So where to begin...
My sophomore year at college was an interesting one. Academically, it felt a lot easier than my freshman year. I finally felt that I could just breathe. I was about 300 miles from home, and really didn't get home very much. Didn't have my own car at the time, so getting around was via the "shoe leather express." I continued to run a lot, both for the fitness aspects of it, but also because it gave me the opportunity to just be a vegetable. For some people, running is like Hell on Earth. For me, running was something completely different. Something completely enjoyable and relaxing. The very idea of going out for a multi-hour run was an incredible high for me. I would just throw on my running clothes, head out, set a pace, and keep going... and going... and going... Even today, the memory of doing that is a very pleasant one. I averaged more than an hour and a half of running each day, which meant somewhere around 12 miles or so.
Socially, I slowly began to break out of my shell. I had a cousin "D" who lived nearby, and I occasionally went over to her house. She and I were about the same age, and her dad was related somehow to my father. So we definitely weren't first cousins, just "cousins" if that makes sense. In any case, nothing ever romantic between us, but she did set me up with a friend of hers "J", because "J" needed a date for HER HS senior prom and I was available. Again, in the "friend zone" but I didn't really mind. I was just starting to come out of my social shell, and didn't want to jeopardize things with my cousin, so I was a proper gentleman when I was with "J."
"D" was somewhat of a wild child, but not hugely so. She ended up going to a junior college about 50 miles away, and we drifted apart. Haven't heard from her since I graduated, and occasionally wonder what ever happened to her.
My junior year at college gave me my first real exposure to real life I guess. Remember how I didn't really get along with my original roommates? About halfway through my sophomore year, I ended up rooming with a guy who was about 4 years older than me (another "J"). Nothing unusual there, he just started college a bit later than the rest of us. A hard-bitten, crude guy who (in our junior year) would get really frustrated with his courses and end up throwing his books against the wall. An interesting person to say the least, "J" educated me a lot about life. I guess he was like the big brother I needed as opposed to the one I had. "J" and I were complete opposites from a personality standpoint, but somehow we always got along. But one thing I remember about "J" was that he was hung like a horse...
So back to my junior year... Alcohol... Ahhhh. The miracle of alcohol... In the form of beer... Lots and lots of beer. Bathtubs of beer... Fortunately I was still running as much as I ever did, of all that beer would have probably killed me. I ran a lot. I ran a lot of road races. I ate like a hog. I drank like the proverbial fish. My roomie and I partied like there was no tomorrow. We ("J", me, and a couple other friends) spent a lot of time in C&W bars, where you could just go in order a couple pitchers, and chill out. Maybe play a little pool, or maybe some shuffleboard. But never far away from a beer.
It was through another one of our friends that I got introduced to "M," a co-ed at the local state college. "M" was a slightly chunky, short-haired blonde with a huge case of attitude. We got along immediately. While I never popped my cherry with "M", I can honestly say she taught me a lot about male-female interactions. It was during my junior year that I first encountered my majors courses (engineering, remember?) and really had to hit the books a lot. Unfortunately that hurt me where "M" was concerned. She wanted a lot more time with me, but (while not being dumb as a rock) I couldn't give her that time because my calendar was pretty full already. School and grades were my number one priority.
It was during the second semester of my junior year that I got my first car. Oh man... That was great. Not a pussymobile at all. A somewhat sensible, used sedan that I bought with 66,000 miles on it at a time when 66,000 miles was considered a lot of miles. But it ran, it ran well, and it served me very well until I got liquored-up and crashed it a couple of years later. DAMN... It was a great car... But with my own car, a lot more drinking opportunities opened up for me.
The highlight of my junior year was something bad. Really, really bad. I went home for Christmas break and was spending a nice vacation with my folks. My brother wasn't there for some reason, I don't even remember why. So I was home, and was using one of my folks' cars to get around (I didn't have my own car yet). It was December 30, and I was out at a bar. Of course I got liquored up. Severely liquored up. Of course I got behind the wheel. I was young. I was bulletproof. Nothing was going to happen, right? It was December 30, it was cold. Roads were icy in spots. Of course you know what happened next...
I remember to this day waking up and noticing something wrong. There was no car in front of me, but I was still sitting in the car seat. I don't remember the impact. Somebody who lived nearby called the police and ambulance, and I was taken to the hospital. I had to spend several hours lying on a gurney drying out before they could take me into surgery. I really didn't know how bad it was until the next day, when I learned about the major, compound fracture to my leg, the reconstruction of my leg, and how close I had come to having my leg torn completely off below the knee when I snapped the car in half around the telephone pole... My mom took pictures and showed them to me. Picture a giant knife slicing the car in half from side to side, right where the engine firewall is... The front end of the car was about 50 feet away from the back half of the car. I was still in the back half. When the front half sheared away, it tried to take my legs with it...
10 weeks in a cast. 16 weeks on crutches. Months more before I could walk normally. Even months more after that before I could run again, and close to a year later before I could run again, pain-free.
Was it an eye opener for me? You betcha! Did I continue to get liquored up and drive? Of course I did. For about another 6 or 7 years before I finally grew up. I think I drank so much because of my insecurity. But eventually I grew out of it. Thank God... Or I'd be dead right now.
Interestingly, I never did get a DUI charge. Maybe the cops thought I had "paid the bill" enough already.
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