Adrenaline Can Scare Your Peers (in a Good Way. Sometimes.)

"You were like that moment when your phone suddenly lights up REALLY BRIGHTLY in a dark room and everyone was like - BAM! WOAH!"

 - I'll try to take that as a resounding compliment. Other comments I collected yesterday included "The passion was real", "It was almost like a rally", and "When you started I thought you'd lost the plot, until I realised it was on purpose."

... Only the very last bit is debatable. Because yesterday I found out the true meaning of an adrenaline rush.

I have, in the past, occasionally been known to get a little over-excited. I'm not massively inclined to cliff-dive or swim with sharks, but I still know how to live, don't I, so speeches, performances, radio, that moment when I realise we've managed to slide onto the Hifi £4 guestlist - I tend to get pumped up pretty quickly. In the past, this has resulted in the classic nervous-red-ears, slightly jittery disposition and a tendency to squeak a bit, but then ultimately going on to do whatever was planned.

Unfortunately (or, perhaps, in the end, massively fortunately), yesterday's plans did not adhere to these previous experiences. I was running for Head of the Beat (the drive-time show on LSR), a committee position for the coming year, and so was required to make a two minute speech detailing why I should get the society members' votes. I had written my speech. I had practiced it an unbelievable number of times. It seemed a fairly short order.

The factors on the day, though, got to me. My incredibly worthy competitor was being talked up a storm beforehand, and I had just heard uproarious laughter from the spectators as I stood outside during his speech. I knew that my speech was about six seconds too long, and of course I was standing up in front of about sixty society members, including a lot of friends, to say it. I think a combination of these things contributed to the slight panic, and so by the time I was up at the front of the room I had a slight tinge of starry oh-no-I-cannot-see fog around the corners of my eyes and I could only prey that the right things were going to come out of my mouth.

thx babe

Frankly, it started on point. I was aware that it was a little louder than planned but I introduced myself and said that I deserved everyone's votes. Cool.

... At which point, everything in the world suddenly seemed irrelevant apart from the fact that I wanted this position a lot (maybe more than I should have done), and that I would do anything to convince these people that they should vote for me. So my energy ramped up, and I started getting a lot more passionate than any of the times I'd said it in rehearsal.

As mentioned before, I had a lot to say. I was rattling off points with incredible speed. Then came the hand gestures, like a lollipop lady after her seventeenth espresso, but I didn't stop - I saw some friends in the corner giving me a wide-eyed smile and thumbs up and it just spurred me on. The volume was picking up even more and I was, although I cannot say for certain, probably grinning in an incredibly disconcerting way as well.


The little push of enthusiasm from my pals must have tipped me over the edge, because it all kicked off and I actually ended up jumping off the ground a little, crying, "AND THAT PURE CHARISMA IS WHY I WOULD MAKE - THE - IDEAL - CANDIDATE." I even ended with a little impromptu war-like exclamation of "VOTE FOX." It was mad. I fancied myself quite the sensation.

So... What was I thinking?

The answer is, of course, that I wasn't thinking at all. It was a good ten minutes afterwards that I recalled some of what had happened and started asking people, "Did I just spend two minutes jumping up and down and pointing at people?" Wide-eyed nods all round. I ended up spending the rest of the day saying to still-shocked peers "God, what I can I say, the adrenaline got to me..."

I can only liken it to a story once told by my dance teacher, when one of her students, pumped up with so much adrenaline at the end of a performance, broke out of the perfectly rehearsed formation and flung himself into the splits at the front of the stage, to a gobsmacked audience. Had my gymnastic abilities been of a similar level, I can only assume I would have done the same.

And in the end (after a lot of cold water* (*Pimms) and some deep breathing), I got the position. If nothing else, a majority of some sort must have seen that I wanted the job more than anyone else. Granted, I probably could have been less frightening but such are the mysterious ways of sudden adrenaline rushes.

As another friend said afterwards, "Well... You were quite something." Which is always a nice thing to be, isn't it?