Game on.

Approaching the big steel doors of the sports complex, I immediately knew I didn’t belong. Walking into the new facility, the strong smell of paint overwhelmed my nostrils. Everything in this place seemed different to me, nothing could settle me down. I stood there feeling tense and unsure.

Walking to the dressing room, I was nervous. I felt the familiar nervous ball crumple up in my stomach again, the same ball I often get on the first day of school or new job. Only this time, I had a nervous feeling of knowing I was going into something already defeated. No one tried to tell me to relax, or to calm down, because I was about to compete with the best athletes in Canada. After all, this was the Canada Games. I could feel the shivers starting to cover my body, and the sweat beads beginning to cover my palms.

Upstairs on the third floor, before we headed into the dressing room, I remember walking past the gym.  I glanced two floors down at the open-concept area that housed eight badminton courts, six side-by-side, and two private practice courts in behind. Hundreds of spectators filled the bleachers, and at least a hundred more were lined across the upstairs viewing area. It was even hard for us athletes to get a glimpse of the courts we would soon be competing on. I couldn’t imagine the view from the courts, looking up at the hundreds of faces staring back down at you.

Pushing the door to the dressing room, the light gust of wind literally took the air from my lungs. I felt like I was being punched in the stomach over and over. Something was telling me to worry, to not bother competing. I was sure to lose. This feeling of loss followed me into the dressing room. The room was enormous. Endless rows of gray and blue lockers lined the walls, but nothing was in there to stay. It was a temporary place. A transitional room. Individual teams used the room for a brief period of time before grabbing their belongings to place into team piles in the gym. 

When I walked onto the court, I could feel it in my legs. I wasn’t warmed up. My legs felt like instant JELL-O, and I could feel my toes cringing in my court sneakers, like they had just stepped on tiny shards of glass and were quickly recoiling. The floor was a shock to me. It was something I had never played on before. Green and blue foam-like mats were spread across the hard wooden gymnasium’s floor. I remember thinking, why don’t we just use the hardwood? That’s what most of the athletes are used to. I knew I wasn’t prepared. But I kept trying to tell myself to stay positive. Were these nerves good? Did they have a hidden meaning? I read somewhere once that nerves were a good thing and that if you didn’t have any, that’s when you should start to worry. 

Warming up, I began to literally feel warmer. That must be the purpose of warming up? To get warm? Or is it simply a metaphorical figure of speech? I had never analyzed it. I was always too busy doing it. Either way, I was feeling a bit better. The ball in my stomach was slowly letting go, and my toes were lengthening back out to their normal state. My arms were now the target. They felt heavy. Not heavy because I had been rallying for half an hour, but heavy like each time I swung for the shuttle, I felt an intense weight and pressure pounding down. In particular on my dominant right arm.

As I tried to ignore my heavy arms, hoping that they would eventually work themselves out, I honed in on the smell of the gym. I could smell burning rubber from the court shoes all around me. I could smell wet feathers as the officials and coaches steamed the shuttlecocks before the matches began. 

Stretching out on the team bench, I could hear shoes squealing on the court. Couldn’t anyone pick up their goddamn feet when they moved? Apparently not. The non-stop conversations of teammates, coaches, and officials, mixed with spectator conversations allowed for a constant droning or buzzing sound that filled the open-concept gym.

“Kerry and McIver….” was repeated three times over the loud speaker. We were up. I didn’t know whether to act confident, or to show my fear. But I was terrified. Walking onto the court, and after meeting the four officials, and our opponents, we were as ready as we could be. The sound of the whistle went right through me, and I zoned out. There was no turning back. Game on.   

The time we didn't want to waste five bucks...

It all started in the summer of 2008 when I first met MJ. We met during my first PR co-op work term when I was back home in PEI. We immediately hit it off. One of those instant best friend relationships. We did everything together- lunch dates, coffee dates, hung out on weekends together, not just one of those “coworkers only” friendships.

Canada Day weekend was fast approaching, and we had no game plan. This was a first. We planned for everything. So why hadn’t we planned something fun on one of the biggest party weekends? Simply put? Beats me.

By the time Friday rolled around, we were willing to admit that we were losers. Until… we were told that someone in the office would win tickets to The Festival of Lights- a concert full weekend. It’s known as PEI’s biggest party of the year. Seriously. So much so that it’s now been turned into Summerfest, a family friendly event, due to all the rowdy and drunken teenagers that roamed the streets in years prior.

MJ and I contemplated spending five bucks each for simply the chance to win. What were our odds? Was it even worth it? After debating over lunch, and over our coffee breaks, we finally caved. We each regretfully pulled out five bucks, and crossed our fingers.

At the end of the day, I had forgotten about the tickets. I knew we hadn’t won. But then I heard yelling and screaming coming from the other side of the building - MJ’s division. I ran over to the Tourism department, where they told me that I was the lucky winner. Me? I don’t win anything. Seriously. And here I was, holding two licensed VIP tickets valued at $231.85 each.

Pumped, we planned for a great night ahead of us. So off we went to the concerts that evening, enjoyed the VIP tent - and not just because it served beer. When the concerts ended, we continued our evening at a few random bars in the city.

When we got to our final stop for the night, we headed into the bar, a bar that my sister was working in at the time. She came over, laughed, and told me that Chris Daughtry and his band were upstairs in the private bar. Was she kidding? Regardless, that’s all I needed to hear. We were going up to meet them. So, with a bit of liquid courage, I went up to the bouncer, and explained my situation- “I NEED to meet Daughtry. He’s a good friend of mine.” Clearly, he knew I was full of shi…beer. But we somehow mustered our way upstairs. When we sat down, I was pissed. Daughtry was nowhere to be found. 

MJ told me to turn around. At this point, she had already left our booth and was happily chatting with the band members in their booth directly behind ours. Instead of rushing over, I contemplated calling Mom to get her to book me an eye appointment until I realized it was 2 a.m. But seriously, how did I not see the band right behind me?

So there we were hanging out with Daughtry all night. Chris had just signed MJ’s liquor store receipt when he turned to me to ask if I wanted his autograph. I said no. I might have added “thanks” at the end, but I can’t remember. 

What? It’s not that weird right? I honestly didn’t have any paper, or memorabilia of Daughtry for him to sign, so why bother? It’s fine, I didn’t hurt his feelings… he laughed it off, told me I was hilarious and life went on.

So after hanging out with them for a few hours, they gave us two backstage passes to meet the other bands that weekend and see them again to take photos. Cool. Now we’re groupies.

The next day, in between concerts, we went backstage. I was sure they wouldn’t remember our names, until I heard two of the band members yell out “Hey Sheila,” and “Hey MJ.” They remembered us, this was cool.

After taking our cheesy picture, and meeting some of the other bands, who I had never heard of at the time... Mariana’s Trench? MJ and I grinned and looked at each other. We couldn't wait to tell our hilarious story about the time we didn’t want to waste five bucks to our coworkers on Monday. 

Well how will I ever learn?

Thinking back to my earliest childhood memories, one clearly comes to mind. This isn't a memory of my favorite stuffed animal, or my best friend’s birthday party. This is a memory that best describes my childhood.

According to Mom, I was 4 ½ or 5 years old and was thrilled to be going on a family vacation. We went on annual family road trips that tended to be a minimum of ten hours… in a hot and stuffy van. Sweet. This time, Mom, Dad, and my older sister Rachel, were headed to Santa’s Village in Jefferson, New Hampshire. You've never heard of it? Well Google it. It may not be Disney World, but that was last year’s trip OK? And besides, amusement parks are every kid’s dream.

Every kid’s dream, but mine. I was always interested in different things, things that the average kid my age wouldn't necessarily enjoy. I mean, I was my father’s daughter. My mom to this day says I’m the son my father never had. Super. It’s every little girl’s dream to be called a boy.

So for any little boy, a stop at Home Hardware in Shediac, New Brunswick, was better than any ride at Santa’s Village. I jumped out of the car, eager to stretch my legs and head into the store to look at cool things with Dad. He grabbed my hand, smiled, and led me to the entrance.

Looking back at my sister and my mom, I smirked. I was excited. I was honored really, that Dad wanted my opinion on car parts and tool boxes, not my sister or Mom’s. Ha, suckers.

So in we went, Dad and I took the lead, and Mom and Rachel followed behind. I remember being fascinated by all of the stuff. There’s so much stuff in hardware stores, and I had to touch it all. I was so curious. Mom said I had to know just how heavy, light, soft, or hard objects were. When Mom would say “don’t touch,” I’d put my hands on my hips, tap my right foot, and ask “well how will I ever learn?” She’d grin and tell me “I’ll tell you.” And she thought the fight was over? I’d question “Well how did YOU learn?” Sheila 1, Mom 0.

When Dad and I were ready to go, we got in the checkout line. And this is where I began to lose patience...funny right? That’s so not like me. I’m the most patient person I know…

OK but seriously, being my little impatient self, I started to get annoyed with the 3 other people in front of our family. Why was it so important for them to buy paint at 11a.m.? Were they going to rush home and paint their entire house right at this moment? No.

So to fill my boredom, I began to touch things… again. Even at 21 years old, Mom still cringes when we go into stores that have breakables.

You may already know where this story is going. As I was touching the candy bars, and small items at the front of the checkout, I noticed the biggest “front of the store” item I had ever seen. A very large and expensive lawn item. A birdbath. A beautiful, porcelain birdbath. A beautiful, porcelain birdbath that cost $500. Of course I had to touch it. Turning around when Mom called, because we were next in line, I leaned. Poor choice.

The birdbath fell to the floor, shattering in a million porcelain pieces. Oops.

Shocked, I began to cry. Dad grabbed my hand, reassured me that everything was OK, and took me out to the van. I knew everything wasn't OK when I looked at Mom. Her face said it all. You’d think she’d know by now that I don’t listen, and I’m just this curious and touchy child.

Thankfully, we didn't have to pay for the shattered birdbath. Thanks to Mom, who has the greatest debate and “I can get out of anything” attitude (you’d swear she was in PR).

And hey, maybe they felt bad? I didn't mean to! And besides, who puts a birdbath at the front of a store, where it can be easily knocked over? Maybe I was just teaching them a lesson. Well, how will they ever learn? 

Please, go visit Greenwich National Park in PEI.

I don’t usually recommend natural environments, but after a recent trip to a psychic, she told me that I would be able to best find my inner peace outside, in a natural environment. I know this sounds silly, and maybe a bit unbelievable if you don’t have a superstitious bone in your body, but give me a chance to explain.

I have to admit, I tried to recall a time where I truly appreciated a natural environment, because I think for most of us, we unfortunately overlook it. The one place however, that I do hold near and dear to my heart, is Greenwich National Park.

I remember going there with a school exchange group back in high school. I remember the day like it was yesterday. The 15-passenger van pulled into the National Park, the students noisily piled out. It was a cool day, but not one of those days where the wind literally cuts right through you. It was a calm day, not much wind and a bit of overcast, but the area still appeared beautiful.

Other than the chattering of the students, the area was completely silent. So peaceful. No animals to make a sound, only a few pesky mosquitoes buzzing, and the odd chirping from a nearby cricket. 

As we headed down the dock, to the Dunes trail, the pounding of our footsteps on the creaky wood drowned out all other noise. On the trail though, you didn't need to hear anything-the actual scenery was breathtaking. It made me feel at peace. Completely relaxed, with no worry in the world at that particular moment. Although I was walking, I felt motionless. Completely still. A euphoria filled my body, numbing my legs. I loved it here.

The trail seemed to go on forever, although it was only about 4 km, it seemed endless. Being on top of the water, looking down at the wet lands was an experience in itself. I wondered how deep the water was, and what lurked below. 

I thought that the smell of this place would turn me off, but it didn't. The smell there is best described as natural. There was no noticeable pungent smell; it smelled like the true outdoors. That refreshing smell of the natural habitat. 

When we came up to the dunes, we all let out noises of disbelief. We had never seen dunes like these before. These sand dunes were enormous. They were solid, but at the same time, they appeared vulnerably fragile. 

As the wind picked up, I remember the taste of dry sand. The wind had carried the loose sand that covered the nearby dunes and wet lands in our direction. I could taste it, along with the moisture from Bowley Pond that had seeped through the cracks of the old, but well maintained dock. 

I finally tuned in, just as our teacher was waving to us to head back. I remember looking down, seeing those water spiders swimming excitedly. You could tell they loved it, like they never wanted to leave this place. I can't say I blame them. I didn't want to leave either. 

Coming up on your right is Victoria Park...

"37 acres of park land where visitors can swim, go for a run, use the tennis courts and much more!"

I think I've probably repeated those words about 1300 times. 

Tonight, I'm going to take a step back from reminiscing about my PR co-op work terms where I could tell you tales of wonderful times spent with wonderful people. But let's skip the boring stuff and get to the good stuff. This is a tale from one of my most hilarious summer jobs aboard the Ole Harbour Hippo in Charlottetown, PEI. 

It started out back in the summer of grade 11 where I worked as a guinea pig tour guide during the Harbour Hippo's first season. I was hired along with two other guides to test how well the tour company would do in the scorching summer heat (it wasn't always hot, but I thought I should add something melodramatic).

So let's back up to the beginning- the interview. Let me tell you, the interview was no walk in the park. It was made up of the usual "tell me a bit about yourself" questions AND a skit. Yes, a skit. So, there I was, on the 3rd floor of a rented office building acting as if I were cruising around downtown on this large, red hippopotamus. Tough to do? Yep. I had to rack my brain and come up with something, anything. I had to imagine myself out on the water, guiding riders around the Charlottetown harbour. Thinking of random anecdotes to tell and history lessons to teach seemed impossible. Simply put, this wasn't easy.

After the interview, I left feeling unsure...and awkward. I mean, really, this was one of my first real interviews, and I had to pretend I was on a boat. So I was ecstatic, to say the least, when I was selected for a position out of the millions (ok...maybe not millions, but a lot) of applicants. My boss even went as far as saying that he was impressed, in particular, by my skit. 

Heading to work the next week I was feeling excited, ready to be an AMAZING tour guide and to meet some wonderful, and not-so-wonderful people. One of the best parts of my job was meeting hippo riders who were eager to learn more about PEI, and even share stories with me about their life adventures. Some shared more than just their adventures. I mean, from time to time, I did get the odd creepy man, who would wink and pass me a twenty, but for the most part, I legitimately met some cool people. 

So where's this story going? Well, sometimes you just need a reality check. And back then, in grade 11, I really needed one. For the entire summer, my boss talked me up, gave me daily compliments on how well my tours were going, and the hippo riders were doing the same. But, I was out to prove them all wrong, let them know that everyone has off days. 

Now, this particular off day wasn't one of those "I spilled coffee all over myself" or "I locked myself out of the kiosk," no no, this one was bad. 

After a draining day of meeting close to 300 people (2 cruise ships had come in that day at 7 am), I eagerly bolted shut the Hippo's heavy door on my last cruise for the evening. Typically, evening cruises were low key, calming on the water, and an overall chill experience. So, as I'm getting everyone on-board, a car alarm goes off. I heard a man loudly yelling "wait.. WAIT." So thinking of my perfect self, I can't possibly be doing anything wrong, and this man just needed to shut off his car alarm. Not even for a second thinking that the car alarm could be JUST A COINCIDENCE (which it was), I looked at the man. He had this painful look on his face, and I thought to myself, "settle down sir... no one is gonna steal your car." As my egotistical thought bubble disappeared, I followed the man's eyes down to his wiggling hand which was mangled and jammed in the heavy boat door. My fault. 

No joke, I had eagerly squeezed and locked in this man's hand. Ugh. Panicking, I quickly (which felt like 3 hours) was able to free the man's hand, and begged for his forgiveness. Ok, not actually, but I truly apologized about 47 times. I offered the man ice, water, a gold throne, whatever I could think of. He said he was fine and to go ahead with the tour. Thank god, because I actually had no ice or water left from my long day of tours.

So the tour went on, and I performed the way I would have if I didn't almost kill a man. When the tour ended, I began to give myself a mini lesson on reality. The fact that people do make mistakes, and accidents happen. And just as I was coming to terms with the fact that I was no longer a perfect 16 year old tour guide, the man passed me a ten sheet with his puffy red hand. 

Who I am and what matters most?

Well, that’s an interesting question isn't it? Simply put, I don’t think I truly know “who I am,” but I do know a few things that matter most. Honestly, I think it’s completely normal not to know exactly who you are, and maybe we never truly know, but I guess that’s the “beauty” behind it, as they say.

Ok, let’s get down to the basics, that part I do know. I come from a small town (Cornwall) and the smallest province in Canada, Prince Edward Island. Enough said? Nah. Islanders are great, if you give us a chance. Maybe that speaks to who I am, I truly love being from “the Island.” We get our "roots" from our hometown, and I like the ones I’ve got.  

Growing up, I was known as … a “goody-two shoes.” I know what you’re thinking- “yeah right,” but seriously, I was. Why? Well, I was that girl in high school with the minivan. Hey now, don’t freak out… the mini-van was cool. In fact, we had a group of friends that hit up every party in that thing… and we were known as the “MVC” or “Mini Van Crew.” Of course, seeing as it was my van (ok… it was my mom’s); I was known as the “captain” (literally) of the MVC. This was fine by me; I made it to every party in it, until we sold er, which was devastating. But that’s another story.  

Alright, so why does that make me known as a “goody-two shoes?” Good question. Seeing as I always drove, I never drank. It’s funny, because I’m not even sure why I never drank throughout high school. Our group of friends was always great in offering to drive to parties, but I would always refuse and let them know that I didn't mind driving. And from time to time, have a few laughs at their expense. What? Drunk people are really funny. And now that I do consume the odd “Pepsi,” I've experienced both sides.

To be honest, my choice to not drink in high school wasn't based on one of those “I want to make my parents proud,” or “It’s illegal,” reasons. In a geeky way, it was more of an “I want to make myself proud” reason. 

But hey, let’s not forget about my family, because they were (and still are) a huge part of my upbringing and life. My parents in particular always taught my sister and I right from wrong, but thinking back, they never really had to tell us about the dangers of drinking, smoking, and drugs. I just knew not to do them. And really, I’m proud of myself. I stuck to my guns in high school (which isn't an easy thing to do). For some reason, I just knew that I had more important things going on in my life, like spending time with family and friends, sports (which consumed my high school life), and keeping my grades up. I’m honestly pretty impressed with the amount of parties I was physically able to attend, and stay awake at. Aside from sleep and school, I was always busy with soccer, track, and badminton practices.

Am I making any sense here? I’m sorry if I’m just rambling, but I do tend to be a rambler. I guess staying true to myself and “sticking to my guns” was my big motivating factor back then and today. I’m someone that will go against the grain if I personally don’t believe in something, and I’m not afraid to do so.

I do have to admit something, because after reading this through, I’m making myself out to be this perfect person (who trust me, I’m not). I feel like before most of my decisions (really important ones anyway) I contemplate WWCD. 

Oh that’s funny, you've never heard of WWCD? “What would Cheryl do?” Who the heck is Cheryl you ask? She’s the most inspiring, motivational, empowering individual I know. Simply put? My mother.