As I began driving more and more, it became clear to me that the Mercury Topaz wasn’t going to cut it. I decided I wanted something more. I had always been drawn to Chevy pickup trucks, and I especially loved fast vehicles. One day, driving through my hometown of Cremona, I saw the perfect truck on the side of the road. The thing was beautiful. It had the most gorgeous paint job I had ever seen, and to be honest, I didn’t even care what was under the hood in that moment. 

I called the number of the guy who was selling it, only to discover that he was asking for an extortionate amount of money. He was a body guy at the Chevy dealership in Calgary, and he proceeded to explain to me that the truck had 7 coats of factory Porsche paint and 3 coats of clear coat.

The paint job was immaculate. 

But under the hood was a boring old 305 that simply wouldn’t cut it. He promised me that he had a 350 block I could have and a shit ton of parts he didn’t know what to do about. That sold me. As soon as I knew I could replace the engine easily, this truck became mine. I didn’t even care how much it cost, it was beautiful, and I wanted it. And then came time to change the engine.  

My dad had taught me much about mechanics, and I was no stranger to a set of tools, doing my own oil changes, and changing my own spark plugs. 

How hard could it be to do my own engine swap?

So I decided to rebuild the 350 block that he had given me with the truck and change it over. I had a little bit of help from my boyfriend at the time, but for the most part, I rebuilt that engine on my own. I tore it apart, I cleaned every part, I ordered aftermarket parts and fancy chrome pieces, and bit by bit, a shiny new 350 block was built for my beautiful truck.  

The day came to do the engine swap, and I had help for this part. We changed it all over in a day, connecting everything to the transmission and pouring new fluids in it. I couldn’t wait to drive it!  I couldn’t wait to go show it off.  I had also had the transmission redone with a shift kit in it.  This thing was going to be fast, and fun! 

Driving that truck around town, and in the local community made me famous. I was the chick who had rebuilt an engine, and not too many girls in the area could say the same. The truck was beautiful, it was fast, and it grabbed the attention of anyone driving by. Driving that truck made me realize how much I enjoyed being the center of attention, and I decided that I’d take it a step further. 

I decided to become a model. 

I had no basis for the modeling decision, and there is no explanation for why I might choose this career path, but here we were. I signed up for modeling classes, bought thousands of dollars’ worth of clothes for a photo shoot, and took lessons on how to walk in stilettos. After months of lessons, I was invited to attend a modeling conference in Seattle, which was a competition. I would meet some of the top players in the industry and would strut my stuff down the catwalk as I was judged by a panel.

That opportunity was one that I would hate for a long time.

Having my looks judged so publicly set me on a course of judging my appearance for years to come. I became obsessed with what I looked like, and I quit the modeling industry before I had even really begun because I couldn’t stand the shallowness of it all. I wanted to be known for so much more than my looks.

I wanted to be recognized as someone who could strut the catwalk in stilettos and rebuild an engine.

I wanted so much more for my life, and it would take years before I ever recognized the whole truth of that.