Go Hot Dog!

This is my first chapter . . . I've revised it eleven times--I might as well go for a dozen. Please give your suggestions or comments; I want to make this the best I can.

#1 “Go Hot Dog!”
December 31/January 1

There’s something about seeing a hot dog running down the street that puts a smile on my face.

My breath clouded in the December air. I never thought I would be doing this, especially in the middle of winter, with a giant hot dog. It was nearing midnight, and I couldn’t think of a better way to bring in the New Year.

My legs ached as I pushed them forward, but I felt like I was leaping over all the holes I had previously fallen into—the holes where I had existed for a couple years of my life.

It started that morning when I awoke to my radio alarm.

“What’re your New Year’s resolutions?” the DJ asked the caller.

“Oh, no,” he replied, “I don’t do change."

But change is one of the best ways to grow, I thought, climbing stiffly out of bed. I still felt sore after snowboarding a few days earlier. It was my first attempt, surprising for someone who lived in Utah—Home of the Greatest Snow on Earth—all twenty-six years of her life.

Driving to work, past all the same buildings I never really noticed, an idea came to me, almost as if someone said it aloud.

What if I did something new every week this year?

It sounded crazy. I didn’t have much money or resources; to take on such a goal would mean the risk of failing miserably, yet the buildings lightly blurred from the elated tears growing in my eyes.

A few hours later, vacuuming the storefront carpet, I wondered if I would be cleaning up my own vomit in another moment as the reality of my goal set in. How would I even come up with fifty-two new things, let alone follow through with them? I didn’t have a single idea except for skydiving, which made my stomach rise again.

“So tonight is the big night, Holly?” my coworker Ann asked after I finished vacuuming. We worked at a half reprographics, half art store; she walked past the Xerox machines to the drawing paper where I stood. Her excitement tempered as she warned, “It’s going to be really cold . . .”

“Just don’t slip on the ice,” added Sterling, the seventy-year-old walking down the stairs from his art studio. “You’re trying something new; that’s what counts.” He turned to Ann. “She’s coming out of her shell, isn’t she?”

“Yes, this is quite the change in her,” Ann said.

What changes will I see in myself if I really did something new each week of the year?

By nightfall, it was less than thirty degrees. The stars jumped out of the black sky, as if entertained by the three hundred people below them.

My feet pulsed against the street encircling Sugarhouse Park in Salt Lake City, avoiding the encroaching ice. Most people wore running clothes to wick away sweat and keep from freezing in the Utah cold. Some people wore colorful hats or wigs; others ran with golden retrievers, undoubtedly chasing the hot dog.

Keeping pace with a girl wearing nothing but a red bikini and running shoes, I watched as the bare skin of her legs and back began matching the color of her swimsuit. The race gave awards for best costumes and the C-c-coldest Runner. Still, she had to be crazy. Circling pastures of twinkling snow, we looked like cartoon characters escaping into a human world, running in the night cold because we didn’t know better.

Three bundled-up children stood beneath a lamppost, cheering on participants. “Go Runner! Go Bikini Girl! Go Hot Dog!”

In the crowd of spectators, I spotted my best friend Heidi, her blonde head poking out of blankets piled high around her shoulders. I heard her cheer, “Go Holly!”

The “Beat the New Year” 5K started promptly at 11:30 p.m. Runners tried to finish the 3.1 miles before midnight. Less than fifteen minutes remained on the large race clock as I made my first lap; I would have to run the second lap much faster, and it was becoming hard to breathe.

I can’t believe I’m running a 5K, I thought, remembering my first mile six months ago and feeling the cold bite through my ears and numb my fingers. I wore a long-sleeved jacket and running pants, regretting leaving the gloves and earmuffs behind.

I need to stop. This is too hard.

A ten-year-old boy running behind me looked at his watch. “Five minutes ‘til midnight,” he said to his dad.

My lungs burned, my mouth tasted like a bag of frozen peas, yet these people behind me weren’t giving up; the bikini girl hasn’t stopped, either. I saw focus, excitement, and pain in the faces of runners around me. Every face had its own spark of elation, something I wouldn’t believe beside the twinkling midnight snow unless I saw it for myself. Even in this cold, I had never seen a happier group of strangers.

I thought of my motivation to be here: I run for fun . . . for celebration . . . for inspiration . . . And if I can do this, well then, just maybe . . .

One last hill to conquer before nearing the race clock. My legs pushed to a full sprint. The large group of spectators huddled together in coats and scarves. I spotted Heidi in her blankets, cheering at the finish line.

28:45 flashed on the clock as I finished my first 5K. I rubbed the sweat from the back of my neck. I did it! And I’m sweating in this icy air!

“Congratulations!” the gloved-man at the finish line said, handing me a wooden plaque engraved with “Beat the New Year!” I held it against my chest as I slowed down to a walk. The crowd began to chant, “Five, four, three, two, one . . . Happy New Year!”

Fireworks sparkled against the black sky, the loud bangs and whistles mixing with the sound of cheers. My throat felt warm, frozen, tight, and open all at the same time.

“You beat it!” Heidi yelled, handing me a steaming cup of hot chocolate as she caught up to me beyond the race clock. “You’ve finished!”

“I kn-now!” I spoke out of numb lips. “It f-f-feels so good!” But then I thought this wasn’t the finish, but the beginning. I smiled to myself despite fear of the impossible: one new experience down . . . fifty-one more to go.

My First Aggies Game

Despite happening in February, I still think about the way I handled this . . .


My friend Heidi's an Aggie, a student at Utah State. However, I intended to go to my first Aggies basketball game with another person. I'll call him "Logan," because Logan, Utah is where we met.

I live 50 miles away from the city of Logan, but when Logan the person invited me to an Aggies basketball game, I was definitely willing to make the drive.


In fact, I was looking forward to it all week. I spent the afternoon making brownies because he had moved into a new apartment and I wanted to offer a house-warming gift. He planned to pick me up that evening at Heidi's house; my heart joyfully pounded as I ran up the cement stairs to her door, which was always unlocked--for some reason, her roommates never learned to lock a door. I called Logan to say I was ready.

"When's he coming?" Heidi asked, looking at my new outfit. "He's going to be happy to see you."

"Um, he didn't answer. He must be busy."

Five minutes went by. I called again; no answer. Ten minutes passed.

Heidi's friend, Megan, stopped by with a box of Scentsy candles. I took whiffs of "Enchanted Mist" and "Flirtatious" in hopes of distracting myself, but my mind kept racing over everything Logan and I planned: I'd drive to Heidi's house and call him when I got here, he'd pick me up and take me to the game. I even had Heidi's student i.d. card so I get through the door!

"My boyfriend's at the game," Megan said. "I can drop you off and you can sit with him."

Ten minutes later, I struggled to watch the ball moving back and forth across the court as I sat next to Megan's boyfriend. Logan still didn't answer me, even when I texted that I was at the game. Tears threatened to fall from the corners of my eyes, but it felt exponentially crueler if they fell in front of this kind stranger and his family. Besides, I'd spent all that extra time on my make-up.


"All this effort, for nothing," I thought. I had even listened to an Aggies game over the radio to prepare for tonight!

Actually, I realized, I had started listening to the game over the radio for preparation, but I continued to listen to it because I didn't want to stop. It was the first time I followed a sport over the radio, and although I knew little about basketball, as I listened, I began memorizing players' names and visualizing them on the court. They were playing in Hawaii and ended up winning after two overtimes.


At the very least, I know I have learned to savor new experiences, and that game over the radio is testament to that. Is this a small consolation to watching the game without Logan? Perhaps, but that game over the radio meant something to me. Never before would I picture myself adamently listening to a sport on the radio, but I had! As I reminded myself of this, the ball became clearer on the court; here I was, thinking about how I'd enjoyed that broadcast, and now I had the real thing in front of me! I put my silent phone down and paid attention.



When I walked back into Heidi's unlocked house, she turned from her school work, unhappy to find me still alone.


I looked down. "I just have one thing to say . . . "

"Yes," she asked worriedly.

". . . Utah State won the game!"


She laughed and hugged me. I knew Heidi already felt overwhelmed by a huge school project, so I did all I could to hold myself together. And doing that favor for her did me the biggest favor of all: I conquered my disappointment right there. It would be way too easy to crumble. Instead, I gave Heidi the brownies and she suggested I use her computer to take pictures. "Remind yourself that you are enough."





Years ago, an experience like this would have crushed me. Or rather, I would choose to be crushed. There are few things harder than taking emotional responsibilty, but looking back, I realize it was entirely in my power to either mope at the game or take power to enjoy it. As disappointed as I was, I was still capable of having fun.

I don't exactly know what happened with Logan that night, but I do believe he has had his share of heavy disappointments, too--disappointments more serious than what I felt that night. I do not want to excuse anyone mistreating me, but I also don't want to look at everything from a "why me?" stance. I've forgiven him. When I look back at this new experience, I may have felt a lot of disappointment, but I felt no shame.


http://www.utahstateaggies.com/sports/m-baskbl/ust-m-baskbl-body.html

The Incubation Period is Over

First I will say, my book about doing something new every week for a year is written.

Second, the book will need to be re-written NINETY or so times before I will ever see it published. Whether through a publishing house or vanity press, or even a crude stack of 8.5x11 paper I sell to friends, I am not finished until that day comes. Writing a book is more work than I ever imagined, but that is what brings me back . . .

The sudden inspiration . . .

On December 31, 2008, I received the sudden inspiration to do something new each week of the approaching year. On December 31, 2009, I completed my goal by running the same 5K that started the book, only this time in a bikini in the 30° snow-covered park. Who knew that the first time I wore a bikini I’d also be wearing a scarf.


The book that changed my life . . .


In 2010, I was on such a high from completing my goal, I thought, Why not do this two years IN A ROW and make a sequel to my book? The only problem with that? It would have been a really bad sequel. Kind of like when I watched The Neverending Story II as a child; I couldn’t do that to myself. The first book changed my life. The second book didn’t, so in May 2010, when I tried to write my name with a red Sharpie precariously gripped between my toes, I knew it was time to stop.

I haven’t stopped embracing new experiences though, nor has the desire to share them stopped. And this empty blog makes me wonder if anyone who followed it thinks I ran that 5K again and died from hypothermia shortly after crossing the finish line.

I see three reasons to blog again:

1. The blog itself. Probably a good idea for someone who’s working on a book.

2. 2011 new experiences. I don’t need one strictly every week—I already did that. The regularity is not as important as embracing the opportunity when it presents itself.

3. The original book. I’ve thought of it as just “sitting there” since I finished it in December of 2010, but it’s been incubating, growing if only in my mind, and this blog will help me make concrete developments.

This is a place to record, reflect, and revise—maybe even post a chapter or two from the original book. The incubation period is ending, the back burner has done its job, and it’s time to start writing again.