So earlier this week, I experienced a very strange sensation. I had the urge to exercise...twice...in one day. Apparently there's a word for this in the "biz"...it's Two-A-Days. Maybe that is more of a phrase. A hyphenated word. Either way--it happened. Not once, but twice. In one week! It was crazy.
After completing my morning hot yoga on Wednesday and Thursday, I scheduled myself a spin class at my new cycling studio, Handle Bar in South Boston.
I truly have no idea where the energy or desire to do this came from, but holding fast to my current approach of "don't ask questions" I just went with it.
So here is the downside...when I am working out like I normally do, I tend to keep my expectations "normal." There's no expectation that the scale is going to plummet overnight or that I will magically see my abs overnight. Unfortunately, I have found that my hopes have doubled along with my exercise.
Oddly, I actually gained weight the day after my first two-a-day and things still haven't settled down. There are probably a thousand reasons for this and I am prone to think that the gain reflected inflammation and, perhaps, some muscle gain. Regardless, it is very frustrating to increase your effort and see the scale move in the opposite direction.
Alright, perhaps all this fitness blogging is a little lame. But, it's helpful for me to put this stuff on paper...well, "paper." So stay tuned for some non-fitness stuff. Much more chicken soup for the soul--or at least bisque for the body. So similar, but thicker. And with lobster.
Sunday, January 12, 2014
Sunday, January 5, 2014
Sunday Funday
As per usual, I woke up at the old person hour of 6:00 a.m. I literally can't sleep passed 7 to save my life. But, of course, I did go to bed at 10:00 p.m., so....
Today I am heading to a 90 minute yoga class and then heading to brunch. The class doesn't start until 10, so I have another hour to waste. And this is the downside of group fitness classes versus running or individual practice. You have to wait until an appointed time. I just want to start when I want to start, which was 2 hours ago...because I would have been done for 30 minutes already!
I have nothing of any real interest to add to that. Just trying to get back in the habit of updating this page on a regular basis.
Tim
Today I am heading to a 90 minute yoga class and then heading to brunch. The class doesn't start until 10, so I have another hour to waste. And this is the downside of group fitness classes versus running or individual practice. You have to wait until an appointed time. I just want to start when I want to start, which was 2 hours ago...because I would have been done for 30 minutes already!
I have nothing of any real interest to add to that. Just trying to get back in the habit of updating this page on a regular basis.
Tim
Friday, January 3, 2014
Holidays...What Holidays?
That's right folks. As of yesterday, I have officially lost all of my holiday second helpings. Plus 1 additional pound...just for good measure.
Merry Christmas to me!
It is absolutely freezing cold here in Boston as I write this entry. Wind chill this morning was negative 16 degrees. My face wanted to crack in half on my walk to work. Never fear however! my face is fully intact...no promises regarding the walk home.
I don't typically go to hot yoga at night, but thinking tonight I might sign up. And take a book. And a blanket. And refuse to leave.
Tim
Merry Christmas to me!
It is absolutely freezing cold here in Boston as I write this entry. Wind chill this morning was negative 16 degrees. My face wanted to crack in half on my walk to work. Never fear however! my face is fully intact...no promises regarding the walk home.
I don't typically go to hot yoga at night, but thinking tonight I might sign up. And take a book. And a blanket. And refuse to leave.
Tim
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
Fly on the Wall...then on the Floor
If I workout, I try and prefer to workout in the morning before work. On the weekends, I tend to wake up early and run or do whatever it is I am going to do, because (i) I like to get it over with and (ii) there is an undeniable sense of superiority that comes with voluntarily doing anything before 7 a.m. on a Saturday.
Not long ago, after a morning yoga session, I announced to my colleagues that I thought I would go to yoga again that day, for a second class. Based on the reaction I received, you would have thought I had told them....I don't know...something controversial and also funny. I simply responded, "Listen, if you're me and your body has the urge to workout more, you do not, under any circumstances, question it."
So today, on January 1, 2014--a day when I was meant to stay in bed or, at most, brunch leisurely, I couldn't ignore the feeling that I needed to work out. My last yoga session was on Sunday and I hadn't really be exerting much of anything the last two days and particularly not effort. My lingering cold was finally in remission and my boredom with the day was mounting by the minute. Health Yoga Life was closed for the holiday, so I had to look elsewhere.
Enter Flywheel Sports. One of several "boutique" spin studios serving the Greater Boston area. Apparently there are a few ultra-posh versions of these seemingly simple workout meccas, including Soul Cycle and, here in Boston, ReCycle. All of the companies differ slightly (one offers free shoes, another better branding, another the self-satisfaction of sponsoring a local business--and likely telling everyone that is the reason you go there) but they all offer the promise of an exciting spin class experience. Oh, additionally, they are all crazy expensive. A drop in class at Flywheel will set you back $28. It lasts 45 mins.
A couple things: (i) I have never been to a spin class and (ii) I am poor. However, Flywheel, as it happens, offers a free class for every first time guest. With no excuse (other than the freezing, freezing, freezing temperatures) I signed up online and booked myself a bike in the back row.
By the time I walked the 1.5 miles to the Prudential Center mall, I was convinced that no amount of pedaling could thaw out my frozen and brittle body. I was wrong.
Richard, our affable guide through the 45 minute spin adventure, introduced himself personally to each of us and gave me a few words of advice as a first-timer. Apparently, I didn't need to worry about the Torq (TM/sic), I should, instead, focus on my pace. "You should feel like you're dancing." said Richard. And 45 minutes later, I did. I felt exactly like I was dancing with a clunky metal partner and a broom stick shoved up my ass.
To paint the scene a bit more fully, Flywheel is a stadium cycling experience. So, like fancy movie theaters and football arenas, everyone has a clear view of the action. As mentioned before, I choose a seat in the back row. As luck would have it the bike was also next to a wall on my right hand side, providing almost complete privacy for my personal sweat session. The other bikes (there are 48 total in the room, I would say 40 of them were occupied) were filled by about $15,000 worth of lululemon apparel which was in turn occupied by various sized white women and four white men.
From my perch in the far back, I clipped in my free shoes (a notable perk of Flywheel---no renting required) and began to spin my feet listlessly. Richard assumed his position in the center spot, turned on his mic and pushed play on an upbeat playlist. And then something magical happened. He turned out the lights. Seriously, he was spotlit and we were in the dark. It was amazing.
I'm not sure how other people feel about fitness classes, but I kind of hate them. I am large and a man and generally nervous--which leads to stupid mistakes and clumsy mishaps. But in the dark, who cares! Other people probably love the electronic leader board that (should you not opt out, as I did) shows the class exactly which women and which men are working the hardest in the class at that moment. Some people likely enjoy the hygienically cleaned bathrooms with showers and free lockers. Keep your plasma screens and throw my stuff on the floor--just be sure to keep turning off the lights.
To say that I sweat in the 45 minutes that followed is a polite understatement. I poured. Like a faucet or a hole in a roof. During a storm. Like Hurricane Sandy. The class consisted of three sprint sets (30 to 60 seconds of full sprinting that repeated a few times during each set) and 3 hill songs (where the class is told to gradually turn up the tension on their bikes simulating a climb which repeated 2 to 3 times per song). There was also a portion devoted only to arms, with weights conveniently placed in holders beneath the handle bars.
As is usually the case, I ignored Richard's advice and kept the tension at the level he instructed rather than taking it easy and focusing only on my tempo. I should have backed off...way off. Nevertheless, I did keep the beat with the songs, even though I felt like my legs were going to rip away from my body in protest. A few times, truth be told, I did drop to half tempo. I figured a slow dance is still a dance.
After class you receive a link to your results, including a summary of calories burned and milage covered. For your viewing pleasure:
I would like to draw your attention to the asterisk. I ain't no 145 lb rider. So I am going to throw on a couple hundred more calories just for good measure. That is an amazing number of calories burned in just 45 minutes. Stunning actually.
Will I go again? Absolutely. When? Shortly after I strike gold. I have already programmed my Groupon searches and Living Social bots to alert me of any Flywheel deals. Free is such a great price, it's hard to beat it.
In short, the class definitely scratched my workout itch. And, honestly, it was fun. Bonus that it happened on New Year's Day--hopefully a good sign for the coming year.
Tim
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Here we go...2014
This is my third shot at this blog post. The first two have been pathetic. Frankly, they were well written, but pathetic nonetheless. Imagine a teenage girls diary. Now add big words. That was essentially what I producing. Drivel with an almost Victorian sense of drama.
2013 has been challenging. I made a move to Boston that has been as unexpectedly rewarding as it has been disappointing. Leaving New York City is one of the greatest losses I have ever experienced. I know that my love of New York is neither unique nor overly interesting, but I feel an ownership of that city that I don't believe will ever fade. I feel a part even while apart. I continue to take offense when people drop their affiliation with New York into a text or email--as though they are intentionally rubbing their good fortune in my face. It's silly, but it's happening.
My job here in Boston, however, has been wonderful--which I am quick to add so that I do not sound like I am whining without any sense of perspective. Though I recognize that I am whining, of course.
To add insult to injury, 2013 was the year I truly dealt with heartbreak, for--unfortunately I am sure--the first time. The details of that affair do not bear repeating, especially not here. I've told the story from start to finish to a few patient souls and feel my mission to spread that word has been fully accomplished. I always suspected a sort of weakness in people who were not able to simply scrape off a bit of heartache and start anew. I want to apologize to those people--I'm sorry. I get it now. Your mind creates a perfect story, you settle into it, learn the words--and that's precisely when someone tells you it is over before it really even starts. Next you are left to wonder how you misjudged things so badly, was it your decision to move that ended it, would you have moved had you met sooner, should you have, was it just you or was it just, you know, "life things."
My tenure in Boston started with a magical confluence of crappy weather, terrorism and emotional turmoil. I like to say "a blizzard, a bombing and a breakup." Boston lost a lot of ground with me in April.
So, I turned inward. Oddly enough, I kept hearing people make the same statement that essentially boiled down to "Time spent improving yourself is never wasted." That hit home to someone who felt that every second outside of his predestined city was time ill spent.
It's no secret that my time in New York has been a period of increased happiness and increased calories. They seem to go hand in hand. While I was still well below my all time high, I certainly gained back a good portion of the weight I had lost before moving to the Northeast and in doing so lost a lot of ground in the war that is my Fitness Revolution. In June, I set goals for myself self--deeming them "Things to do While 32." The first--lose 50 pounds.
I began running again--slowly and slowly (both the training schedule and the speed of my gait). I starting taking yoga classes. Actually, I started taking hot yoga classes. The "hot" makes a difference. Trust me.
As of today, I weigh exactly what I weighed when I ran the New York City Marathon in 2010--and guess what--I'm running it again in 2014. That means I have lost a little less than 60 pounds since moving to Boston, and I still have 6 months until I turn 33.
So, with the start of a new year, comes a renewed dedication to sharing my Fitness Revolution. I have a lot to catch this blog up on and the New Year always seems like a good time to start. I don't have many resolutions, since I tend to make them around my birthday in June and not in January like the masses, but I have missed writing these little passages and maybe a few of you have missed reading them. Many of the things I want to write about have nothing to do with fitness--so that will be fun too.
Incidentally, the last time I posted on here I wrote about fireworks I saw over the skies of Manhattan. The sense that I was meant to be exactly where I was at that moment. That I had been prepared for it and that something was being prepared for me. So it is not lost on me that only a few minutes after I began writing this blog post, I began to hear the thuds and concussions from pyrotechnics just a few blocks from my window. Another show that I did not expect, that was taking place in a spot that I would have missed if I wasn't exactly where I am at this moment.
Let's find out what happens from here--
Tim/Timmy/Teem
2013 has been challenging. I made a move to Boston that has been as unexpectedly rewarding as it has been disappointing. Leaving New York City is one of the greatest losses I have ever experienced. I know that my love of New York is neither unique nor overly interesting, but I feel an ownership of that city that I don't believe will ever fade. I feel a part even while apart. I continue to take offense when people drop their affiliation with New York into a text or email--as though they are intentionally rubbing their good fortune in my face. It's silly, but it's happening.
My job here in Boston, however, has been wonderful--which I am quick to add so that I do not sound like I am whining without any sense of perspective. Though I recognize that I am whining, of course.
To add insult to injury, 2013 was the year I truly dealt with heartbreak, for--unfortunately I am sure--the first time. The details of that affair do not bear repeating, especially not here. I've told the story from start to finish to a few patient souls and feel my mission to spread that word has been fully accomplished. I always suspected a sort of weakness in people who were not able to simply scrape off a bit of heartache and start anew. I want to apologize to those people--I'm sorry. I get it now. Your mind creates a perfect story, you settle into it, learn the words--and that's precisely when someone tells you it is over before it really even starts. Next you are left to wonder how you misjudged things so badly, was it your decision to move that ended it, would you have moved had you met sooner, should you have, was it just you or was it just, you know, "life things."
My tenure in Boston started with a magical confluence of crappy weather, terrorism and emotional turmoil. I like to say "a blizzard, a bombing and a breakup." Boston lost a lot of ground with me in April.
So, I turned inward. Oddly enough, I kept hearing people make the same statement that essentially boiled down to "Time spent improving yourself is never wasted." That hit home to someone who felt that every second outside of his predestined city was time ill spent.
It's no secret that my time in New York has been a period of increased happiness and increased calories. They seem to go hand in hand. While I was still well below my all time high, I certainly gained back a good portion of the weight I had lost before moving to the Northeast and in doing so lost a lot of ground in the war that is my Fitness Revolution. In June, I set goals for myself self--deeming them "Things to do While 32." The first--lose 50 pounds.
I began running again--slowly and slowly (both the training schedule and the speed of my gait). I starting taking yoga classes. Actually, I started taking hot yoga classes. The "hot" makes a difference. Trust me.
As of today, I weigh exactly what I weighed when I ran the New York City Marathon in 2010--and guess what--I'm running it again in 2014. That means I have lost a little less than 60 pounds since moving to Boston, and I still have 6 months until I turn 33.
So, with the start of a new year, comes a renewed dedication to sharing my Fitness Revolution. I have a lot to catch this blog up on and the New Year always seems like a good time to start. I don't have many resolutions, since I tend to make them around my birthday in June and not in January like the masses, but I have missed writing these little passages and maybe a few of you have missed reading them. Many of the things I want to write about have nothing to do with fitness--so that will be fun too.
Incidentally, the last time I posted on here I wrote about fireworks I saw over the skies of Manhattan. The sense that I was meant to be exactly where I was at that moment. That I had been prepared for it and that something was being prepared for me. So it is not lost on me that only a few minutes after I began writing this blog post, I began to hear the thuds and concussions from pyrotechnics just a few blocks from my window. Another show that I did not expect, that was taking place in a spot that I would have missed if I wasn't exactly where I am at this moment.
Let's find out what happens from here--
Tim/Timmy/Teem
Monday, June 25, 2012
Preparing for the Show
Frankly, I thought today would just end with some quiet tears in my parents' apartment while I shook my fist and pledged to make up for lost time. In what ways...well, that would take an entirely different blog. And not just a post or two. Fitness, of course. Job, absolutely. My love life, undoubtably.
Rather then just lazing around my own little 325 square feet of rented contentment, I decided to spend the evening watching cable (a luxury I no longer allow myself) at my parents humble abode. I hadn't been over in quite a while, so it was fun to wander around the place while they were out of town. Most of my wandering centered on the pantry, which holds more grocery store bought food in its current state than I have purchased in my adult life. And it's a very small pantry.
I finally picked a can of chili and allowed my laziness to win over my one earth child tendency and threw it in the microwave--for some reason I have developed an aversion to the thing...it's a combination of the suspicion that it will give me cancer and the certainty that food doesn't taste as good after it comes out of there. Sometimes I forget how good chili can be. I mean, seriously. Delicious.
Unfortunately, in the process of selecting the can, opening it, scooping out, heating it up and applying the proverbial toppings (I substituted cheezit's for the crackers AND the cheese...your welcome), I came face to face with my favorite picture of me and my sisters.
The picture was taken at Grand Lux Cafe about a month after I ran the marathon. My sisters and mom were on their annual Christmas gift buying weekend and dad and I joined for dinner at the Galleria. Incidentally, it captured a moment in time where I was at my absolute healthiest since high school. Not only was I at my lowest weight, but everything (except my hip) was in great shape. I am confident it is the only picture that has ever been taken where I come close to looking as good as my sisters.
I was already planning a fun trip to Chicago and I knew--and I was right--that it would be one I would remember forever. My hip surgery was on the horizon, but I wasn't afraid. I was happy to have a solution that would allow me to run again.
I came directly from work to have dinner with my family and I remember wandering the Christmas Tree Shops next door after that dinner carrying my blackberry in my right hand (you might say my hand fit it like a glove). I was waiting for it to buzz or blink or whatever it was that it did. That it always did. I am willing to bet I showed up late, and was probably the first one to suggest we leave.
The picture is actually just a computer print out. It was stuck on my parent's fridge. At an angle. It's folded and wrinkled from months of soggy hands and residue. And it made me incredibly sad.
I miss that moment. Not the blackberry and the hurry, but being over the hump healthwise and not climbing up from the bottom. I miss the security of the job. And I miss my friends. Man I miss my friends. The immediacy of them. The availability.
And inevitably my mind wandered to the place where you decide that everything you've done for the past year has been a tremendous mistake. That you should have stayed the course. I would still be thin(ner). I would still have the security if also the blackberry. I could see the people--family or not--who I love most in this world without a flight across the country. It all amounted to a singular, horrible, thought. That I am wasting time.
Needless to say, my trip to my parents house had taken a very dark turn. Though the chili was delicious, and the tears added just the hint of salt that it had been missing.
It was with this mindset that I began the trek home. Not exactly the happiest I have ever been.
The walk to the Roosevelt Island tram from the apartment is about a mile. Maybe less. It's a very pleasant walk if you haven't decided that you're a failure. Tonight I was in no mood. I trudged head-down, not wanting to see or talk to anyone. Much to my annoyance I was followed the entire time by the sounds of construction blasting at random intervals from across the island. Just what I needed. More reasons to make me regret my relocation to Manhattan.
I just wanted to get home and be done with the day, but first I had to ride the cable car back across the East River. I have a gift for missing the tram and getting to "enjoy" a long wait for the next trip. It's usually about 15 minutes or more if you time it just wrong. Tonight, for once, I was in luck. I was there with 4 other people and the tram was built to hold over a hundred. So I had to roll my eyes a bit when a tiny old woman rammed her walker right in front of all of us so that she could be sure to board first. New Yorkers. There was a collective sigh amongst the rest of the crowd that express something between good natured humor and the frustration that we hadn't been trusted to do the right thing regardless of the old lady's place in the crowd.
The conductor took longer than necessary to start the return trip. So we sat for quite a while, just waiting and listening to the late night ruckus from the construction down the island that had bothered me since I left my parent's building. I grabbed the seat next to the elderly woman and we sat quietly together rocking gently in the suspended car. I was just ready to go.
Finally we ascended. It wasn't until the car had cleared the first set of mid-rise buildings that I had a clear view of the fireworks. The random booming and explosions that I so easily cursed were, in fact, the highly orchestrated sounds of a pyrotechnics show playing itself out in a field at the end of the island. The conductor slowed the car a bit, but still most of the riders stared at their phones waiting for them to buzz or blink or whatever they do. So, I turned to my elderly friend and just pointed. And we sat there, suspended over the East River, halfway to Manhattan, watching a tiny, but brilliant display. It was a magical moment. One that will never be repeated.
I realize that life isn't one long Footprints in the Sand poem. Not everything gets tied up in a little package with a clever bow and a lesson. But I do think I was meant to see those fireworks. I think sometimes we leave one place that is safe and happy and start a new path. On the way we get bombarded by a lot of distractions and hassled by a lot of noise. But eventually, if we can stay the course, we get to look back and see that those disruptions were just preparation for the fireworks. We just have to be a little ways down the road to see that clearly. And when we can, it's going to be quite a show.
The old lady and I watched until the buildings on the west side blocked our view. At which point she turned to me and said "Thanks for showing me that. I think that makes everything better, don't you?' I couldn't agree more.
Rather then just lazing around my own little 325 square feet of rented contentment, I decided to spend the evening watching cable (a luxury I no longer allow myself) at my parents humble abode. I hadn't been over in quite a while, so it was fun to wander around the place while they were out of town. Most of my wandering centered on the pantry, which holds more grocery store bought food in its current state than I have purchased in my adult life. And it's a very small pantry.
I finally picked a can of chili and allowed my laziness to win over my one earth child tendency and threw it in the microwave--for some reason I have developed an aversion to the thing...it's a combination of the suspicion that it will give me cancer and the certainty that food doesn't taste as good after it comes out of there. Sometimes I forget how good chili can be. I mean, seriously. Delicious.
Unfortunately, in the process of selecting the can, opening it, scooping out, heating it up and applying the proverbial toppings (I substituted cheezit's for the crackers AND the cheese...your welcome), I came face to face with my favorite picture of me and my sisters.
The picture was taken at Grand Lux Cafe about a month after I ran the marathon. My sisters and mom were on their annual Christmas gift buying weekend and dad and I joined for dinner at the Galleria. Incidentally, it captured a moment in time where I was at my absolute healthiest since high school. Not only was I at my lowest weight, but everything (except my hip) was in great shape. I am confident it is the only picture that has ever been taken where I come close to looking as good as my sisters.
I was already planning a fun trip to Chicago and I knew--and I was right--that it would be one I would remember forever. My hip surgery was on the horizon, but I wasn't afraid. I was happy to have a solution that would allow me to run again.
I came directly from work to have dinner with my family and I remember wandering the Christmas Tree Shops next door after that dinner carrying my blackberry in my right hand (you might say my hand fit it like a glove). I was waiting for it to buzz or blink or whatever it was that it did. That it always did. I am willing to bet I showed up late, and was probably the first one to suggest we leave.
The picture is actually just a computer print out. It was stuck on my parent's fridge. At an angle. It's folded and wrinkled from months of soggy hands and residue. And it made me incredibly sad.
I miss that moment. Not the blackberry and the hurry, but being over the hump healthwise and not climbing up from the bottom. I miss the security of the job. And I miss my friends. Man I miss my friends. The immediacy of them. The availability.
And inevitably my mind wandered to the place where you decide that everything you've done for the past year has been a tremendous mistake. That you should have stayed the course. I would still be thin(ner). I would still have the security if also the blackberry. I could see the people--family or not--who I love most in this world without a flight across the country. It all amounted to a singular, horrible, thought. That I am wasting time.
Needless to say, my trip to my parents house had taken a very dark turn. Though the chili was delicious, and the tears added just the hint of salt that it had been missing.
The picture.
It was with this mindset that I began the trek home. Not exactly the happiest I have ever been.
The walk to the Roosevelt Island tram from the apartment is about a mile. Maybe less. It's a very pleasant walk if you haven't decided that you're a failure. Tonight I was in no mood. I trudged head-down, not wanting to see or talk to anyone. Much to my annoyance I was followed the entire time by the sounds of construction blasting at random intervals from across the island. Just what I needed. More reasons to make me regret my relocation to Manhattan.
I just wanted to get home and be done with the day, but first I had to ride the cable car back across the East River. I have a gift for missing the tram and getting to "enjoy" a long wait for the next trip. It's usually about 15 minutes or more if you time it just wrong. Tonight, for once, I was in luck. I was there with 4 other people and the tram was built to hold over a hundred. So I had to roll my eyes a bit when a tiny old woman rammed her walker right in front of all of us so that she could be sure to board first. New Yorkers. There was a collective sigh amongst the rest of the crowd that express something between good natured humor and the frustration that we hadn't been trusted to do the right thing regardless of the old lady's place in the crowd.
The conductor took longer than necessary to start the return trip. So we sat for quite a while, just waiting and listening to the late night ruckus from the construction down the island that had bothered me since I left my parent's building. I grabbed the seat next to the elderly woman and we sat quietly together rocking gently in the suspended car. I was just ready to go.
Finally we ascended. It wasn't until the car had cleared the first set of mid-rise buildings that I had a clear view of the fireworks. The random booming and explosions that I so easily cursed were, in fact, the highly orchestrated sounds of a pyrotechnics show playing itself out in a field at the end of the island. The conductor slowed the car a bit, but still most of the riders stared at their phones waiting for them to buzz or blink or whatever they do. So, I turned to my elderly friend and just pointed. And we sat there, suspended over the East River, halfway to Manhattan, watching a tiny, but brilliant display. It was a magical moment. One that will never be repeated.
I realize that life isn't one long Footprints in the Sand poem. Not everything gets tied up in a little package with a clever bow and a lesson. But I do think I was meant to see those fireworks. I think sometimes we leave one place that is safe and happy and start a new path. On the way we get bombarded by a lot of distractions and hassled by a lot of noise. But eventually, if we can stay the course, we get to look back and see that those disruptions were just preparation for the fireworks. We just have to be a little ways down the road to see that clearly. And when we can, it's going to be quite a show.
The old lady and I watched until the buildings on the west side blocked our view. At which point she turned to me and said "Thanks for showing me that. I think that makes everything better, don't you?' I couldn't agree more.
The last firework of the night...the pinkish blur on the left.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Quiet Beginnings
This morning I ran 1.15 miles. It's not much, but it's a start.
The first time I started running, my initial attempt lasted exactly 1 minute. This one lasted 13. So, yeah, my pace has slowed a bit. And, sure, my stamina needs some work. And, yeah, my hip still hurts...a lot. But it's a start.
What better birthday present could I give myself than reclaiming my health, right? Well, maybe a nice car...like a REALLY nice car. That might be better. Otherwise, health is right at the tippy top.
Or a puppy...I might like a puppy too. A puppy would be awesome, actually. Okay, puppy, car, health...
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