Saturday, November 28, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
"When we run, we are already so exposed, often nearly naked in our shorts and T-shirts, huffing and puffing, purified by the effort. Briefly removed from the defenses and secrets we maintain in so much of our lives, we feel less need to hide our private thoughts, loves, fears, and stresses. We share."
Amby Burfoot, The Runner's Guide to the Meaning of Life
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
I had a quick run today. I was feeling anxious and needed to let my thoughts bound through the sky and work out some kinks. Oh, and I knocked out a few hundred sit ups while I was at it.
I bought my Gary Fisher mountain bike this evening between classes. I don't want children; I want bikes. I want my own garage with them hanging from the beams, my own tool chest, a table, and dusty medals and numbers pinned to the walls.
I'm changing. I'm making an effort to lose the extra five pounds that have taken residence on my ass, I'm taking a good look at who I am and where I need to be, and I'm fighting my inner demon's.
Here's to hoping it's all for the better.
I'm lacing up and heading out to pound some asphault. I need to clear my head.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Be your bestfriend, tell the truth, and overuse I love you, go to work, do your best, and don't outsmart your common sense.
If I eat another cookie I think I'll literally fucking die. Maybe it's a combination of being a complete nerd and an EMT but I'd love to have a glucometer right now and check my blood sugar. It's at least four hundred. At least.
Oh god, this is worse than a hangover.
So tomorrow's game plan:
Run off the cookies that have migrated to my ass.
Match my sit ups(sit up to pound), of a small horse.
More than my weight in squats, with weights.
Get completely obliterated while wearing nothing more than simpson (read, king of the hill will also suffice) boxers and Hane's boy's S undershirt.
Followed by a little Call of Duty action, a few drunk dials, and passing out by midnight.
Yep, that's my fucking game plan.
I need to kick my ass in gear, drop the 5 or so pounds of weight (not water), get my ass back into some triathlons and a marathon for that lovely little pause between fall semester and paramedic school. Besides, I'm running out of race t-shirts and let's be honest, I don't do the races to run myself into the ground, shred my ligaments, or for that moment of bliss crossing the finish line (they all start to mesh after a while). No, I do it for the t-shirts and that small complex I get when I'm ambling through public with a triathlon/race shirt and legs as solid as fucking granite.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
"Nothing is more sacred as the bond between a horse and a rider. No other creature can ever become so emotionally close to a human as a horse. When a horse dies, the memory lives on, because an enormous part of his owner's heart, soul, and the very existence dies also."
- Stephanie M Thorn
I needed today. I needed to wrap myself up in my head and withdrawl into my own world. I went to the park and pounded the pavement with my asics. I ran it four times stopping twice at the abandoned playground to swing on the swing sets. The wind was cool and the sky was threatening and all I could think was, "I should have swung more when I was a little kid". I love swing sets, I always have. Whenever I see them I get giddy and can't resist the urge to go for a little swing.
We rode out to the back pasture. I slipped his tack off and laid in the grass, resting my head on my well worn saddle. Savoring the smell of leather, horse, and earth. He grazed in close proximity to me, occasionally nuzzling me or waking me with soft, warm puffs of air on my cheek.
Sometimes I look at him and I try to picture my life without him.
In thirty years I'll be rounding fifty and he'll be gone. I can't imagine those times. Lines on my face, wisdom behind my eyes, my skin tan and scarred from years of living.
In thirty years the best teacher in my life will be gone and I can't even begin to cope with that idea. You'll have to drug me, I swear.
I spent the day outside with my favorite men whispering in my ears through neon orange speakers (Gary Allan, Jason Aldean, Journey). I made the executive decision to keep my phone off all day. I needed a break from all forms of human contact. I needed to soak up the day and screw my head on straight. I finally turned it on about nineteentwenty to a voicemail from a best friend. She put her horse down this evening from complications with EPM and cancer. He was such a great horse and I respect the hell out of her for everything she did to keep him happy as long as possible. Rest In Peace Tommy, you'll be missed love.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
God, the 80's were such a brainfuck. Between songs like, "Every breath you take" by The Police or movies like Labyrinth and Moonwalker, I think I'm going to stroke out.
I guess I should be angry, I should feel guilty, I should be screaming. I've never been emotional and over the past year what I had left sept from me without any consent. There goes another relationship down the drain. Another notch, another album in my flickr, and another journal coming to a close.
I hate having huge metaphorical balls.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh lord. And I've been waiting for this moment all my life, oh lord.
"Through the curtains of rain, I spied another runner, head down, footfalls splashing. I was not alone. Both of us on our own, drenched, chasing things that perhaps can never be caught. No longer am I running from my demons, but running to look them in the eye." By Caleb Daniloff
I'm a nineteen year old runner but if you ask everyone else I'm more like a thirty-something year old with a sarcastic bite. People say I have my head screwed on straight and I'd like to think I do too, well, most of the time. I've got my daddy's temper and the mouth of a sailor. I'm uninhibited because I'm a firm believer in being who you really are instead of what society expects you to be. I push the envelope and I thrive in controversy.
I always get asked why I run so much and I usually just mutter through a response that they never really get; basically, I run for my physical, emotional, and mental health (and I'll just leave it at that). Well that and I have almost a 34" inseem, are you kidding me? I was born to run. "Running is my private time, my therapy, my religion." Gail W. Kislevitz
I've been an obsessive journal writer since I hit that angsty, awkward tween age. I have volumes of my life in ink and every juicy, humiliating, and down-right hormonal life changing (this is subject to interpretaion)incident that happened. Some were burned, others were ripped up, and the rest live in my night stand. What's left are chapters in my life I couldn't bring myself to destroy in some ludacris way...or I just never got around to. (Here's to hoping this will last longer than my relationships)
If you're looking for some sappy "The Notebook" bullshit I suggest you scroll your happy ass over to Women's Entertainment or Oxygen's (channel 44) website because you wont find it here.
I've always had a bit of a complex when it came to figuring out who I really am. I think I'll still be trying to figure me out on my death bed. So Mr/Ms high-and-mighty, goodluck and god speed.