Let the games begin!

In high school, I wasn't sporty. In middle school, yes, and in college, but not in high school.

I had band letters and academic letters (and debate) for my letter jacket, but no sports. So it struck one of my teachers as particularly funny when I described finals as "my Olympics." Seriously, I practically ran around the school in a tracksuit and headband emblazoned with "pi"--shouting, "1,2,3,4, I know what adrenal glands are for! 5, 6, 7, 8, and who won the Lincoln-Douglas debate!" DORK. Then as now, though now I am comfortable with and embrace my dorkdom. The popped collar and Chanel handbag contingent can be who they are, but I am who I am--someone who thinks enzymes and cell structures and clotting factors are pretty damn cool.

So, kids, I'm about to go do the first leg of this week's Olympic marathon--that is, midterms. MFM (which you may remember as "biochem, but interesting," not least because the prof is awesome) is this morning, in approximately half an hour. I've studied, as Holden Caulfield might say, "like a bastard," and I've gotten a good night's sleep (OK, a slight exaggeration, seeing as I never have 'a good night's sleep,' but as good as I ever get) and had a hearty oatmeal breakfast, and I'm wearing my lucky shirt. We do what we can. Let's see who comes out on top--me, or 100-odd questions about enzyme kinetics and metabolism. For once, I'm actually NOT nervous. But that could very well change in, say, 25 minutes or so.