Before I came to college, I enjoyed roughing it. I spent my high school years in one of those rural New England towns nestled in the foothills of the Berkshires and sandwiched between two lakes. By November, we wore wool hats during field hockey games and a multi-layered turtleneck system that made our team resemble a pack of abominable snowmen with mouth guards. In February, we trekked through blizzards to make it to late-night, "graveyard" shift sports practices, and by May, we laid out on the docks to watch kids sail and to get some sun. After too much homework, guys followed their dads' legacies and snuck off past the golf course to the cabins in the woods, whose walls were adorned with faded tapestries. There, undercover, they would do anything to be one with nature, and on that cool verge of getting kicked out. Even a few of the well-accessorized kids from New York City transformed into granola crunchers and left four years later in hiking boots, flannels and cords. Who knew that by college I'd quickly abolish my once-energetic lifestyle and yet continue to dress the part?
My rugged active gear has followed me from Lakeville, Conn., to Charlottesville. I know how to stack a fleece vest under my favorite red Gortex for a windproof, water resistant, highly visible ensemble. It provides for hours of outdoor winter fun but sadly, I haven't had much need for it lately. Instead, I'm left to admire the Thursday night T-shirt, polo, pullover fleece layered look that makes guys appear as if they've bulked up at the AFC instead of spending hours playing Tony Hawk and John Madden Football video games. But at least I'm still getting plenty of use out of my mountain sports backpack, which has water bottle holders and enough compartments for a few repelling ropes. Who knows when one night I might need to scale a ravine to make it home from Clemons?
The last weeks in August before classes started were testimony to my ability to live up to my rugged apparel. With friends, I hiked to Sugar Hollow and went off-trail into the Shenandoah National Park. Other days were spent at Beaver Creek, where we threw a Frisbee and claimed that eventually, we'd drag a canoe along with us. Yet slowly the level of activity declined to the point where I was convinced I should go pro in tubing. Then, worse, I resorted to Slip 'n' Slide, and ecstatically reclined one afternoon in an inflatable pool of muddy water. Currently, except for a run and an occasional tennis match, I clock most of my outdoor hours on our porch. We do have a great scenic view of nearby motels.
I always wonder why on non-football game Saturdays, it seems as if tumbleweed might blow down the Corner, like in one of those deserted western scenes where the saloon doors slowly creak back and forth. For those who own SUVs and have the capacity to go off road and beyond, we venture as far as Bel Air for a great turkey sandwich with cranberry sauce. (However, I'd like to take a moment to defend my Jeep since the four-wheel drive is a necessity in snowy Connecticut.) And most amusing are the herds of monstrous Land Rovers that look tough enough to navigate a jungle safari. While on the safari, guys could wear their camouflage hats and whip out their keychain Swiss Army knives - in case of an emergency in which someone needs to shotgun a beer.
It would be hypocritical of me not to admit that I did enjoy the SUVs at this past weekend's football game. I happily plopped myself down next to the folded-down hatch of a tailgate, amid a great array of Tostitos and cold beverages. And granted, last January, the Land Cruiser did provide a fun, mountainous atmosphere as a bunch of us wound up the curvy roads to Wintergreen. Everyone had an action-packed night, though I don't think anyone made it out on the slopes.
The corner of my room, where my golf clubs, lacrosse stick and tennis racquet rest against the wall, is like my guilty conscience nagging me to get off our porch. I went to the driving range frequently this summer, vowed I'd play here at the University, but still am not exactly sure how to get to Birdwood Golf Course. There are other fun things in the dark recesses under my bed, like a pair of walkie-talkies that would be great for camping. I just like to use them on road trips to communicate to my friends in the following car that there's a cop ahead when we're going 20 mph over the speed limit. Sometimes we pick up other reception waves and once tried to communicate with a woman who chatted to us in hyper-Spanish.
I've concluded that in order to live up to my rugged wear, it's all about taking initiative. The bruises on my legs from the sorority flag football tournament are very impressive, as was the play when my roommate almost knocked out my tooth when I unsuccessfully attempted to be a star quarterback. One of my friends promised he'd throw the football around with me this Thursday afternoon to kick off the last weekend before Thanksgiving break. It'll be such a classic autumn scene. He'll sport his all-terrain hiking boots and I'll don my fleece vest and gloat that I can throw a decent spiral. And of course we'll have on Croakies, just in case the brisk November wind should suddenly try to send our sunglasses flying down Rugby.
Read More
Top 10 things I learned the day TikTok went dark
By Elizabeth Parsons | YesterdayI am poised to bestow newfound pieces of wisdom from my short-lived TikTok detox.
Asian Express delivers unexpected comfort and flavor
By Sophie Guettel | 5 days agoJust off Main Street, this place is easy to miss but worth every penny — or, dare I say, every dumpling.
What your contraception of choice says about you
By CD Life Staff | 6 days agoThere is no time like the present to consider the many birth control options available to us, each with their own unique personality.
