I'm over it. I'm all grown up now, chronologically and peniley speaking. I even have carpeted floors. Though I've had those before..they were subsequently shat upon when someone woke up dazed and confused at 4am and went dog-with-an-itchy-butt all over the room. My living room looked like the movie Holes.
So I vowed then to only have flooring, and to better screen my guests for food allergies that don't mix well with alcohol. But that's neither here nor.. well here, since it did happen over there just down the street.
Yet it's so far so good I suppose. I'm finally back to the grind and miraculously already a month into winter training at the new club with only a minimal amount of soul-searching. That means there's a chance I'll get on the water in the spring and be fit enough to win a seat race ... against myself ... for the only seat on the senior men's crew ... provided I purchase a boat to create that seat.
What have I done.
I thought clubs were supposed to have members.
This city's one third of the size of Ottawa, so I mathed hard and deduced that the club here might be somewhere between 1-99% of the size of the old one. And while I was within 1% with my guess of 1%, a true student-athlete, I was just outside the margarine of error.
The sad reality is that while some of the best oarsmen in Canada are training just down the street, they're off-limits to graduate goons like myself. And as much as I'd like to Billy Madison my way back in there, I've already checked and the profs aren't sexy enough to bother.
And despite all the junk mail I get from Alumni Relations begging for donations, they only take cheques, even though I offered an arm and a leg. And another arm, leg and torso, all with rowing capabilities. I considered offering them other parts as well, but I didn't want to be escorted off the campus. Not again.
So for now my dreams of being Western's David Wooderson are on hold until the spring.
Who woulda thought I'd come full circle and have to find a fake ID to say I'm younger.