Fantasy vs. Reality

Chippewa at sunrise...after a brilliantly clear evening...

Just like last week, I am definitely still in my camp spirit. There's just something about that magical place that seems to stick with us Chippewa campers wherever we go, especially after spending a mere few hours with one another.

Last night, as I was walking Loreli (my family's dog) around the house before bed, I took a second to glance up at the stars. The ski was as clear as could be and the mooning shone bright emanated such a light that it seemed to simply brush away any problem. As reassuring as this may sound, it simply did not compare to the view stars and moon that could be seen from nearly anywhere within Chippewa's boundaries on a clear night. At camp, the stars on a clear night are infinite and the moon, as it reflects on the lake, is brighter and creates more warmth than any sun. A knot quickly formed within my stomach. I longed to be back at camp.

I remained outside for another good few minutes, breathing in the cool air. I looked up at the stars time and time again but something puzzled me. As much as I love my house, where I reside for most of the year, it doesn't have the same beauty as camp, especially that darn night sky. I can't quite understand, however, why exactly that is though. There's just something about camp. My reality is that camp is beautiful and that there are millions of stars in the sky on a clear night, but is that just because camp is a special place for me?

Throughout the rest of the night, I could not get this simple question out of my head. Camp is a special place for me, but if someone else, a random stranger, were to look up at the sky on a clear night from Chippewa Ranch Camp, would they see the same beauty that I do? Or is this just a fantasy to me because camp resonates so much with me? I simply couldn't answer this so I posed this same question to another Chippy, my best friend. She saw the same sky that I did and didn't even think to question it because this is our reality. There was no one else for me to ask. If I asked any other person from camp, they would have the same answer, but I don't know anyone that is not part of the Chippewa community that has seen a night quite like the one I've been dreaming about.

Sometimes, there is no fine line between fantasy and reality. The two seem to blur together. Distinguishing them can be nearly impossible. Is my reality a mere fantasy? Is my greatest fantasy actually a reality? It's nearly 2 AM and I'm still pondering this. My problem is that I don't know anything but this, my reality. Is it actually real though? There's no way to answer this question. It would take me millions of blog posts to even try. How we chose to answer it is not always what's important; what we choose to believe is.

Closer to Home

Just a typical day at Chippewa Ranch Camp...

For the past 5 summers (holy cow! That seems like such a long time), I have attended Chippewa Ranch Camp, an all-girls summer camp in the North Woods of Wisconsin. To say that I have grown attached to the wonderful place would be a complete understatement. I have not only grown incredibly fond of Chippewa, but it has become a necessary aspect of my life, my home away from home. The bonds I have created with not only my 20 sisters (cabin mates-my whole age group), but the rest of the Chippewa community are of infinite value to me.

Around this time each year, a reunion is held by the camp directors to give the campers and staff an opportunity to, for lack of a better word, reunite. This special event was held today. This year, however, was a very different experience for my age group. We no longer just attended the all camp reunion, but we also were given the privilege of attending the staff lunch, as well. For the past few weeks, my age group has anxiously awaited this gathering, and today, when it finally arrived, it was surprisingly...normal. The feel was different and we had made a strange transition from the oldest campers to the youngest staff members.

When I arrived at lunch with one of my cabin buds, several other members of my cabin were thankfully already there and welcomed us with open arms. Not only that, but the rest of the staff was quite friendly. as well. We all just meshed well together. I didn't feel awkward or uncomfortable and even joked around with a few of the older staff members about being co's this summer. All of my fears and agitations for the summer ahead seemed to fade away as I chowed down on appetizers and pizzas galore. After about an hour, we piled into the cars of the older staff and jammed out to the radio as we headed to the location of all Chippewa reunions, big and small: Michael's in Highland Park.

Once we arrived, my cabin dispersed to mingle with other chippies but then came back together about 2 minutes later because we really wanted more food (typical). We took a cabin trip to a new gelato place (Frost-I highly recommend it) and ate not only our ice cream but each other's, too. After returning to Michael's, we actually talked to other campers and friends. Everything seemed a little bit different, but not awkward. We had younger campers running circles around our feet and when it was time to head over to the theatre for the day's main event (the annual screening of the Chippewa movie), our age group was given an actual task. We were the "quieters".

At the moment we arrived at the theatre, campers seemed to be piling in after us. We quickly realized that it was not the younger ones we truly needed to look out for but the rowdy older camper, even girls within my own age group. We laughed about how this was the coolest job ever and eventually headed into the theatre ourselves. Following tradition, before the movie, all of the staff formed a "line" at the front of the theatre to introduce ourselves and inform the campers of whom was returning for the summer ahead. It feels like yesterday that I was a naive camper, watching the staff and cheering for my counselors. As I stood in line with my friends and introduced myself to campers, many of whom I already knew, I was over whelmed with a sense of nostalgia. As great as the day and the idea of being a staff member was, I would still give anything to be sitting back in the audience. Thankfully, my age group and I piled into a row to laugh, cry, and applaud during this summer's film.

Leaving today was the hardest part. Although I hadn't gone all the way back to Chippewa, today was close enough. As my friends and I hugged it out and said our goodbyes, I had to fight back the tears. Of course we all stay in touch and I talk to many at least once a week, I hate when he have to depart. Throughout out the rest of the day, although my body has been here, my mind has been else where, at my home away from home.

For more info on this wonderful place, check out the website: http://chippewaranchcamp.com/

Thanksgiving

My cousins and I at a previous family gathering 

Thanksgiving. We often forget that giving thanks is what this holiday is all about. We focus on getting the greatest deal on Black Friday and the free food.  I admit that on Thursday around noon, giving thanks was possibly the last thing on my mind. My family was bustling around the house cooking artichoke dip and failing miserably at leaving for our family get-together several times. I was blaring music in my room and irritably getting ready for the day ahead. By the time we finally got in the car, my brother and I were already bickering about who knows what. And by the time we were on the highway, we were on the verge of killing each other. It wasn't even 1 in the afternoon yet, and I already was at my tipping point.

I felt my phone buzzing and as I unlocked it, I assumed it would be another lame response the mass "Happy Thanksgiving" text I had sent out to my closest friends. Although it was a response, it was not a typical one. It was from one of my best friends and instead of simply saying "You too!", he said "What are you thankful for?". A smile spread across my face. I looked at my brother and said, "Fine, you win." The look on his face was enough to make my smile even bigger. I responded to the text with a concise list of the things I was most thankful for this year: my friends, family, health. His response to this text surprised me even more than the first, all he said was food. I was in pure awe, but his thoughtful yet carefree response got me thinking and truly appreciating this holiday.

The rest of the day flew by, unlike the unbearably slow morning. I planned out an apple pie date with my grandmother, played trains with my little cousins, ate a fantastic meal surrounded by family while cracking some surprisingly funny jokes, and discovered a mutual love/obsession with debate with my uncle.  The best part was that because of that eye-opening piece of my conversation with my friend, I was appreciating every moment. Although I indulged a bit on the Black Friday sales, I had more fun simply shopping with friends than actually landing a good deal.

One more thing stuck with me from this Thanksgiving. Appreciation doesn't have to be an anual thing. It doesn't have to be a daily thing either, but sometimes stopping to notice the little things in your life can humble a person out a bit. I shall end this post with a quote that sums up my emotions at the moment. I hope all had a wonderful thanksgiving!

"Enjoy the little things, for one day you make look back and realize they were big things."-             Robert Brault

Relief

There is nothing better than a 3-day weekend after an incredibly hectic week. My crazy homework load and a cold made last week practically unbearable. My mind and body constantly yearned for a time of recovery, relaxation, and relief. As the end of last week neared, the thought of tranquility for a change was quite endearing.

However, when one longs for something for so long, it can often be disappointing. This weekend was that type of scenario. It bored me to the point of exhaustion.  I didn't feel at all at peace, but only anxious and longing to do something...anything! By Sunday morning, I was dying to be active again and get back into the swing of things. I paced around the house for a bit, had a few bites to eat, stared at a computer screen but nothing helped. Finally, it hit me. I was approaching stress relief all wrong!  Doing absolutely nothing wasn't going to help. A different outlet was the key. A much more lively modus operandi was necessary to cure my restlessness.

I trotted into my room, threw on shorts and a t-shirt, and bolted out the door, grabbing what was seemingly the object of my dreams: a basketball. I spun the ball on my finger a few times, and then dribbled down the street to our neighbor's super sweet half-court. I practiced my shooting, dribbling, passing, everything, and for the first time all weekend, I got my body moving. Sweat trickled down my rosie-red cheeks as a tossed up shot after shot. After about a half hour, I let my body slump to the ground and gulped down a majority of my water. I laid back on the grass and stared up at the cloudless, blue sky. I finally found what I was looking for all weekend: true relief.

A Fresh Start

Last year's team ready for action....

Running season has sadly ended. Although it had its ups and downs, it was overall a successful first cross country season. I became both a mentally and physically stronger runner. My greatest achievement, however, was learning the ability to push myself. When I was out on the course, and I felt like I had nothing left to give for that last mile, I learned to dig deep, deeper than I ever had before. Now, whenever I feel like I've got nothing left, I think back to those races and know that there is ALWAYS something left to give.

When one door closes, another opens. My new door was the door to basketball season. Being an avid basketball player for roughly the past eight years, I was pretty confident in my ability to make the team. However, playing in the first day of pre-season training, was an eye-opening experience. This was not cross country season anymore. I could no longer let my mind go blank and leave it all of the course. I had to think. I had to function as not just an individual, but an individual part of a team.

Although my first day was rough, cross country season did lend a helping hand in keeping me going. I dug deep. Basketball was (and still is) my game, my jam, my way of life. I was not about to be defeated after one bad day. From there, I pushed myself much harder, both at school training and outside of it. During the pre-season training, I played just as hard as I would in a game, putting an added amount of precision into each dribble, pass and shot. I sprinted down the court, huffing and puffing until water was the only thing that could quench my thirsty body. Outside of the in-school training, I practiced my basic skills at the neighborhood basketball court. Shooting drills were an absolute necessity. Every night, I played for a little longer and pushed myself a little harder.

By the time tryouts rolled around, I was a much stronger player than at the beginning of the pre-season. I breezed through tryouts, but went in with the mindset that although basketball may be my game, it was everyone else's game too. The real difference in all of us was who was gonna push to the max, to the point of pure exhaustion. In that area, I was an expert. When my coach called me outside to inform me of whether or not I made the team, the look on his face was all I needed to see. He congratulated me and commented on the fact that I seemed to have improved a lot since the previous season. My goal had been reached, try outs were over. Now, let the real season begin.

Chicken or the Egg? Attitude or performance?

As a runner, I've begun to realize that attitude is everything. My attitude affects every aspect of my running, from the time on the stopwatch to the delicacy of my form. Generally my attitude is pretty positive about running; it's something I enjoy and although I just joined my school's cross country team this year, I have become one of our team's JV runners.

Recently, I suffered from a minor head injury. A trip to the emergency room and a few stitches fixed up the large gash on my head, but I had to take a few days off to regain my strength. Eager to run again, I tried to quickly jump back into my workouts and even ran in a meet after only a day of recovery. That was the worst race of my running career without a doubt. During and after the race, my attitude was sour. Not only was my attitude terrible, but so was my time. The same event occurred at yet another cross country meet a few days later. At the end of the race, I was left disappointed and unsatisfied with my time. I couldn't help but question which came first, my bad attitude or my bad time? I had never faced this problem before considering my success earlier in the season. 

The thought stuck with me for a few days, even up until my workouttoday. However, today's work out felt very different. I felt incredibly accomplished afterwards and during my run, I was happily humming along to my favorite Jack Johnson song. This was my best run in a while. After today, my suspicions about my attitude versus my performance were proved correct: the two are obviously linked, but which causes the other? Prior to my experiences this week, I would have said attitude is a prerequisite to performance but lately, I'm not so sure. This is similar to the chicken before the egg situation. What comes first? This applies not only to running but to life, can our attitude severely alter our performance or is our attitude based off of performance?

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