It’s been ten friggin’ years since I graduated from University. My priorities were a whole lot different back then.  Life consisted of juggling track and academics. Everything was moving smoothly midway into senior year – I was running the sprint hurdles faster than ever and getting decent enough grades. I was ready to make one last shot at athletics glory then leave everything behind to join the so-called real world. But things hit a snag. The proverbial shit hit the fan. I broke my left arm in a freak hurdling accident a month before my final college race.

I was broken, literally and figuratively, but eventually found my bearings. My career had to take back seat for another year or so. I went back to the drawing board and talked to my coach and my parents about using my last year of eligibility to compete for one final time . There were no garlands or medals of gold at the end of my college track days. I left the track at a dismal, ignominious fourth place and in tears. It took me half a decade (and a couple of ill-fated attempts at a comeback) to finally move on.

Time really gives oneself a good perspective of things. There are no regrets at this stage in my life, only good memories. But if I could go back in time and have the opportunity to give out some wise words to my 22-year old self, I’d advise the guy to cut back on the rumination – to suck it up, look at the bright side of life, and to stop whining.  I’ve often pondered at how the best years of my life came in my early twenties. Now that the dust of regret has settled for good, I can honestly say that is most certainly not the case.


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