I have a complicated relationship with my past self. It’s all sorts of complicated. It’s like those relationships where sexual tension is so rife in the air, but there’s still all sorts of passive-aggressive behaviour, rampant and angsty subtweeting and intentionally vague Facebook posts about how much it hurts. I simultaneously love and absolutely detest my past self. I love her because she is (was?) me, and I am full of self-love. So full of it, that some people might describe me as being narcissistic, but the haters will continue to hate while I remain fabulous. But I also hate my past self, I HATE HER SO MUCH, because she says stupid things that make the both of us look intensely awkward and rather silly, because she does things that I wouldn’t, and because she makes the most unthinkable decisions that never affect her, but me. I have to pay for her mistakes.

An instance of this extreme stupidity would be how my past self decided to accept a shift at the Totem Caf that starts at 7am. SEVEN. FREAKIN’ AYY AM. No sane person is up and about before seven, bright-eyed, walking around with a skip in their step and a pip in their pep. People who are actually capable of that are not normal. They are secret agents from an ambiguous agency with an equally ambiguous acronym, stealthily infiltrating the very fabric of our society and threatening to tilt our world on its axis. But I digress. My past self signed up for a shift that begins at 7am. What part of that does not scream stupid?

(Yes, I work at the Totem Cafeteria. I may blog about that another time.)

So you see the crazy dynamics between my past self and I? (Actually, it seems to be more of a one-way relationship since my past self can’t interact with me, but I believe my ardour will be returned someday. *sniff*.) I was feeling the exact same way on Sunday, colourfully cursing my past self – and oh, I am pretty creative when it comes to getting vulgar – as I rubbed my numb fingers together, shivering like a jelly in an earthquake on Jericho Beach.

I know. Nice segue.

Yep. I signed up for The Day of the Longboat. Mostly because I was in the whole spirit of omg-I’m-at-university-new-beginnings-new-everything-let’s-do-new-things-just-because-we-can, and signing up for this event seemed like the obvious thing to do. Plus, I’ve always wanted to try my hand at rowing. I didn’t know where on earth I was going to find a team, because my social ineptitude and decidedly off-putting awkwardness has effectively obstructed me from becoming bosom buddies with every random stranger. But luckily for me, the RA on the second floor was looking to form a team. Sugar, spice, and red hot flames – the Shuswap Superheroes were born.

As it turned out, the weather on Sunday was pretty shi crappy, but we still braved the rain and cold to row a longboat. Remember what I said about hating my past self? Yep, I was full of self-loathing when I stopped being able to feel my fingers. I wanted to go home. Boo.

Then the race began, and I hated myself even more. Rowing takes stamina, man. I am a former athlete who has succumbed to the decadent pleasures of stuffing my face and rolling around in bed; I think that’s pretty self-explanatory. My arm hurt, our longboat was being crazy pants (almost tipping over, among other things), and my butt was soaked. Not fun.

But this story has a happy ending, like all stories involving me do. My team – comprised mostly of people who had never touched a paddle before – started moving in sync. The rain started to feel pleasant. The ache in my arm started to hurt so good. Our vessel stopped tipping from side to side and began moving like a dream. This was it.

And now I am going to ruin the climax of this story by jumping ahead and telling you that we advanced into the next heat, but we were all starving and just wanted to go home and eat. I got a cut on my thumb from vigorous rowing, but I will tell you that the adrenaline rush and the sudden euphoria that comes flooding in after I finished the course was worth the pain, the cold and earlier feelings of misery. I would be down to row anytime now. So down.

So I leave you with this: You MUST do the Day of the Longboat before you graduate. DO IT. Even if you end up not liking being in a boat and moving your arm in repetitive motions, you can brag about it to anyone who’d listen. Everyone knows that people who have rowed longboats are so fetch. It is so in.

Next up on the list… Storming the wall? Stay tuned to find out.