Growing up is hard to do!

When you're young, it's pretty easy to believe everything everyone tells you. They say adults will lie to you in order to protect you, but I think it can be detrimental. In my case, the lies I was forced to believe as a child altered my perception. I often find myself questioning the things people say to me, wondering whether or not I can believe them. Every time, I find that most of the lies come from adults.


I used to be really gullible. I believed everything my mom and sister told me. I believed my mother sold my vicious, evil cat to a nice old lady. She was, in fact, put down. I took the news of my brother’s death like a champ. Surely a car crash wasn’t so tragic. What did it mean, anyway? I couldn’t wrap my head around the condolences in school, didn’t understand why everyone was crying. Surely he’d be okay. I never understood why I never saw him again.


Years later, almost recently, my father accidentally told me the truth. He seemed appalled at the fact that a mere car crash could end his son’s life. So, in middle school, I found that his death had been less than the “accident” my mother made it out to be.


While I understand why the truth was hidden from me when I was little, it took me a long time to cope with the idea of “sparing” my feelings. I think I matured because of it, though. After my father enlightened me, I swore I’d never lie. Some people have expressed distaste for my “brutal honesty,” but it doesn’t deter me.

 

Failure

This is a long one, sorry. :) 

Gabby Mancuso is one of my favorite people. When I met her for the first time in 8th grade, she introduced herself, then immediately dove into a "pep" talk for my first invitational.

"Focus on the girl in front of you and think of different ways to break her bones. Pretend her legs are the chicken wings you want for dinner and run her down." 

That was one of her nicer talks.

When I joined the nordic ski team, then later the varsity cross country team, I found that I wanted to live up to her athletic standards. Gabby had a way of making our sports less fun and more serious. Freshman year, I discovered that cross country was no longer a game, but a competition. We all had to put everything into the sport and give it nothing less than our best. Our cult of nine changed my perception of competition forever. My teammates became my family and I found that I felt more at home running with them than anywhere else. As a result of this, I couldn't disappoint them, and above all, I couldn't disappoint Gabby. 

"The teams next to us, the stupid girls wishing us luck that really want us to fall and break out ankles. In the next moments to come, I want you to put their heads on the chopping block."

Everything she taught me helped me through my freshman year of cross country. I had an amazing season and only missed top 20 at States by .1 of a second. All of my hopes, however, were crushed when I found I had tendonitis in my knee. It didn't seem like a problem at first, so I continued training for skiing. Eventually, I was taken out of sports for a season, which ruined my track performance as well. I recovered over the summer, and went into my sophomore year with lower expectations. 

"You are about to chew this course up and spit it out, you are about to munch on those girls' Achilles as if they are chicken wings. Use their tears as salt for the remains of their bodies."

It was a terrible year. I dropped out of a race for the first time. The mental obstacle overcame the physical and I wasn't able to ignore the pain as I usually did. I immediately heard Gabby yelling at me to keep going and stop being a wimp, and felt ashamed of myself. Even though she had graduated, I had kept repeating her "words of wisdom" to the new kids: Don't stop. Don't slow down. Never walk.

"You need to get angry, you need to go hard, and you need to go for the kill."

I ended up making States that year, and was excited. My friends and mentor coach were going to be there and I had to make a good impression. The course at Vernon Verona was a mud bath, and it was cold. The day before the race, there was a flash blizzard, leaving the area soaking wet and grey for race day. Spectators could barely walk around the course. It was nearly impossible to run in it. So, of course, 400 meters into the race, a girl slipped. In an effort to avoid stepping on her, I lost my footing and fell, my knee landing directly on an exposed root. At this point, I had lost my running buddy, Naomi, and needed to catch up to her. I was not the "smart runner" Gabby taught me to be, and sprinted up to catch her. My efforts were in vain, because I fell over with an asthma attack. My race was over with a mile left to the finish line.

"Giving birth will be easy after the pain you're about to go through."

I had never felt so pathetic in my life. Sitting behind the finish line, watching everyone sprint through the chute, I was discovered by my coach, mentor coach, and friends. Their encouraging comments and hugs made me feel worse. 

Now I run with many more injuries, but I finally took responsibility and figured out how to keep them in check. A frequently asked question at sports events is, "What's wrong now?" Though a little discouraging, I have learned how to cope and use Gabby's words to help me stay focused.

"You have shown me that it is possible to stay optimistic in our sport."

Adventure Time!

If I could, I would live in the mountains. Some people don't realize it, but I really enjoy getting lost in the woods and spending hours wandering off trails. My love for the outdoors really developed here in New Paltz, where it is easily accessible. The closest thing I had to the wilderness before I moved here was Frick Park in Pittsburgh. 

It all started when I started cross country. Before that, I hadn't had the opportunity to explore in the mountains, and had only really seen the rail trail. My team immediately took me in and guided me along the winding trails up the mountain, pointing out their secret spots and shortcuts. I was fascinated by the way they knew the land and realized I wanted to explore and find my own way around. Soon after, I became familiar with the mountains and was able to run and hike on my own. For me, being alone in nature is the only way I can get away from everything. Whether I'm running or simply walking around, I can always find peace. I have yet to find the same kind of silence anywhere else. 

My love for the mountains in particular has been nurtured by a cross country camp I attend every summer. I know what you're thinking: a running camp? It's really much more than that. The coached not only teach us how to run efficiently, but they show us how to enjoy nature. During the week we spend at the Olympic Training Center in Lake Placid, we hike twice. Each hiking group spends the day on a different mountain. This gives us the opportunity to bond and see how beautiful the environment really is. 

    

We start early in the morning, when there is still a chill in the air and the tops of the mountains are surrounded by fog. Most of us are tired from the previous day's workout, and the only sounds we can hear are our footsteps and ragged breathing. 

 When we finally reach the top, everyone is exhausted, yet we all have a newfound energy. I usually feel proud of myself for reaching the top of the mountain, but there is something else as well. The only time I've ever felt so small has been on top of a mountain, looking around me.

I think it's truly amazing. If I had the chance, I'd probably spend days just sitting and looking around. 

Camila the "Chameleon"

Kevin Henkes was, and always will be one of my favorite authors. I'm pretty sure I read his books daily when I was little. The simple, everyday problems facing children were always depicted in his stories, and I was able to connect with the characters fairly easily. Chrysanthemum in particular, was one of my favorite mice.

My name isn't exactly the most common here in the United States. My mom named me after a Colombian guerilla warrior priest I had never heard of, but the story made me somewhat proud of my name. When I started school, though, the name began to irritate me. Nobody could get it right. Kids would make fun of me and call me other names. A favorite was "Chameleon." Since I was only five when it started, it was a huge problem and I probably blew it out of proportion.

 

...and became more and more shy as a result.

 

 

One day, however, my second grade teacher noticed and called everyone over. She was everyone's favorite teacher. That day, Ms. Kovalchick showed us that she had a "different" name, too (though I forget her first name). The kids seemed to have a revelation, and began to apologize. Until I moved after third grade, my name was no longer a problem in school.

 

 

It doesn't bother me  anymore, because the entire issue was just silly. Kids are kids. The fact that adults couldn't pronounce my name either eventually began to amuse me. Usually one of the first things you learn is "sounding it out." So why was it so difficult? Most substitutes still can't get my name right. I think I've been called "Camelia" or "Carmen" more than my real name. All in all, every single one of Kevin Henkes' mouse books address "problems" I've faced as a kid, but Chrysanthemum will always be one of the best ones (next to Chester's Way).

The Biltmore (just needs to be said)

I like food. I think most people are aware of this, but I really mean it. My mom’s Colombian and my dad is a Bahamian chef (for those of you who don’t know, that means he’s from the Bahamas. He’s not Bohemian), so food has been a big part of my life. Back when I was living in Miami, I spent a lot of time at the Biltmore , where my dad worked. After taking me on long adventures around the golf course, he would take me through the kitchens and teach me everything there was to know about being a chef. He was famous among the employees. Everyone knew about Glen Ferguson, the giant, friendly chef. Even the newcomers recognized him after he got a new job. The people there were like a second family, and I was free to explore the huge resort.

One day, my older sister, brother, and I were wandering around and we found a beautiful suite, usually reserved for billionaires or something. Everything in the room was white and flawless. Our curiosity got the better of us, and we slipped in through the sliding glass door. It seemed to rebellious, even though we knew we were “allowed” inside. I think I was maybe four of five at the time, I really don’t remember. The only thing I know is that my brother was still alive, and that was one of the last times I was able to bond with him. He was an amazing artist and chef, as well as the ideal older brother for a little girl (for those of you who joke around about the “gangster” I must have been in Miami, I’ll have you know that I thoroughly enjoyed painting my brother’s nails).

So now, when I talk to my dad, he makes sure to ask me how my cooking has been, or if I’ve eaten anything worth mentioning lately. It’s really the only thing we bond over. When I say I like food, it’s because I really like eating good food, and it reminds me of those experiences.



If you guys ever want to visit... :)

http://www.biltmorehotel.com/