With designs from French naval architect Francois Vivier, we started working around Halloween 2020. We used marine-grade plywood for the hull and several varieties of hardwood for everything else. Construction began with the hull, which we built upside down. Then it was turned right-side up to build the inside with its decks and seats. Gallons of epoxy and a boatload of screws would hold it all together. At that point, it started to look and feel like a boat. However, Larry was quick to remind us that until she floats, this was merely a B-S-O (boat-shaped-object).

Throughout the project, I procured a trailer, hired a sailmaker, and signed up for sailing lessons. Finally came the masts, spars, and rudder. The project took approximately 1800 man-hours and spanned 51 boat building sessions, each requiring a round trip ferry ride from Seattle. Some days we made satisfying progress in a wonderful island paradise with excellent weather and long sunny days. While other weekends would be plagued by wind-driven power outages with dark and gloomy weather to match the equally somber realization of numerous setbacks. The project had many highs and lows, constant ups and downs, like the bobbing of a boat in the surf. Nevertheless, Larry and Patty were always there. Along with their cat named Kelley, they hosted us at their home and cooked us delicious food. Over countless dinners followed by generous helpings of pie, our cross generational relationship was strengthened by their advice on life, love, careers, as well as their on-going support after long days, good and bad, in the workshop.

This community was essential. Especially upon realization that due to a casually ignored gap, we accidentally built one side of the boat one centimeter longer than the other, making the transom (back) not straight. Well before, during, and after this moment Larry would quote a golden rule of the project: Boat building is not about preventing mistakes, it's about solving the mistakes you will inevitably create. Larry wrote a book on building his first boat and he still contributes articles to Wooden Boat Magazine, so I was inclined to believe him. Even before we mitigated that misalignment, Larry and by extension Anna Lee and I always remained confident that she would sail.

Finally, launch day had arrived. The water was cold but the sun was warm. As the boat slid off its trailer, the sky was a brilliant blue with wispy clouds that matched (our little dinghy with its cream interior) the hull and its cream interior. The hull with its vivid hue now contrasted nicely with the deeper shades of murky blue water. The boat dipped down as I climbed in, all of its wonderful woodwork shimmering in the daylight. Larry handed me the two oars and pushed us off. Pulling in the bowline, I glanced up to see Larry and Patty standing proud on shore. We made eye-contact and exchanged a relieved smile. Whew! It floats. I turned around to position myself for rowing, and looked back at Anna Lee seated near the tiller. The moment began to feel like a dream. Then my mind wandered to that time we built an accidental angle in the back and that pesky extra centimeter. Chuckling to myself, I recalled Anna Lee's clever suggestion for the boat's name after our mistake. A name that was not only unique but simple, relatable yet symbolic, comedic and yet justified. Her words replayed in my mind: "Instead of calling it the Turnagain, we should call it the Measure Again." What an elegant name thoughtfully chosen to describe an amateur-built wooden sailboat. My reflection was interrupted by Anna Lee shouting "You can barely tell one side is longer than the other!"

We decided that we would control what we could control, complete the case the best we can and if it were to be canceled, then at least we did all we could do. We worked tirelessly and met virtually as much as we could, we would stay on Zoom for 8,9, 10 hours at a time, sometimes without talking, just so we could work "together." We meticulously prepared and combed through our case and made sure that we had the absolute best possible product for the judge panel to review.

The case was due on a Friday afternoon by 11am in mid-May and we submitted it at 10:58, checking and double checking that everything was in order and we did not miss anything. Then we waited. Each day that passed we almost expected that they would send us an email that said "thank you for submitting, but the competition is canceled this year."

In late-July we received word that we had qualified for the Final 8 and that they would hold the competition as scheduled, but virtually. This was the first time in the history of the competition they would be doing it this way. We knew that competing virtually was not the same experience and that it would create its own set of challenges but we were just excited to be able to compete.

We prepared our presentation for weeks and practiced it over and over again until we knew it in our sleep. Come the day of the competition, we delivered it over Zoom in front of multiple judges and thousands watching virtually all across the country. We saved our best run through for last. Our faculty advisor, Dr. Michael Guillemette, told us that we had done the best one he had ever seen. We felt really good about how we had done so far but still did not know where we stood ranking wise - they do not tell anyone the results until the very end. The next day, we competed in the quiz bowl via a virtual test proctor and had a respectable 4th place finish, but only a few points out of 1st so it was closer than it seemed. Once that was over, we had to wait 2 days until the "closing ceremonies" of the virtual conference for them to announce the winners.

We all met in a large conference room off campus and remained socially distant around the table but wanted to be together in case we won. After about what was probably closer to 5 minutes but felt like 30 minutes, the final 3 were announced. We listened closely as 3rd place was announced and did not hear our name, anxiously excited that maybe we got top 2 but also fearful of not placing at all. 2nd place was announced, not Texas Tech. We became increasingly anxious as the thought of us winning it all became even more real but again, did not want to get too hopeful.

"In first place," read the emcee, "and winner of the 2020 FPA Challenge and $10,000 in scholarships, The Texas Tech School of Financial Planning from Lubbock, TX."

Absolute elation erupted in the conference room. I still do not remember the rest of what he said after that but we all hugged and happy tears were shed as we had won this competition against all odds when we could have just said it was too hard. That is not what Red Raiders do though; we rise to meet challenges. We welcome adversity and we always bet on ourselves. I am proud to be a 2020 FPA National Champion from The School of Financial Planning and I will forever remember that year and that moment with my two teammates.