Four more hours to the hospital. Not with this fresh, glistening, red gash across my side. I couldn't. It was scorching through my skin. I attempted to cry out in agony, but the opposite came out. Laughter. I don't know why but these were the moments I loved. The moments when I am challenged. The moments where I am perfectly content.
Rewind about 45 minutes:
The cool Nilgiri air whisked through the slim grooves of my helmet, while the gears in my road-bike seamlessly switched from six to seven allowing me to speed up and glide down the hills of the Nilgiri Mountains. I was surrounded by ever-changing views, from water trickling down the crevices of cliffs to kids in the colorful villages of Tamil Nadu. The terrain was a smooth downhill; no effort, no difficulty; nothing was needed to surpass this part of the trail. It was all too easy.
But I spoke too soon. I was thrown into the main part of the trip, the forty-kilometer ascent. Brute leg strength couldn't even get me up this mountain. I had to wipe the droplets of sweat pouring down my chin, and start pushing my bike all the way to the peak. As excruciating as it was, this was what I was looking forward to. This was my favorite part of the trip; the part when I'm forced to just stop and take the world in, enjoying the small things in life. As I looked around, although I did see the towering climb in front of me, I also scanned the breathtaking panorama. "Life isn't measured by the number of breaths you take, but by every moment that takes your breath away." This was one of them.
"Go ahead, cross the finish line, I'll catch up" said my twin brother. The uphill was over, now it was just a smooth downhill to the finish. Or was it? I felt a bump just as I crossed the finish line, and woke up to myself lying helplessly on the asphalt, with my bike twenty feet in front of me. Just when I thought I had overcome the 160km bike ride challenge, I was flung into another one. I couldn't help but think that whether I sought challenge or not, it will always seek me. My whole family caught up and rushed me to the car.
Four more hours to the hospital.
We live life like it's a race. We're robots getting, as much as we can, done as fast as we can. We wake up, go to school, come home and sleep. And repeat. Challenges force me to stop for a second, and make me aware of my surroundings. They impel me to hone my senses, focus, and transform a weakness into a strength.
Challenge is a part of me, whether it is moving across the globe in the middle of freshmen year, to a completely different land, culture, and education system, or persuading the parents of a young girl in my LifeSkills program to let their daughter continue her education against the "norm" in rural India. Through maintaining my academics alongside a rigorous Stanford Online course requiring me to wake up at 5 a.m. every Sunday morning, or even rafting in the Class 5 rapids of the Ganges, I've come to realize that I, myself, seek challenge. Most may be happy once they've overcome the challenge; to me, the greatest contentment is during the challenge itself.
Rewind about 45 minutes:
The cool Nilgiri air whisked through the slim grooves of my helmet, while the gears in my road-bike seamlessly switched from six to seven allowing me to speed up and glide down the hills of the Nilgiri Mountains. I was surrounded by ever-changing views, from water trickling down the crevices of cliffs to kids in the colorful villages of Tamil Nadu. The terrain was a smooth downhill; no effort, no difficulty; nothing was needed to surpass this part of the trail. It was all too easy.
But I spoke too soon. I was thrown into the main part of the trip, the forty-kilometer ascent. Brute leg strength couldn't even get me up this mountain. I had to wipe the droplets of sweat pouring down my chin, and start pushing my bike all the way to the peak. As excruciating as it was, this was what I was looking forward to. This was my favorite part of the trip; the part when I'm forced to just stop and take the world in, enjoying the small things in life. As I looked around, although I did see the towering climb in front of me, I also scanned the breathtaking panorama. "Life isn't measured by the number of breaths you take, but by every moment that takes your breath away." This was one of them.
"Go ahead, cross the finish line, I'll catch up" said my twin brother. The uphill was over, now it was just a smooth downhill to the finish. Or was it? I felt a bump just as I crossed the finish line, and woke up to myself lying helplessly on the asphalt, with my bike twenty feet in front of me. Just when I thought I had overcome the 160km bike ride challenge, I was flung into another one. I couldn't help but think that whether I sought challenge or not, it will always seek me. My whole family caught up and rushed me to the car.
Four more hours to the hospital.
We live life like it's a race. We're robots getting, as much as we can, done as fast as we can. We wake up, go to school, come home and sleep. And repeat. Challenges force me to stop for a second, and make me aware of my surroundings. They impel me to hone my senses, focus, and transform a weakness into a strength.
Challenge is a part of me, whether it is moving across the globe in the middle of freshmen year, to a completely different land, culture, and education system, or persuading the parents of a young girl in my LifeSkills program to let their daughter continue her education against the "norm" in rural India. Through maintaining my academics alongside a rigorous Stanford Online course requiring me to wake up at 5 a.m. every Sunday morning, or even rafting in the Class 5 rapids of the Ganges, I've come to realize that I, myself, seek challenge. Most may be happy once they've overcome the challenge; to me, the greatest contentment is during the challenge itself.