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Ashbury, to me, will always be that rare place where I never had to choose between being an athlete and being a student. Most schools say they support balance, but Ashbury lived it. The school didn’t just tolerate the fact that I trained before sunrise and competed internationally but it found ways to support it. Teachers emailed me notes from class while I was in Europe racing. My classmates checked in after tough competitions. There was this unspoken understanding that excellence came in many forms and mine just happened to involve a paddle.

One memory stands out above all was after winning bronze at Worlds, I walked into my biology class the next week and found a small envelope on my desk. Inside was a card from my teacher that said, “You earned this, not just with training, but with how you carry yourself.” I still have that note.

If I could go back, I’d say yes to more moments of silliness. More coffeehouse nights, more last-minute debates, more weekend art sessions. You don’t realize until it’s over how fast it all goes. My advice is Be serious about your dreams but never too serious to make memories.

What I liked most about Ashbury was that it made space for my full self. I wasn’t just the athlete or the “science student” I was both, and more. The school genuinely cared about supporting each student’s individual path, even if that meant adjusting the usual structure. I never felt like I had to apologize for chasing big goals outside the classroom. Instead, I was encouraged, mentored, and celebrated.From teachers who met with me at 7 AM before competitions, to classmates who left me notes before I flew out to Europe, Ashbury never made me feel “too different” or “too busy” to belong. I could study biology at a high level, compete internationally, play flute, and still feel like I was part of the heartbeat of campus. That kind of support quiet, constant, and deeply human is what stayed with me.

Get the oatmeal bar. Trust me. Watch the sunrise from the roof deck at least once. And if you're boarding, Medhurst is the dorm for early risers and quiet legends.

Ashbury academics weren’t easy, and they weren’t supposed to be. But what made the difference were the teachers. Mr. Crerar in biology didn’t just re-teach lessons, I swear he redesigned whole labs around my training schedule. Ms. MacGregor in chemistry once let me do a makeup exam at 6:45 AM because I was leaving for Worlds the next day. That kind of support wasn’t transactional for me it was personal. I learned resilience, yes but I also learned that it’s okay to ask for help. That lesson has stuck with me far beyond the classroom.

Even though kayaking wasn’t a school sport, I felt fully seen as an athlete. Houseparents coordinated with my coaches. Staff celebrated my races in morning announcements. I even got to share my experience with younger students during assembly. There was one time I came back from a European regatta, utterly jetlagged and still in my sweats, and the entire dorm had written me good luck notes and taped them to my door. That quiet, consistent encouragement meant the world.

I wasn’t a big-stage person, but I found peace in music. The flute was my escape. I’d practice late at night in the small music rooms sometimes just to clear my head. The arts teachers understood that we were there for expression, not performance. They always made space, even when I wasn’t on the formal roster for an event.

I loved that Ashbury didn’t demand you be involved in everything, but gave you space to try new things. Whether it was joining peer mentorship sessions, working on Earth Week events, or doing last-minute MC-ing for Wellness Week. I could dip in and out when I had time. And no one judged me for showing up tired or quiet.

Medhurst dorm became my sanctuary. It wasn’t the loudest or most social house but it was warm. I shared a room with another student who also had early morning commitments, and we kind of became each other’s unofficial support system. The dorm parents knew our routines, even kept extra protein bars around for when we missed dining hall breakfast. I can still picture us watching Netflix under a shared blanket after a long week, feet sore from the gym, brains fried from biology. It wasn’t dramatic but it was just safe.

You haven’t lived until you’ve eaten Ashbury’s oatmeal bar after an ice-cold 6am paddle. Dining staff got to know me, remembered my post-regatta cravings (roast chicken and steamed rice!), and even packed meals when I was on the road. There’s something deeply comforting about being fed with care.

Ottawa was perfect for me. I trained on the Rideau River, had access to sport science clinics downtown, and got to shadow researchers at the local university. It was a city that knew how to support athletes and students at the same time.

I wasn’t the center of the social scene, but I never felt left out. People made room. Late-night kitchen talks, Netflix marathons in dorm lounges, snowball fights after study hall. Ashbury made social life feel low-pressure but real. It wasn’t about popularity it was about being known.