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.