I decided to bike to work.

There were many factors that went into my decision. First of all, I didn't have a car and I was planning on leaving the country in four months. It just didn't seem practical. Secondly, I hated using gas and being wasteful of fossil fuels. My determination as an avid environmentalist (my other major exploit being vegetarianism) rose to the surface and seemed to align nicely with biking to work. Lastly -- a consideration I had only made once I realized how difficult a minimum of 30 miles per day would truly be -- was accepting challenges. I figured that if I could stick with biking for the summer, then not only would I be in tip-top shape, but I would prove to myself that I could handle challenges of stamina and fatigue (both physical and mental).

So I bought a bike at a local store. It's a hybrid, which means that the wheels are like road tires, but a little fatter, and the gearing isn't as high as a road bike, but certainly higher than a mountain bike. It's perfect for what I'm doing, because it gets good speed and little friction with the road. Once I bike home today, I will have put 250 miles on it in two weeks, which I think is pretty good. At a relaxed and consistent pace I will get to work in 1 hour and 8 minutes and return in 1 hour flat. If I push it, right now I can make it to work in 1 hour flat and back in 55 minutes. But pushing it wastes my legs for the rest of the week, and by Friday when it's OK to sprint I don't have the energy to do it. But it's only the second week, so I'm going to try for a 1:04 to work and a :58 return time all next week and then push it on Friday to see how much I have left. My goal by the end of the summer is to get a :50 time to work and a :40 return time. The reason that there's such a discrepancy between the two times is something you usually don't consider, but my place of work is about 250' higher than where I live, in the Cuyahoga River valley! Who said there were no hills in Ohio? I guess you just have to look on a bigger level!

I've heard a lot about Africa.

Starting about eight months ago at a party, running into someone who was a returned volunteer from Rwanda, I've heard all the best and worst of the continent I plan on travelling to. She said that civil war broke out during her tenure, and even though the entire village she had been a member of was killed in the war, she still treasured the experience and would do it all again. This didn't scare me, as it did some people when I told them this story, it just strengthened my resolve to make a difference in the world. Hell, if she can lose essentially all of her work, and still consider it a worthwhile experience, then most certainly I've got to try this for myself.

I've heard stories of people who have absolutely adored their experience, citing beauty and the challenge as two main reasons. But for my physical exam (in order to pass screening so I can volunteer), my African doctor had mixed feelings. He is Nigerian, and speaks English almost flawlessly (well, certainly better than Americans do, at least). He seemed surprised that I would want to head over there, surprised at the irony I suppose. There he is, a Nigerian who had very little and went to America to make the most of his life -- and I'm an American who has a lot going for him, and want to go over to Africa. It seemed backwards. After some consideration of the idea (as if it were a new concept), he warmed up to it and started to see my motivations. Is he indicative of the attitude I'm going to have to overcome? Or is he an outlier, a conservative among liberals?

On April 14th I received my nomination.

I had applied to Peace Corps, with no preference as to location, but I wanted to teach science. I was willing to perform services dealing with I.T., but as I had basically been in that field for the last 10 years (!), it was definitely a second choice. I wanted to do what would be useful to the people I was trying to help -- that was the first priority. But I love teaching, and I couldn't resist.

So I was elated to hear that I had been nominated for a position in Southeastern Africa, teaching biology to grade- or high-schoolers. Included in the job description was forming sports and English clubs, and most importantly HIV/AIDS education. As of 2000, 7 out of 10 HIV cases come from the African continent, and that number is going up. I started reading up on the area and talking with everyone about what I had started. More people know someone in Peace Corps than you would think.

I had been thinking about Peace Corps for a long time.

In my last year of college, I found myself at the most useless of career fairs. Every employer was either looking for cheap work (interns, co-ops, temps) or they weren't looking for work at all. I wondered why these employers bothered to show up at all, then wondered why I was bothering to stay. I noticed flocks of desperate seniors crowded around a few big-name booths, and in my travels up and down the aisles, noticed one familiar, lonely information stand.

"This is my therapy," I told the recruiter for Peace Corps. She responded positively, noting that I was exactly the kind of person she was looking for -- not only was I disillusioned with the corporate world, but I was young, male, unattached with a history (however distant) of community service. Seconds later I found myself with all the literature I could afford to carry and renewed willpower to walk out the door and start my application.