I'm... I'm sorry.

A Day in the Life of Ryan : Prologue

Due to exceptionally high demand, I'm going to try to get back to posting more regularly. Although I have a "Chinese Buffet" of topics to discuss, I have another idea of what I want to talk about.

Someone sent me a link tonight to the Student Profiles of Harvard Business School. I started reading the "A Day in the Life" sections and, believe it or not, these people are almost twice as boring as you'd expect.

Anyway, I think the world would rather hear about in a day in my life. I'm especially interested in learning more about this since I usually can't quite remember and am sometimes quite curious as to what goes on. I'm preparing a piece of paper as I type so that I can take detailed notes tomorrow. I'll report back to you tomorrow night with my findings, so you can just leave this webpage open and keep hitting refresh.

Worst Week Ever

Trust me, you don't want to know...

Bone-chilling Tales from A.D. 2007

Someone on the other side of the room was frantically spinning the radio dial, trying to find some sort of official countdown. All they could find was that New Year's melody that you hear in New Year-related movies. I glanced down at my cell phone and noticed that the year had likely already turned, so to avoid an anticlimactic segue to 2007, I started shouting out a countdown myself.

"TEN!! NINE...!!"

The vast majority of the room chimed in.

"...EIGHT!! SEVEN!! SIX...!!"

The slower individuals of the party caught onto the backwards-counting pattern and joined in.

"FIVE!! FOUR!! THREE!! TWO!! ONE!! HAPPPPPY NEW YEAR!!"

The party-goers jumped up and down, hugged one another and glances shot around the room from those of us who had not thought ahead about their New Year's kiss. I grabbed my friend who I had come to the party with and spilled my mojito down her shirt. The party-goers all started moving outside onto the balcony to watch the downtown fireworks showering low above the buildings. Unlike most others, I wasn't wearing any shoes, so I slipped off my socks and pushed my way through the crowd. The balcony was covered in ice and snow, but it was ok because my feet didn't have much feeling.

My mother woke me up this morning at 9:00am to tell me that she was going downtown. I don't think she likes seeing me get more than four consecutive hours of sleep so she often wakes me up to tell me inconsequential details about her daily routine. It was fine, though. I was already awake and stirring unhappily in my bed. You see, my stomach was angry with me. It wasn't taking kindly to last night's mix of wine, lobster, Ferrero Rochers, champagne, beer, Brie, spiced rum, Chicken McNuggets and, yes, mojitos. My stomach demanded water. I reluctantly declined, in favour of a warm bed.

A few hours later, I got up and pretended to forget about my New Year's commitment. For weeks I had been proudly telling everyone I talked to that I, Ryan Smith, was going to fulfill my age-old heptannual tradition and participate in the Polar Bear Swim.

Many Canadian cities have a New Year's Day tradition called the Polar Bear Swim. This does not entail swimming with dangerous bears, but rather swimming in the dangerously frigid waters of the North Atlantic while enjoying sub-zero temperatures.

My first encounter with this tradition was at the age of ten. On New Year's Eve, my father and brother bet me five dollars that I wouldn't have the guts to jump in the ocean the following morning. But the next day, I threw on my Jurassic Park t-shirt, made my way down to Point Pleasant Park, proved my family wrong, and made enough money to go see a moving picture later on (you see, things were cheaper in my day).

Seven years later, I was a very athletic and attractive seventeen year old and after my first party-all-night New Year's Eve, I was convinced to make my way down to the same oceanside park for a leisurely winter's dip. This time, I was joined by three friends and an acquaintance. We missed the YMCA shuttle bus that left at 8:00am and on our long foot journey, I remember being approached by a soup kitchen director who wanted to know if we'd like a delicious free breakfast. I guess that's how hideous we looked at the time, they thought we were poor people. Somehow we made it down there, charged into the bone-chilling waters and made it back home alive healthy enough to brag about it.

Then, a lot of time passed with not too much happening. Before I knew it, I was a young man of 24. Seven years had passed and it was that time again. For weeks before New Year's I boasted to my friends, my family, my students, anyone who would listen, about how I was going to brave the waters of the North Atlantic to baptise myself into the new year.

But now it was New Year's Day and I... I didn't feel like it. I sat in my basement, afraid to go upstairs and start the day. 2:00pm hit and I realized my time was getting short. I attempted to call a friend who had agreed to join me in the adventure. He didn't answer. Apparently, I wasn't the only one getting cold feet (so to speak). Anyway, I sat back in my comfortable leather chair and evaluated the situation.

I could stay home. I could not do the Polar Bear Swim. Even better, I could tell everyone that I did it when they asked, say that it was really quite cold and then quickly change the subject. No... This is a new year, I thought, and I should be starting things off with goal fulfillment, with taking initiative, with disproving my doubters and making them pay for their doubtful sins. If I had stayed home, sure, I could have been happy, I could have lived a comfortable life, grown old, started a family. But what would my grandchildren think of me? And the grandchildren of my grandchildren? Would they remember me as Glorious Ryan the Courageous? Maybe. But I couldn't be certain. "I'll do it," I said.

I called my mother at work and asked her to come pick me up to take me to the ocean. She didn't sound pleased, but she agreed. On her way, I came to another epiphany. Maybe this is a new year of making wise, intelligent choices. Maybe I really shouldn't strip down and jump in the cold, cold ocean. No. Quiet, I told my wily brain. I can save that excuse for 2014.



While I waited for my mother, I did jumping jacks in the basement, hoping I could get my heart rate high enough that I wouldn't feel the cold. When she arrived, my mother insisted that she bring some supplies from the garage... a life-jacket, some rope and a rake to fish me out of the water with. Ugh. I prayed that it wouldn't come down to me being fished out of the ocean with a rake and/or being saved by my 51 year old mother.

When my brother heard that I was planning on doing something stupid, he eagerly volunteered to come for the ride. As if he didn't learn his lesson in jealousy fourteen years ago to this day, when he lost an historical bet and saw proof of my magnificent bravery.

I insisted that I start jogging there and that they pick me up along the way. I sprinted down Connaught avenue until the car showed up and got whisked down to the edge of the Northwest Arm.

Before entering the water, I did some sprints up and down a nearby hill to try to get my "body heat" theory into action. On my way down to the beach, I noticed that my mother had amassed a small crowd with cameras. Determined, I grabbed a towel from the car, stripped down to my bathing suit, strapped on my sandals and made a dash for the water.



To be honest, the sharp coldness flushed my body with a sense of relief. When I got up to my thighs, I dove in until I was fully underwater, then tried to make a full 180 degree turn back to the coastline. I started to get up. And I fell back in the water. My mind was clouded with frostbite and my body couldn't sense the way back to the beach. I let myself focus for a second, then got up and made my way out.



I got back to the beach, much to the jealousy of my older brother who watched smugly from the car. He must have been really jealous of my bravery again. I wouldn't tell him that it wasn't nearly as cold as I'd been expecting. No, I'd put on my best freezing water face.



I didn't get changed on the car-ride home. Instead, I made my way straight to the shower to wash the sand off my legs and attempt to get my blood circulating again. My mouth tasted of the vilest, saltiest, most polluted Northwest Arm water. But I did it. 2007 has come and I have conquered day one. Yes, my devoted followers, it's going to be a good year.