It is 11:53 p.m. My computer, calculus book, notes and perhaps tiny pieces of my sanity are strewn about my bed. My lap desk is long gone. It was purple once, I think, but in a fit of limit-induced frustration I threw it down my stairs. It has not been heard from in several hours. My calculus test is tomorrow at 7 p.m., and I am studying like I have never studied before. A normal person would think, "Relax, you have all day tomorrow, don't you?" Not actually true. Tomorrow at 6 a.m., I will be waking up to lift weights, followed immediately by classes until noon, workouts until 3 p.m., a seemingly flattering photo shoot an hour later and a discussion at 6 p.m. At some point I would like to eat and/or breathe.
Welcome to my life as a member of the varsity women's basketball team.
But I have told my study buddy that tonight we are going to pull the infamous all-nighter. It is an elusive beast for me because - normally at about midnight - I realize how comfortable my bed is and that it will never grade me on my performance. Tonight will be different. We are determined to get As - no A-minuses for us - solid As. We have searched for enough explanations on Google, flipped through example problems and erased miscalculations until the paper tore. Still, we feel no closer to our goal.
At 1:17 a.m., the limit sign is starting to look like a beef hot dog with all the toppings. The infinity symbol? A banana split. But we are determined. This time, we close Facebook, turn off "Bring It On" and focus! We barrel through problems, smashing derivatives into oblivion and letting the power rule know who is really the boss.\nAnd then we hit the wall.
Eyelids droop, pencils drop to the floor. I lean my head on her shoulder and am aware of cocooning myself in my blanket and kicking my textbook to the floor.\nAs the sun streams in the next morning, I have a feeling I rarely ever experience. I am rested. The sun is out before I have opened my eyes. After rejoicing briefly, I become aware something is not right here. I look at my clock, panicked. It is 7:34 in the morning.
I leap out of bed, my study buddy is still cozied up as I start throwing on clothes. She blinks at me with weary eyes.
"I'M LATE! I'M LATE!"
She jumps up. "I have class at 8 a.m. and need to print my paper!"
We both rush around, knocking into each other several times. I scream apologies as I sprint out the door to my car. I have never wanted to be a Nascar driver, but several people told me after seeing me on the road that day I ought to consider it.
Alas, I do not make it. I'm too late for my team's workout; they look at me apologetically as I sprint into the gym half-dressed. One of them asks why I'm holding a calculator. I look down and realize my calculator and notebook are still in my hands. "Oh wait, the calc test isn't until 7 p.m.," I tell her.
After setting up a makeup workout and, naturally, a punishment workout with my coach, I continue with the rest of my day. Exam time rolls around, and I take my seat in Monroe Hall and prepare for the decimation of my calculus grade.
I am pleasantly surprised to find that instead of delirium, I have the strange, light feeling of knowing what I'm doing. Perhaps the odd combination of an adrenaline-filled morning and eight hours of fervent studying have reacted to give me this knowledge, seemingly so foreign and out of nowhere. I walk out of the test feeling joyous, like I can take on mountains.
Then, climbing back into my bed that night, I remember that tomorrow at 7 a.m. we have movement training. And at 11 a.m., I have my first politics test. This time, I set my alarm and go to sleep.
Simone's column runs biweekly Thursdays. She can be reached at s.egwu@cavalierdaily.com.
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