself my dad, who was a pre-vet major, stayed busy.  He took a job with a carpenter...cleaning toilets and doing basically anything they asked him to do.  To add insult to injury they called him "college girl" and made sure he knew he was not special just because he had a degree.  He worked there for 2 years before joining the Coast Guard and later became an American Airlines pilot.  Because of those two years, my dad is incredibly handy.  He's built a shed at each house I've lived in and done countless home renovation projects.  In addition, this is the same man that sent his children all over the world, gave us a glowing childhood and left us wanting for nothing.  It's hard to say those two years were a mistake or a waste.

Overall, there is nothing you can do right now that would be a mistake, except to do nothing.  Feel motivated yet?  Good.  Go out there and start your life because no one is going to hand you something. Work and be patient and good things will come.

Good luck!

Found on Pinterest

Being a Real Girl: Week One

On pretty much any day as a college athlete, the phrase "I can't wait to be a real girl" or "I can't wait to be normal" is likely heard from at least one person on the team.  Little did we know just how good we had it.  Food was prepared for us at the dining halls.  We could eat as much as we wanted without, not only any worry about the cost, but little to no care about how many calories we ingested.  We were also in the best shape of our entire lives.  Unfortunately, we were too exhausted and overwhelmed to realize

just how good we had it.

Now we're left to figure out not only how to work out on our own, but also how to take in less calories than we are actually burning (previously not an issue).  This is all pretty much handed to us at graduation, or perhaps a little earlier.  In my case, it's being handed to me a year later than it reached every one else and I won't lie to you, I am struggling.

This last week I dedicated myself to learning how a real girl lives and I have to tell you, it's not fun.  Sure, the workouts in college were grueling.  Most nights I was too exhausted to even look at my homework, forget putting a lot of effort into it.  But now, suddenly, I find I'm not only full of nervous, fretful, energy but slowly and surely becoming fuller in the waist as well.

So this is how my week as a "real" girl went:

Monday: Decided to go spinning with my dad.  Always a mistake.  The 58-year old retired pilot is a maniac on the spinning bike.  Not only were his RPM's higher, his resistance was higher than mine.  By the time we finished my dad was breathing hard, while I thought I was going to vomit or pass out and I wasn't sure which order it would happen in.  My face was, no exaggeration, purple.  As I walked the halls of the YMCA after my workout people stopped me to ask if I was okay.  I'm not joking, people.

Both attractive and probably extremely unhealthy to get this red

After I biked 20-point-something miles on the bike (my dad biked over 23 miles) I decided I needed to swim, even if its only purpose was to cool off.  The water has never felt like such heaven.  But after 1000 yards it was see-you-later-I'm-bored-of-you-already-chlorine.

Tuesday: After four years of being a college athlete, I think we walk away with a bit of arrogance.  It doesn't always show in every day things, but it shows when we're faced with any type of competition.  Well, in body pump, a class at my "Y" that prides itself in doing 800 reps in one hour, I decided I didn't need to do puny little weights.  I was a strong girl.  I could do heavy weights.

Yeah, I could do heavy weights and not walk the next morning.  Or the morning after.

Wednesday: Sorry body, couldn't even get myself to do Zumba the next morning because everything on my body hurt.  Decided to take the morning off and swim with my parents Masters swim team that night.  We did maybe 2300 and I bashfully counted it as a workout.  Puny in comparison to our usual 7000 yds a practice in college.

Thursday: Decided to give body pump another chance.  Went a little lighter, but did better this time.


Friday:  This was my fatal mistake.  The arrogance was back.  I had survived another body pump and came out barely sore.  So of course the next day, the arrogance came on in full force for the "Y's" boot camp.  Now, I've been to boot camp before, but always made sure I avoided this one particular teacher's boot camp.  Well, that night was her night.  Only four of us showed up (obviously everyone is afraid of her).  This woman knows no boundaries and feels no sympathy.  I kid you not.  But what's worse is she sneaks up on you.  I left thinking the work out wasn't even very hard.

That weekend I was so sore that I felt sick.  Not joking around sick, but very seriously I've-been-hit-by-a-truck-and-also-have-the-flu kind of sick.

Turns out Saturday night I actually became sick with a type of a stomach bug that was paired with the chills and fever (that's one way of losing weight I suppose).

Time for a mini (or major) rant:  I want to know how I can put in, not only a year of work, but an entire life dedicated to getting strong and in shape and in only three weeks it is completely gone.  What kind of crap is that?  Don't you think there should be a way to put some of that work on reserve and use it for later, instead of losing it in ENTIRETY and starting over completely?  Complete and utter crap if you ask me.

Oh, and another thing.  How do you "real" girls stay skinny?  I need to know your secret.  Because I ate less this week (okay, so I made cupcakes once) and worked out more and it seems to me that there was no change.  If this is the case at 23 what happens at 50?!?

Speaking of eating better I came up with a very delicious, it not entirely healthy lunch.  And it's easy which is a big concern of mine.

First, I spread some homemade pesto (thanks mom) on some multi-grain bread.  Decided to  make a grilled cheese kind of creation.  Decided it needed something more than just pesto and cheese so voila: tomatoes!

There's no art to this, it's just for taste.


Then I cut up some slices of mozzarella to add to the creation.  It took everything in me to NOT put American cheese on this because I love that it gets all gooey and delicious in a grilled cheese.  

Oooh, Ahhh.

Just put it in a pan, like any other grilled cheese and cover it with the lid of a saucepan so that it cooks the cheese better.  And there you go, a some-what healthy snack (even it if is high in calories, they're not the worst calories you could be consuming).

Okay so it's not a photograph worthy of an award but I promise you, you will not regret making this lunch.

So, once I feel better, I will repeat all of what I did last week.  I'm already exhausted thinking about it.

Where are all my teammates making working out, if not bearable, hilarious??  Dear all former teammates, move near me and be real girls with me.

Stay tuned for week two of real girl status.

Food Vacation

I know I said that this year was about learning to live healthier and how to find balance between being an athlete and a "real" girl.  So, I may have deviated from that a bit this last week...

When my boyfriend and I go on vacation it tends to be less about scenery and more about all the places we can eat.  A food tour, if you will.  Well, we just spent the last week eating our way through the mid Atlantic and up into the North East.  Our agreement for the week was to not discuss calories or money. Well now reality hits and I understand that maybe we went a little overboard.

First stop: Hamden, CT
Restaurant: Mikro

This is a laid back restaurant just outside of New Haven.  If you didn't know exactly where you were going, you would definitely miss this place.  It's located in a strip mall and is easy to overlook, but you don't want to (especially if you enjoy beer the way my boyfriend does).  Definitely worth stopping in!

Appetizer: Local Burrata- "fresh creme filled mozzarella/olive oil confit tomatoes/arugula/basil oil/balsamic" vinaigrette with kalamata olive spread.

I am not kidding when I say that this was the most delicious appetizer I've ever eaten.  It was so simple and light.  I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it!

Main Course: Pork Belly Cubano- "cured ham/gruyere/spicy mustard/garlic mayonaise/pickles"

A bit disappointing after the AMAZING appetizer but still nothing to turn your nose up at.  Enjoyed it, but wouldn't go back and specifically order it again.  HUGE sandwich with a very large amount of fries.  If you get this, do what my boyfriend did and opt for a side salad instead of a side of fries.  You will not regret it.

Link to Mikro website:  http://mikrobeerbar.com/menu/

Second Stop: Manchester, NH
Restaurant: Red Arrow Diner

I have absolutely nothing bad to say about this place.  But it is definitely not for a shy person.  Right when you walk in you get the classic diner feel.  The place is surprisingly small and we were lucky we had the iphone app "TV Food Maps" to help us along the way!

First off, our waiter was the most enthusiastic waiter I've ever had.  I hope I love any job I do one day, even half as much as he seemed to love being a waiter at Red Arrow Diner.  He asked us if we'd ever been to the diner before and when we replied that we had not, he made an announcement to the entire diner that this was our first time there and to give us a warm welcome.  Then they gave us stickers that say: "I've been de-virginized at Red Arrow Diner".

 

But it wasn't just the experience that made us wanting more.  The food was amazing.  I ordered a burger and my boyfriend ordered a burger with chili on the top.  Although I couldn't finish it, I wish I could have, it was that good.

For dessert we wanted to try their famous pies.  Because we were so full, we told the waiter we would just split a slice.  The waiter informed us that he had messed up on our pie order and forgot we were splitting a slice, so we each ended up with a slice of "Zebra Pie" which is chocolate and vanilla creme pie.  It was heavenly.

Forgot to take a picture until I was almost done with the pie....

So what if I could only waddle for the next day or so...

Link to Red Arrow Diner website: http://redarrowdiner.com/#

After that we spent a relaxing and calorie pleasing two days at my boyfriend's parents' lake house.  Enjoying beautiful views like these...

Two days later, we were on our way to Harrisonburg, VA (hometown of my alma mater...GO DUKES!).  We went to Harrisonburg for two reasons: a romantic getaway and more importantly, Harrisonburg houses the most delicious restaurants in the country.

Third stop: Harrisonburg, VA
Restaurant: Jack Brown's Beer and Burger Joint

Ask anyone I know and they will agree that my boyfriend and I are not kidding around when it comes to Jack Brown's.  This restaurant has a cult-like following that we proudly admit to being a part of.  If you like fancy restaurants and don't think bras hanging from the ceiling have a place in a culinary setting, then this place is NOT for you.  But they know burgers and they know beer.  Every day is a specialty burger.  Anywhere from the "Elvis" with mayonnaise, peanut butter and bacon on a burger to the "Greg Brady" which is a burger topped with mac-n-cheese and BBQ chips. Not to mention, at any given time there are 100 different beers on the menu.

But since we were there on a special day, the 4th of July, there was a special burger called the "Uncle Sammy" which has a house made chili on top of a burger and topped off with cole slaw.  Now I'm not a cole slaw fan, but Jack Brown's never disappoints.

Side note: Always get the fries because the Jack Brown's home made sauce that the fries are paired with is to die for!

And we can't forget their delicious dessert.  Most people will sneer at this when they hear about it for the first time, but just try it once and you will be a fan for life!  Always, always, get the fried oreos when you go to Jack Brown's.  I remember thinking, eh, I'll try it but it probably won't be very good.  I was so wrong.  It was amazing.  The creme and chocolate of the oreo melt and it turns into one amazingly, unhealthy dessert.

Link to Jack Brown's: http://www.jackbrownsjoint.com/home.html

After gorging ourselves with this deliciousness, we watched the Harrisonburg 4th of July parade then headed back to our B&B for the night to watch some "Undercover Boss" (obviously the best show ever).

We stayed at a place called 'By the Side of the Road' which allows you to rent your own private cottage.  When we walked into the cottage for the first time there was soft music playing, rose petals on the bed, champagne and the room was personalized to Alex and me.  But even better, every morning they brought us breakfast in a basket and left it outside of our door!  Below is breakfast from the first morning there which was heart shaped waffles with a homemade toffee sauce, fruit and bacon!

Fourth Stop: Harrisonburg, VA
Restaurant: Billy Jack's Wing and Draft Shack

Billy Jack's is basically an extension of Jack Brown's.  It comes from the same creative owners and is almost as equally delicious.  Billy Jack's also has an extensive beer menu and has an even more extensive food menu.  They specialize in wings, but my boyfriend and I opted for sliders (one of which was a Greg Brady type slider) with Greg Brady fries (macaroni and cheese and BBQ chips, along with bacon over french fries).

For dessert, I got a psycho girl scout donut.  This is no joke the best donut you will ever, or should ever, eat in your life.  It has chocolate chips, peanut butter and burnt marshmallow on it and it is sent from the gods.  However, my boyfriend opted for a "Redneck Monte Cristo" which is a deep-fried PB&J.

Heart attack in a meal, I know.

Link to Billy Jack's: http://billyjacksshack.com/

Final Stop: Harrisonburg, VA
Restaurant: Joshua Wilton

Last, but CERTAINLY not least, was Joshua Wilton.  This is, no joke, the best food you will ever have in your entire life.  I'm not a picky eater, but I know what I like and I know what I don't like.  But even the things I know I DON'T like, I like at Joshua Wilton.  Not only is is a restaurant, it is an almost 125 year old house turned Bed and Breakfast.  But, I will warn you right off the bat: this is not like the other restaurants.  This requires nicer clothes and a way bigger check at the end of the meal.  But it is worth every bite and every penny.

Appetizer: Seafood Trio- Tuna Tempura over ginger, soy noodles.  Shrimp and grits.  Salmon over a jicama and mango salad.

Amazing.  I can not even begin to tell you how delicious this appetizer was, especially the tuna.  Words would only fall short.  You truly have to try it to understand just how delicious it is!

Main Course: Pan-Roasted Halibut "over mascarpone-penne 'mac-n-cheese', summer vegetable confetti and roasted red pepper vinaigrette".

I basically licked the plate, that's all I will say.  There is a reason I don;t have any pictures of this food and it is because when that food came out, you are not thinking about taking pictures for your blog.  You're not thinking about anything except for how truly delicious the food is and how incredibly talented the chef must be to make something so wonderful.

Link to Joshua Wilton: http://joshuawilton.com/?page_id=5

Needless to say I gained about ten pounds in the last week.  And my adventure of learning how to work out (sans swimming) starts tomorrow.

Hopefully, you will be lucky enough to read this post and go try this food!  Wish me luck on being a "real girl" tomorrow at the gym.

In the words of Chris Farley..."Diet starts Monday!"

More Chris Farley explaining my week...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9YfvBbxE1vU

Ready or Not

 Ready or not here it comes.

I've been putting this post off for a week now and I think it's time I face it.  A week ago, I tried for the final time to make Olympic Trials and I missed it.  It's a hard pill to swallow- accepting that it's over.  But what's harder is the balance between being grateful for your supportive friends and family and being able to express your emotions.  And there are a lot of them.  There's the first and most obvious emotion which is raw and painful disappointment.  Within that one glance at the board that reads your times, you see your entire swimming career before your eyes.  In that one moment you understand what it means to fail at something that you've put your entire heart into.

In that next moment, you feel a sense of pride.  Not because you've made it, but because you've tried.  You've put everything into the sport that you could put in.  You've missed countless high school dances, 90% of college parties, school clubs, spring breaks.  But in the end, even though it doesn't feel like you have anything to show for it, you do.  You have the memories of your college teammates rallying behind you, screaming at every turn.  You have complete strangers that have become family, sober bus rides that feel just as fun as drunken studies overseas that you only saw on Facebook (well, you convince yourself that they were just as fun).  But most of all, you have a new confidence in yourself.  You know you've done something others haven't.  You've had the courage to do what others won't.  What others can't.
                 

Above and Below: Just a few of the "strangers" who have become family because of swimming

This year, I put myself out there entirely.  They say that love is a terrifying thing because you make yourself vulnerable to another person.  Whoever says this has never competed in swimming; the cruelest love out there.    

At least when you put your faith in to another human, you can have rational, reasonable discussions.  You can sit down and make your case.  Swimming is indifferent towards your feelings.  It feels no remorse for leaving you in the dust.  It feels no obligation to love you, the way you love it.

But the emotion I did not expect to feel came tonight; the first night of Olympic Trials.  As a seven-year old, my parents took us on a vacation.  Not to Europe or the Bahamas, but to somewhere we cared about even more: the 1996 swimming Olympic Trials in Indianapolis, Indiana.  For my swimming family, there was nothing better.  I vowed then, just as I vowed at the 2008 trials that one day I would be at that meet.  One day, I would swim with the best of the best.

Playing around with a friend at the last Olympic Trials

So tonight came denial.  An emotion that blindsided me completely.  For the last week, I realize, I've been in complete and utter denial.  Towards the end of my swimming career, towards missing trials.  I've winced every time I've seen a status on Facebook with someone heading to Omaha.  It's felt like a knife every time someone posts a picture of them in front of the pool.  But still, denial took over.  If I didn't think about it, trials would not happen.  I could continue in the world of complete ignorance.  Until tonight, when everything came to a head.  I wasn't meant to watch them from my home TV.  I was supposed to be watching them from the pool deck, soaking in the feeling that I'd succeeded in accomplishing the highest goal I'd ever put on myself.

And as I write this, I understand I'm entering towards the grief stage.  Which is okay.  When you've put so much in to one single goal, one should expect to feel these things.  My boyfriend encourages me to feel all the emotions coming my way and embrace them.  To not shy away from a single one of them.  And that's what I intend to do.

But I made a promise.  Not only to myself, but to the sport I love.  In four more years I'll have just turned twenty-seven.  And I intend to stand on that pool deck, looking at the thousands of fans, watching with awe the talent sprawled before me and knowing with absolute certainty, in that moment, that I had not given up.  That it had all been worth it.

The moment I took this picture, was the moment I knew I'd dedicate the next four years to reach my dream.

I made a promise.  And I intend to keep it.  See you in 2016, Omaha.

New Haven? No Haven.

I mean no disrespect.  Really, I don't.  But come on New Haven, get yourself together.

For the past 8 months I've had the opportunity to live in this gloriously, inglorious city.  Don't get me wrong, the city has it's attractions.  Of course, New Haven houses the illustrious Yale University, sprinkling the city with many privileged, interesting (well, some of them) and intelligent people.  I've met some incredible people who live in this city.  I've found restaurants that are gems and little breakfast nooks that words will never do justice.

But this story is not about them.  It's about the other side of New Haven, Connecticut.  I'm not an overly privileged child.  I have no trust fund or wealthy grandparent.  I've worked since I was 15 and I take pride in working.  My parents are hardworking people who would rather do something themselves than pay someone to do it for them.  They've instilled this quality in their children.  But sometimes, you have to make sacrifices.  This year I had to swallow my pride and let them take care of me.  There is NOTHING, I repeat NOTHING, that makes me more uncomfortable than asking people for money.  I may hate working, but I hate begging for money even more.

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Because my parents were supporting me this year, I learned to do without in some cases.  They would never have wanted me to do this, but I'd rather eat everything in my house (I mean everything) than go grocery shopping (and have to ask for money) before I needed to.  I also learned to cherish things that I already owned.

One of the especially important pieces in my possession is my 22-year old, white, Honda accord.  Her name is Theodora.  When people ask why I named her that, I just look at them perplexed and say, "She's just a Theodora".  And she is fantastic.  She has automatic seat belts, red-velvet cupcake colored upholstery and gets me where I need to go (well, 90% of the time).  In addition to being a fantastic car, Theodora holds years of memories that are precious to me.  Before she was my prized possession, she belonged to the wonderful Grandma Gibson.  I went on countless rides with her as a child, adoring not only my grandmother, but also the tiny rubber leprechaun that hung from the mirror in her car.  The leprechaun was supposed to bring good luck while riding in the car (she also kept a small charm of St. Christopher, the patron saint of travelers, in her glove compartment just in case religion trumped the tiny leprechaun).

Theodora in all her beautiful glory

Man, do I wish she had given me either the St. Christopher medal or the leprechaun when she gave me the car.  Maybe if she had, I would have had better luck.  Maybe if one of those little guys was resting in my gem of a car at night I wouldn't have come out to find Theodora gone.

That's right.  Theodora was stolen from right outside of my apartment.  One February morning as I walked out for morning practice, a little before 7 am, I found an empty spot where I'd parked my car the previous night.  At first there was no panic, only confusion.  I thought, "Okay, it's early.  Maybe you didn't park there.  Maybe that's where you parked yesterday".  After looking all up and down the street, not seeing my car, finally getting my bearings after only being awake for about 10 minutes, I realized my car had probably been towed.  Yes, that's what had happened.  New Haven may not be known for minimizing crime, but they were definitely good at two things: giving parking tickets and towing cars.

Only there was one problem.  I hadn't parked illegally at all.  Now, I was truly confused by this point.  Let me backtrack a bit.  I'm from Bethesda, Maryland where salaries are high and crime is low.  It did not even OCCUR to me that my car could have been stolen.  But after calling the New Haven police, finding out if my car was in the system as being towed, finding out that it wasn't, I sat numbed in my room.  Welcome to New Haven, huh?

For the next week and a half, I had to rely on my coaches (as I said relying on people is just the cherry on my sundae) to drive me to and from practices.  When they couldn't drive me, I took New Haven's public transportation.  Because I wasn't familiar with the bus trips, sometimes I left an hour before practice even started (even though the pool was only 1.5 miles away).  But my all-time favorite moment came after a grueling two hour swim practice.  Once I went to the bus station, I realized quickly that the weekend schedule was different than the weekday schedule I'd gotten used to.  Instead of calling someone to pick me up and take me home, I swallowed my pride and decided it would be fine to walk home.  One and a half miles was nothing.  I was, after all, not only a Division I athlete, I was in great shape and ready to take on the world this year.

How wrong can one person be?  Not only was this trip longer than I thought, it was also freezing outside.  I had not been prepared for the February, Connecticut cold.  I had not worn a hat, I had no gloves and as I walked I could feel my wet hair turning into ice.  Just as I walked, cursing the life of the person who stole my car, it started to snow.  If anyone saw me walking home that morning, I'm sure they would swear I was homeless and crazy as I stumbled, mumbling to myself the whole mile and a half.  Once I got home and thawed my fingers I wrote on my Facebook:

     Dear Asshole who stole my car three nights ago,

     I just walked 1.5 miles in the snow/rain after a Saturday am practice. You are the coolest 
     person in the world for being so lazy that you had to steal from someone instead of going 
     out and getting a real job. I hope you live a long and wonderful and happy life.
        Love,
       Carly


A work of pure Shakespeare if you ask me.  But that was the lowest point in the saga of Losing Theodora.  A week later, as my parents drove to Connecticut to selflessly loan me our family Prius, the New Haven police called to tell us they'd found, the one and only, Theodora!  A new Porsche wouldn't have made me as happy in that moment as finding Theodora.  Little did I know, that the special people who decided to steal my car had also decided to burn out all four of my new tires.  They had also decided that dropping my car off downtown seemed like a good idea.  And why not?  They didn't have to pay the $100 for towing.  Neither did the city. All in all, it cost my parents about $600 to get Theodora back to "new".  


I still think about certain things from that incident.  For instance, how cool are you when you steal someone's 1990 Honda accord (a gift from their 90 year old grandmother)?  Even cooler was that the seat was all the way back, suggesting the person really wanted to look awesome, riding like a rapper, seat back hand on the wheel (1990 Honda accord, remember).  They didn't steal my Ray Bans in my front seat, but they sure did steal my Tide in the back seat.  Hey, Tide's expensive.  They didn't steal the gold necklace my boyfriend gave me for my 22nd birthday, but why not steal the tape deck from Wal-Mart that was $5.  We are not talking about smart people here, let's face those facts right now.


I think about the days when Theodora was out there, all alone.  Was she cold?  Did she miss me?  I know I'm crazy, but I tend to feel bad for inanimate objects.  I don't want to let go of my baby blanket (a mere rag at this point) because I feel like I would be betraying her.  I never claimed to be normal, so don't judge me.  But most of all I think about the anger that rose in me as Theodora was gone.  I felt so violated.  As I walked home in the snow/slush I imagined what I'd do to the people who stole my car if I ever met them.  I pictured myself making them sit in a chair and explaining how poor I was and how much of an inconvenience they'd created for me.  I pictured guilting them in to apologizing to me.   Telling them the sob story of how my elderly grandmother had so selflessly given me her car and how they had corrupted the pure memories of me riding in that same car as a child.  


But I soon realized, I needed to give up my anger, understand I was lucky the car had even been returned to me and move on.  I would never meet the people who stole my car.  Even if I walked passed them on the street, they would not know me and I would not know them.  I realized, they would never feel remorse for committing the crime.  They didn't care that they'd robbed someone of $600, as well as inconvenience them.


I can only hope that my gallon of Tide, my tape deck, my phone charger and the tire jack (bought before I moved up to New Haven by my super-safe father that was not even opened) have served them well.  I only hope as they recall stealing a 22 year-old car of a grandmother, peeling out with their hand  high on the steering wheel, driver's seat almost fulling reclined, they look back upon it with joy in their hearts.  Because that's all that really matters, right?  


So in closing, I will say two things.  The first: good riddance New Haven, I shall not miss you.  And the second: whoever you are, wherever you are, you will always go down in my book at the coolest-grandma car-stealing-seat reclining-Tide using- thief I know!