I made a handful of New Year’s Resolutions this year, and thus far, as of Feb.1, I am sticking to them, all of them. One of the big ones was something I have been saying I needed to do for a long time, start getting some exercise. I have always been bone skinny, thanks to the super high metabolism I inherited from my father. OR SO I THOUGHT! Now that Dad’s stopped smoking, he’s getting down right chunky, and I too have learned that age catches up with you.
The first year I moved to Austin, you could count my ribs. Between that time, in 2000, and the end of last year, I put on 30 pounds. Like I said, I was too skinny before, now I am too fat. Thus, my goal is to lose half that much, and more than that, to get into better shape. In this New Year I am trying to be a better person, to remake myself in a lot of ways, and this feels like the first step, the building blocks of the foundation, for me. Make a physical better me, and go from there, I have decided.
I’ve never had much patience for the gym, I hate the feeling of being a gerbil on a wheel. Plus, let’s face it, I haven’t had ANY exercise in forever, since I broke my shoulder playing hockey like 5 years ago. So I’ve been starting slow. Basic calestenics and now, running. And it HURTS. I started it in the morning, and originally I was using the rush to combat my depression, which is at it’s worst in the mornings. I’ve been gradually pushing myself, doing always as much as I’ve done before, then pushing myself to do 5 more push-ups, 10 more sit-ups, to keep trying until it hurts.
I also have always thought of this page as something like that, a mental workout of my writing muscles. They too are badly atrophied, as I have said, and so I am trying to use this space to get them limbered up again. And thankfully, like the physical exercise, it hurts. That’s how I know it’s working. Hopefully there will be some new kinds of things here, not just brain dumping and venting and wallowing in my own sadness. I need to start writing fiction again, and that badly scares me. I have a great many fears lately, but one of the scariest things in the world has always been a blank piece of paper. It’s also one of the sexiest things in the world, the most desirable. The blank page fills me with fear and promise at the same time. I’m working hard to get back to the way it used to feel, the top of the roller coaster scary, as opposed to the I am gonna die scary. I have to learn to push through it, to take the pain and enjoy it, like those last 10 push-ups.
Becasue this is the kind of pain that’s helpful, and that’s so much better than the other pain in my life.