A change will do you good...

I have always believed that people can change- usually by life events, or sometimes if sufficiently motivated. I have changed a lot through the years, I think, but this past year has brought some unexpected, but good, change in my lifestyle. I have become an "active" if not "athletic" adult. I've always been an active person- always something going on, some project or organization (a good friend just yesterday told me I'm high-strung), but they were generally social, creative, or academic in nature. I've never used the word athlete as an adjective for myself. Until recently, anyway.

Something about my new hometown and new friends has gotten me off the couch- I guess that's what happens when you hang out with coaches of various sports all day. It started off small for me, just going to play some beach volleyball and taking some bike rides, which are activities I've always enjoyed, but had less opportunity for until I came here. Then, I started going to a spinning class with my roommate.

You must understand, I actually already paid for the membership at the rec center at the local college through the school where I work, I had just never actually gone there before. I thought it was a good idea in theory, but I have a certain phobia of places where skinny girls look cute in skin-tight pastels while bouncing effortlessly next to muscle-flexing college boy hotties. So, I never went and was resigned to simply paying my "fat tax" as comedian Christian Finnegan calls an unused gym membership. It turns out I like spinning class, though. The only thing I knew about it before I went was from that scene in Bridget Jones's Diary, so even though I was reluctant, I can more than hold my own in there, especially when the right music is playing.

The next impossible step I took was to begin running. If I have a phobia of gyms, I have an absolute disgust for "running for fun." I've attempted it before on a few (very few) occasions, but it was never fun, and I'm sure wasn't really all that close to resembling running either, to be honest. But, everyone around me here does this torture ritual pretty regularly, so I figured what the hell. About a month ago I plotted a big section around my neighborhood that is a mile loop, and started to run/walk it semi-regularly.

The first day I made it about 1/4 of a mile before I had to walk. Last week I finally made it just past 1/2 mile before taking a break for a 1/4, then running another 1/4 mile. I knew I was making progress, but something just wasn't adding up for me. I could spin my little heart out for almost forty-five minutes with a decent amount of resistance, but I couldn't even run a mile? What is wrong with me?

I mentioned this to my brother, also a former non-runner, who has just worked up to running 2 miles. He said I was probably trying to run too fast. This concept had never, ever occurred to me as a possibility. I assumed that I, the not-athlete, was just slow and obviously nonathletic. But I have an open mind, so yesterday I decided to test this crazy theory and slow down my pace, just for kicks. Then, the damnedest thing happened: for the first time in my entire life, I ran a whole mile. And I did it in under ten minutes.

Just to be sure it wasn't a fluke, I did it again today. Apparently I can run a mile, I just can't sprint a mile- yet.

Inspire Me

Inspiration is a fickle lady for me. I can go weeks or months without feeling a single twinge of creative impulse, and then -BAM- she strikes me from out of oblivion. The past twenty-four hours I have been visited by my friend Inspiration, and she has set me on fire in a myriad of genres- essay, pictures, and even song (although I doubt that anyone but me will ever hear the lyrics that hit my notebook at 2am this morning.)

The thing about creative inspiration is, I have to recognize it when it strikes and act on it rather quickly. My head is constantly filled with words, but occasionally the same phrases or ideas revolve around in my head until they must be set down on paper. Sometimes I am too preoccupied, or lazy, to properly empty my head, and then the genius that could have been those words is lost. Or at least temporarily put on hold.

When I was smaller I loved to create, either singing, or writing stories, or drawing. I would bring my watercolors with me to paint while my family was fishing and fill notebooks describing the ordinary lives of imaginary characters. But the older I get, the less time and energy I have for such things. And so the images have become more rare for me, although they do occur. When those visual instances of emotion appear, I try to capture them immediately, because they are fragile, flimsy bits of inspiration that will float away into nothing much more quickly than the words.

So here are the pictures that floated into my head yesterday... Since I have almost no artistic training, I have no concept of what “good” art is, but I was happy with how they turned out. I would love to hear what you think...