dis·pas·sion·ate –adjective
free from or unaffected by passion; devoid of personal feeling or bias; impartial; calm: a dispassionate critic.
ve·neer –noun
to face or cover (an object) with any material that is more desirable as a surface material than the basic material of the object; revet.
re·lease –verb
to allow to be known, issued, done, or exhibited: to release an article for publication.
...
I was about to actually talk, tonight. (Damn. Now the moment has passed.) What would that have been like?
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Id vs. Ego on a Saturday Morning (or, "Yay, Endorphins!")
The activity of running has never been an especially entertaining one in my opinion. I've always preferred the quick adrenaline kicks from biking downhill over hazardous roots or the low key, quiet plodding up steep mountains over the monotonous thumping of sneakers along a paved track. The admiration for those that did do the miles each day was there, but, honestly, running as an activity has, for me, always been an absolute bore. As such, I've never built up the endurance that months ago I decided to attain. The reasons behind this are legion but honestly has more to do with retaining a few grains of sand in the hourglass than anything else.
This being said, I've been running for a few weeks now, a necessary cardio-evil tagged onto a much more enjoyable weightlifting regimen. I've approached it just as something I've had to endure, like cleaning the plate of spinach in order to get to the dessert. So far I'd not let anything get in the way of it, either... until, this morning, I woke with a headache.
Like some sort of knowing and cynical spectator, my 'other' self thought, "Uh-oh. I bet this is gonna be used as a great reason not to go today."
And it won out for a while, too, about an hour and a half. I gnawed at me, though, that this one break from routine, not long after I'd ramped up the mileage, would begin a habit of letting things slide. This was the first real speedbump after weeks of responsible success, and a small one at that.
Shoring my courage, I eventually gathered my bag and took off to the gym. Still squinting from the pain induced from the brightness of the sun, part of me was rebelling the entire walk to the front door of the fitness center ("You can turn back... you'll feel worse afterwards... you really dislike this, y'know, and you have a good excuse"), but once inside seemed to lose its voice.
Within a few minutes on the treadmill (running still bores me, but VH1 helps, hence the reason I was inside running on such an otherwise gorgeous day) I realized my headache was gone. What's more, by the end of my scheduled mileage I felt as though I could have kept going, a first... in my life, really... and probably would have had it not been for the time. I felt absolutely wonderful when I left the gym, energized, not worn out. Activated, not drained. With no headache in sight.
I've heard of reaching a point where one actually... enjoys... running, but I've never gotten close until today. It's perplexing, really, and I do look forward to going back Monday to find whether or not today was just a fluke. If it's not, my life may well have just changed today.
But, then again, that other self is right there, saying, "We'll see."
This being said, I've been running for a few weeks now, a necessary cardio-evil tagged onto a much more enjoyable weightlifting regimen. I've approached it just as something I've had to endure, like cleaning the plate of spinach in order to get to the dessert. So far I'd not let anything get in the way of it, either... until, this morning, I woke with a headache.
Like some sort of knowing and cynical spectator, my 'other' self thought, "Uh-oh. I bet this is gonna be used as a great reason not to go today."
And it won out for a while, too, about an hour and a half. I gnawed at me, though, that this one break from routine, not long after I'd ramped up the mileage, would begin a habit of letting things slide. This was the first real speedbump after weeks of responsible success, and a small one at that.
Shoring my courage, I eventually gathered my bag and took off to the gym. Still squinting from the pain induced from the brightness of the sun, part of me was rebelling the entire walk to the front door of the fitness center ("You can turn back... you'll feel worse afterwards... you really dislike this, y'know, and you have a good excuse"), but once inside seemed to lose its voice.
Within a few minutes on the treadmill (running still bores me, but VH1 helps, hence the reason I was inside running on such an otherwise gorgeous day) I realized my headache was gone. What's more, by the end of my scheduled mileage I felt as though I could have kept going, a first... in my life, really... and probably would have had it not been for the time. I felt absolutely wonderful when I left the gym, energized, not worn out. Activated, not drained. With no headache in sight.
I've heard of reaching a point where one actually... enjoys... running, but I've never gotten close until today. It's perplexing, really, and I do look forward to going back Monday to find whether or not today was just a fluke. If it's not, my life may well have just changed today.
But, then again, that other self is right there, saying, "We'll see."
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Passive Aggressive Payback.
So, if you've read in a post a few back, you'll be familiar with this percussionist that shows up a few times a month, a friend of the homeowners. You'll also remember that I tend to leave immediately when possible due to the five years of built up annoyances at the noise he gregariously creates and my usual preference for not a whole lot of BS noise going on around in my general vicinity, especially where I live and want to relax.
Anyhoo, so, yeah, he's here again. 'Has been for two nights, 'will be for another three. The good news is that he's here in the area, finally, looking to purchase a house, but that's not the point of this post.
Y'see, there's this wonderful little Boston Terrier in the house named Tug. He's a peach, this Tug. And he has this little green duck chew toy given to him at Christmas. He loves the thing. He'll chew and plays with it unceasingly. It's the cutest thing.
'Did I mention that it squeaks VERY loudly each time he chomps down on it?
... or that the sound eventually seemed to really get on the percussionist's nerves? ("Ok, Tug, you cant start cutting that s#!t out now...")
...or that I tried to keep making sure the duck kept Tug's attention for four hours straight?
Petty, I know.
But dang, it tickled me to no end.
........................
My hero and me:
Anyhoo, so, yeah, he's here again. 'Has been for two nights, 'will be for another three. The good news is that he's here in the area, finally, looking to purchase a house, but that's not the point of this post.
Y'see, there's this wonderful little Boston Terrier in the house named Tug. He's a peach, this Tug. And he has this little green duck chew toy given to him at Christmas. He loves the thing. He'll chew and plays with it unceasingly. It's the cutest thing.
'Did I mention that it squeaks VERY loudly each time he chomps down on it?
... or that the sound eventually seemed to really get on the percussionist's nerves? ("Ok, Tug, you cant start cutting that s#!t out now...")
...or that I tried to keep making sure the duck kept Tug's attention for four hours straight?
Petty, I know.
But dang, it tickled me to no end.
........................
My hero and me:
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