Go Hot Dog!

It is the final half-hour of my twenties, and I want to usher in the next decade of my life by doing something brave. This is my revised first chapter, with everything I never wanted to say, but need to in order to move forward with this story.

 

 

 

#1 “Go Hot Dog!”

 

There was nothing I wanted to do more than cut myself.

I kept a jittery record of the passing minutes as midnight approached. The stars jumped out of the cold black sky; in another half hour, I was sure I would see fireworks somewhere. 

Holidays made me nervous. I had feared tonight—feared facing my twenty-six-year-old self and seeing I spent my New Year’s Eve all alone.

My breath clouded in the December air. Despite being less than thirty degrees outside, I had known a far deeper coldness. So often I had pretended not to care that somewhere, not too far away to be heard, people were celebrating. People were happy. It was a brand new year, time to welcome another fifty-two weeks of possibility, time to rejoice in the experiences to be had over the upcoming year, time to participate in the holiday that exists simply to celebrate being alive.

If I did not start to act alive soon I would lash out at myself. How unworthy I felt of life when I only heard it celebrated from a distance.

I had not cut myself in ten years, but I knew I was veering too close to the edge to be sure I was safe now. Over the past decade, I had thoughts about it from time to time, but I rarely felt any commitment to these thoughts. Now I felt the intention growing with the thoughts; they grew as my own realizations of my life grew: I saw little value in myself. I was still living with my parents, even though I was a full-grown adult. I had no one special in my life. I had no degree beyond high school, and even though I had left most of the terrible feelings about myself there, they were crashing against those doors as if I had never overcome my struggles. I looked at my arm and saw it as if it were already opened up.

I could not forget the panic of going too far, either. I had stopped hurting myself ten years ago because the self-mutilation was starting to not only punish me, but terrify me. When I first started at fifteen, it was hard to even make a mark. Within two years, I became afraid that if I went much further I would end up killing myself. I did not know if I was ready to live, but I was not ready to die.

I ran in place, trying to keep myself warm as I looked up at the stars. I had the unshakable feeling that something far above this snow-covered park watched me and knew of my battle. I felt ready to run forward; there would be no hiding in my parents’ basement tonight.  People started to gather on the pavement, jogging in place with me as the time drew nearer to midnight. Everyone had large numbers pinned to the front of their running clothes; they chatted and laughed in eager excitement. My stomach started doing gymnastics as I took a deep breath and found myself in the middle of a large crowd.

Although I did not know what to expect in the next half hour, I had heard that some people planned to wear outlandish costumes. The spirit of this adventurous crowd soothed my fragile nerves; in fact, as the front of the crowd suddenly rushed ahead into the black night, I was practically laughing.

There is something about seeing a hot dog running down the street that puts a smile on my face. Maybe because it was so late at night, or because it was winter time in Utah and so cold I ran through my fogging breath. Maybe it was that this man just felt like dressing up like a hot dog tonight and did not let anything stop him.

As I ran, I saw Father Time and a high school boy wearing a cheerleader uniform—with a skirt. Several people ran with golden retrievers, undoubtedly chasing the hot dog.

So this is what I would have missed had I stayed in my comfort zone tonight, I thought running among the three hundred people circling the park for the annual 5K: “Beat the New Year.”

The race started promptly at 11:30 p.m., giving runners a half hour to run 3.1 miles. My feet crunched over the snow-covered pathway at Sugarhouse Park in Salt Lake City. My legs ached as I pushed them forward, but in that moment, I felt like I was leaping over all the ruts in my life.

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. Circling rolling hills 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 Heidi, a close friend of many years. Her blonde head poked out of blankets piled high around her shoulders. I heard her cheer, “Go Holly!”

I crossed the first lap of the 5K with only fifteen minutes remaining on the large race clock. The cold air bit through my ears and numbed my fingers, making me regret not bringing gloves or earmuffs. In this crisp winter air, it was becoming hard to breathe.

My lungs burned, my mouth tasted like a bag of frozen peas, but the girl in the bikini didn’t stop, so I wasn’t going to either. Looking around at all the runners, I saw focus, excitement, and struggle in their eyes. Yet every face also had its own spark of elation, something I would not 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. 

A ten-year-old running behind me looked at his watch. He turned to his dad and huffed between heavy breaths, “Five minutes ‘til midnight.”

One last hill to conquer. I could see my shadow as I lifted my knees high against the steep ground. It moved like someone I hardly recognized, refusing to yield to the challenge of the environment. I pictured myself running tall, a small-framed, green-eyed girl with a long, brown ponytail whipping behind her. At the top of the hill, my legs pushed to a full sprint. 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!

A gloved man standing just beyond the finish line smiled warmly. “Congratulations,” he 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…”

Fireworks sparkled against the black sky, the loud bangs and whistles mixing with the sound of cheers. So much for harming myself. Now I was celebrating in front of the fireworks instead of only hearing them from a distance.

I could see Heidi walking towards me, handing me a steaming cup of hot chocolate. 

 “You finished!” she said, practically singing her words as she wrapped the blankets tighter around her shoulders.

“I kn-now!” I spoke out of numb lips.  “It f-f-feels so good!”

As I sipped at the hot chocolate, burning the tip of my tongue, I knew I might be finished with this race, but I still stood at the beginning of something much larger. Right now, it was easy to feel the pride of having beat the new year, of having beat the fear of pushing myself so far out of my comfort zone. Next week, I might feel so bad again that I stand only millimeters from a razor.

Although I had managed to stop my self-harm behaviors all those years ago, somehow I knew, if I returned to cutting myself, there would be no coming back.

I needed to find another new experience to keep me feeling alive.

 

 

Taking a Break

Recently I wanted to delete my entire manuscript.

I felt like it is not grabbing the reader; people who know me already might be interested, but I do not share enough for other people to relate to me and want to keep reading.

The brutal realization hit me that most people do not want to read about some random person's new experiences.  It is thoughts like these that make me feel like I've spent countless hours only to discover I'm a failure.

I walked away from the manuscript to save myself from myself.  When I came back, instead of deleting it, I decided I must rewrite it from a new angle.

I am not going to write this book as 'some random person.'  I have been through struggles that many people will be able to deeply relate to, and I'm going to be upfront about them so people have a reason to keep reading.  This year of new experiences changed my life and helped me overcome incredible obstacles, including those which had been holding me back for over a decade.  I believe writing this could truly help somebody.

Before that can happen, there is an incredible amount of work ahead of me.  I am going to take a break from this blog for a while, as this writing will be far more personal and I am not ready to share it yet. 


I am definitely not giving up.

Chapter Three: "Breaking and Entering"

Here is my third chapter.  Thanks for reading!

#3 “Breaking and Entering”
January 13

I deliberately wore my swimsuit beneath my clothes.  My younger sister Tiffani and I were the only people in the locker room, but to be naked, I needed to surround myself with a curtain or a fortress. 

I considered myself a very sheltered person.  At twenty-six-years old, I still lived with my parents and even felt naïve among people far younger than me.  For example, I stood in a blue one-piece swimsuit; Tiffani, seven years my junior, wore a pink bikini.  I had never worn a bikini in my entire life.  There was no precise reason why; all I could say was it was out of my comfort zone.  I did not even feel comfortable changing in the locker room.  After swimming, I would towel the water out of my long ponytail and put my shirt and jeans back over the wet swimsuit.  It was more comfortable to be damp and chlorine-rich than briefly flash anyone.

All the better to push myself with these new experiences.  Tiffani and I had run laps around the college track several times together, but this was our first time visiting the pool and trying a new exercise to help me with running.  

The locker-room pool door wouldn’t budge.  “How do we get in?” we asked each other.

Tentatively walking back into the hallway in our swimsuits, we noticed a door at the end of the hall with a heavy-duty combination bolt over the frame.  The door was slightly ajar, with POOL ENTRANCE printed in large black letters.

The smell of chlorine brought back blissful childhood memories.  I pushed past the padlocked door.

The vivid blue water stood still.  Even the lifeguard chair sat empty.  “Um, apparently no one wants to swim at ten o’clock Tuesday morning.”

“Oh wait, there’s someone over there,” Tiffani said.  A man kneeled by the drinking fountain with heavy tools.  He did not look up as we passed him.

I felt too excited about accomplishing this week’s experience to care.  Our bare feet cool on the damp cement, we reached the shallow edge of the pool and stepped in slowly, the cold water shocking us stiff.  When at the deeper end, I asked, “So you’d do this exercise when you were captain of your cross country team?”

“Yeah, pool running is basically running in place in water.” 

I kicked my legs, feeling uncoordinated and foolish.  Less than a minute passed before I grabbed the concrete edge of the pool.  “This is tiring!”

“Yeah, but you asked me to show you something new.  Think about how it builds strength and gives your joints a rest at the same time.”

 The man at the drinking fountain continued to avoid eye contact; I was relieved he wasn’t watching me thrash around like a mime trapped in a submerged box.

A white clock hung on the wall facing us.  Wondering how long I could pool run without stopping, I decided to go back to the locker room and grab my glasses to sharpen the red second hand. 

On my way back to the pool, a middle-aged woman wearing a black long-sleeved business suit walked slightly ahead of me.  When I reached the POOL ENTRANCE door, the business suit blocked my passage.

“You can’t get in through here.”

I felt awkward, standing next to this fully clothed woman in my swimsuit.  Too many experiences left me feeling a terrible shame about the body, and this did nothing to help.  “The pool doesn’t open for another hour—the times are on the door,” the woman in the business suit said, closing the entrance with the hours behind her.

             I had been so relieved that I didn’t have to pool run in front of other swimmers, I never questioned the empty pool.  Maybe I should have warned her that my sister is still in there, I thought as I humbly retreated to the locker room.  Why did I not speak up more? 

Tiffani joined me, red-faced, a minute later.  “We’re gonna be banned from the pool for life!”

 “What happened?”

“I was pool running when this lady ran up to me shouting, “No, no, no!”

 Tiffani’s vigorous thrashing in the deep-end wouldn’t even vaguely resemble swimming; it would look like a maniac about to drown.  “I didn’t know!” my submerged sister had tried to explain, certain the business suit was about to be ruined out of anger and a hardwired lifeguard response. 

“Now our photos will hang above the pool with red slashes across our faces,” I said, turning both of our fears into laughter.      

As we walked back into the hall wearing our clothes over our swimsuits, Tiff started loudly joking, “No, no, no!” just as a long black sleeve reached behind us.

“Here’s a schedule for the pool,” she said as Tiffani’s face grew red again, but the lady only smiled this time.

I looked at the paper in my hand.  Imagine that, a schedule!  We can’t just go to a pool whenever we feel like it.  I started to feel sympathetic towards the woman in the business suit.  She understood risks of unsupervised swimming better than I did.  It wouldn’t look good for the college if there were dead bodies floating face down in the pool. 

As Tiffani and I reached her red convertible in the parking lot, I said, “Now I’ve made my goal for three weeks,” excited despite my fresh embarrassment.  The illicit pool running lasted only ten minutes, but I also broke an entering by simply walking through a door and gave Tiffani the most humiliating moment of her life, so there are actually quite a few firsts here.

“So, what’s your new thing next week?” 

“Well, I will . . . I . . . I have no clue.  It’s so hard finding new experiences.”

“And you’re going to do this for a whole year?”

“Yes.  Somehow, I will do it.  Although I still can’t believe we just walked into a closed pool.  I’m afraid I’m going to embarrass myself over and over this year.”

“Well, at least you can embarrass me at the same time,” Tiff said with a smile.

Chapter Two: Digging Deep

Here is my second chapter; thanks for reading!


Chapter Two “Digging Deep”

January 8

My heart pounded as I leapt up the carpeted stairs, amazed that my legs were already back to normal.

 “Holly, what’re you doing here?  How was your 5K?”  Jo asked as I entered the office near her yoga studio.  She had repeatedly told me I was crazy for running a race in the middle of winter, but not without a hint of encouragement in her voice.

 “I ran the whole thing, Jo, even beat the New Year!  And I’m so glad I found you.  Can I schedule an appointment with you this week?”

            A few days later, I returned, standing alone with Jo in a room silent other than soft music.  Incense smoke lightly spiraled in the air. 

            “Take a few minutes to undress, but leave your underwear on so it’s not awkward for me knowing you’re ne-ked,” she joked.

            Undressing in a new environment was always exciting and scary.  I studied each corner of the room, even though I knew I was alone.  The window blinds shut out the cars passing on the street outside of Yoga Jo’s in North Ogden.  I had been taking Jo’s classes since May, my first class nearly bringing me to tears as I struggled to hold the poses.  I felt nervous about tonight, hearing this might be painful, but the light inside the room was the dim, comforting yellow of a bedside lamp.  I folded my clothes neatly and set them on an armchair.

            When Jo knocked on the door a few minutes later, I feebly called, “I’m ready!” from beneath a tucked white sheet and wool blanket.

            Jo opened the door, pausing by her stereo.  “This just isn’t me today,” she said, turning off the soft music and playing Jimmy Buffett instead.  “So tell me more about your New Year’s resolution,” Jo said, rubbing my temples with oil smelling of eucalyptus and tree bark.  “You’re really going to do something new each week?”

“Yes.”

“So if you do two new things in one week, you can rest the next.”

“No, I have to do something new every week—no cheating.”

“You’re really dedicated to this, huh?” she asked.

“If it’s 11:59 on a Saturday night and I haven’t done anything new for the week, I will literally find a bug and eat it.”

“Well, that’s disgusting, good luck with that one.  You should do more crazy races,” she said lifting my right arm and kneading my shoulder, working all the way down to my hand and fingertips.

“I’m not much of a runner—”

“You liar, you just ran a 5K!  I would never willingly do that; I’ve blocked out all the times someone’s forced me to run.”

“I hated it for a while,” I said.  “Ten years ago, I ran in my junior high track team, but by high school, I stopped running and whenever I tried again, I felt miserable.  I felt like I could barely run for thirty seconds before wanting to quit.  Last summer, when I first started classes here, I said, ‘Okay, fine, I’ll just run for thirty seconds.’  There’s a church right behind my parents’ house, and I’d run from one end of the church to the other.  I did it several times a week, and before I knew it I circled the whole church, then circled it twice.”

“So it was a church that got you back into running.  I knew having a Mormon church on every corner was good for something,” Jo said.  Over half of Utahans are Latter-day Saints or LDS, commonly known as Mormons.  I was unsure whether Jo was being sarcastic when she added, “Maybe religion will even creep into your new experiences.”  I had not been to church in years.

Jo’s fingers dug sharply into my right shin.  She told me she straightened and lengthened the muscles, getting out all the knots.  Talking distracted me from the pressure. 

“Running around that church definitely helped me.  I started running farther and farther.  Then there was this one Sunday—I was really sad about that guy I told you about—remember Aaron?  Yeah, I wanted to just cry in bed all morning, but I’ve already been there, done that, so I said, ‘I’m going to my old high school track and running a mile.’  It was my first mile since the track team—my first mile in ten years.

“That whole day, I kept thinking, ‘I could have spent all day in bed crying, but look what I accomplished instead.’  And I just kept running a couple times each week.  I go to the track every Sunday and haven’t missed a week yet.”  Before the mile, I had contemplated going back to something far worse than crying in bed all day; I wondered if in this intimate setting, Jo would figure out what it was.

“So what happened with Aaron that was so bad?”

“Well, I tried to help him through some things and it backfired on me.”  I knew the first time I saw Aaron, a twenty-year-old redhead with baggy jeans and a pronounced jaw, something was bound to backfire.  Yet he was the break in my routine I craved, and continued to crave.

 “You can always use that experience as an art project,” Jo offered.  “There you go, make some new art for your some of your experiences—and check out music you’d never listen to.  And you must skydive.”

“I don’t have any plans yet, but everyone who knows about my goal has lots of ideas for me,” I said.  One idea came from my cheery Mormon coworker, Anna, and it sounded so unlike me, I could not see myself doing it, this year or any year. 

“Time to flip over,” Jo said, and I turned to face my pillow. 

“Ooh, that hurts just a bit,” I yelped as her hands returned to my ankles.

“I’ll ease up; deep tissue massage is not like other massage.  So were you freezing your butt off in the 5K?”  Jo asked.

“You know what’s interesting?  I’ve always felt like I had a low cold tolerance, but ever since I’ve been running, it’s not so bad.  I run on the track even though it’s covered with snow.”

“And why?”

“I figure if I can be a human plow, I won’t let anything stop me from running again.  When I stopped after junior high, it wasn’t on purpose; I just had a little excuse here and a little excuse there, until ten years passed without even realizing I’d quit.”

By the end of the hour, my limbs had melted into the massage table.  “Did you like the massage?”  Jo asked.

            “Yeah, it could be uncomfortable at times but now I feel amazing.”

            Jo smiled.  “I’m glad you ran that crazy 5K.  And I wouldn’t worry about Aaron.  These adventures are gonna lead you to someone new.”

The Motivator

I awoke at two this morning from a dream that felt it needed subtitles and laid in bed for about the next three hours.  I have never felt so anxious about a race.

Maybe that's because there was literally no time to plan this one.  My friend Julie asked me if I would join her the following morning for her first 5K and stay with her as a 'motivator.'  I don't say 'no' very often, so at 7 a.m. we took off from the starting line.

I had felt some concern about an ankle injury dating to a car accident over six months ago.  But I've been in physical therapy, they've had me jogging on a treadmill for a brief but grateful five minutes the last two sessions, and I'm finished feeling like some kind of victim trapped in my own limitations!

It was my first race in an entire year.  The last one was the Ogden Half Marathon, and now I was doing the Ogden 5K, all part of the same annual race.  I have not run regularly since my accident, and a few months ago I was feeling doubts about whether I would ever be a runner again.

Not so!

There may not have been much running as I stuck by Julie's side today, but the running that did happen was easy and natural, and I could feel from my head to my toes that my body is ready for more.  Julie wanted to do a run/walk plan, and it may have taken her fifty minutes, but she still shaved ten minutes off the time she expected.  She felt so afraid of being dead last, but there were still plenty of people behind her.  An older lady walking next to us told us she did a full marathon which took . . . eleven hours.  I can't imagine doing an eleven-hour marathon, but this year she will earn her hundredth finisher's medal.

By the last few blocks of Julie's race, her perpetually cheerful face became grave as she used the last of her energy to run across the finish line.  I held her hand to push her in that last stretch.  She has wanted to do a 5K for about the last three years, and feared that she would be surrounded by tall, skinny bodies running six-minute-miles as she puttered in dead-last.  By trying today instead of defauting to her fear, she discovered there is no need to hold onto this mental image; she does not need me to run by her side because she has plenty of people who run not to win the race, but to conquer something within themselves.

As for me, I have never seen a race from this perspective.  It makes me realize, without a doubt, I'll be back to half marathons (and one day, even another full).  It doesn't matter if I get slowed down, because this is who I am.  I am a runner.  Even if I had been paralyzed in my car accident, the fighter in me would know it would not be time to stop; it would just be a transition from shoes to wheels.  The fear of reinjuring myself or limping later during the day was my own illusion that no longer has any strength.

A half marathon is definitely in my future.

Not So Happy

I did not want to admit that I've been feeling really depressed about my accident, especially concerning my ankle. I want to be positive: I'm trying my best to imagine myself getting better and stronger because of all this, but I also must admit the less-inspiring truth that my physical state bothers me on a daily basis.

I've noticed myself growing depressed. One of my problems is I have a really hard time asking for help. It's like the earlier post I made about not wanting to admit what a crushing disappointment I felt after my first half-marathon; I am going through another major disappointment that I'm trying to hide with a smile. My ankle is not back to normal after my car accident in September of last year. It's been over five months. It is fine to walk on, but it seems like after I run, it hurts at some point, sometimes to the point of limping. I have been really patient and, such as in my previous post, I'm trying to view all this as a blessing to get stronger. I wait and wait and wait. But I can't get strong in the way my body craves if I can't run. My little assisted push-ups and pull-ups are great; they certainly don't bother my ankle and I'll stick with them, hopefully for my whole life. I'm happy I'm getting something positive out of this, but I am in tears right now, and they are not tears of happiness. This is my breaking point. I know it might sound strange to some people to miss running, but for me, running is one of my greatest stress relievers. I am not the greatest or fastest runner, but running does more for me than a whole boxful of antidepressants ever could. It is time to finally admit to my growing depression. It's time to stop short-circuiting the sadness I feel every time I think about it.

I have an uninsured motorist policy which means that I can receive medical help from my own insurance, as the man who caused the accident did not have insurance. I feel afraid to even ask for help from my own insurance, which is a feeling I'm just going to have to fight. I guess I'm afraid that getting any help at all will be extremely difficult and that I will accept this as it were simply my lot in life. But I need help. I can't just do my own exercises and hope for the best anymore. Almost every day, I think about how I wish I would've driven a different route the day of my accident. Maybe that sounds like I'm whining. There's a part of me that always reminds myself I'm lucky I wore my seat belt because I could have died, but if I can't run, there is a part of me that will never feel as alive.

I have been calling my insurance rep, but he hasn't answered or called me back and to be honest, there is something about his voice that intimidates me and makes me feel afraid to ask for anything. I met him in person once and felt much more comfortable with him then. Maybe it is something the phone does to his voice. Regardless, I can't give in to intimidation. I am writing now as a very direct message to myself on Monday when I call him again: ASK FOR HELP. Make it clear that I need a doctor. I am fortunate to have this coverage available to me, and I can get help, even if it does mean I have to jump through dozens of hoops. This is my choice to make if I want to get back to being a runner.

A New Motivation to Exercise

Over the weekend, when lifting up my three-year-old niece, I noticed she was getting easier to lift. I could even spin her around as if she were flying without too much effort on my part. This is the first time in my life I've noticed that kind of upper-body strength.

I attribute much of this change to my car accident five months ago.

It was not my first accident. That would be in 2010, when a girl named Rainbow made a U-turn straight into my car on her way to her pole-dancing class. Yes, Rainbow (that really was her name) was quite the Rhodes scholar. I felt lucky I wasn't hurt, but she totaled my car, which was traumatic for me at the time. I chose to get my car fixed and in a few weeks life was completely back to normal.

I never would have thought I'd be grateful that Rainbow caused the accident, but I am now. If I hadn't gone through this first accident, my second one would have been ten times harder.

I had my second car accident last September. This time it was a guy named Alfonso without car insurance, also making a U-turn! It was the curse of Rainbow and Alfonso--'The Robonso.' I should just put a sticker on my car that says, "No more U-turns into my car, please.' I sprained my ankle, shoulder, and wrist, and bruised my ribs in the accident.

I am still not back to normal. Some people have told me I'll never get back to normal again. I don't know if I agree with that, because while I want to be realistic, I also think it's too easy to resign yourself to physical limits. So I've started doing things to strengthen my body, and I'm noticing that they're helping significantly. I never went to physical therapy, which is still an option because unlike the person who caused the accident, I DO pay for car insurance and I have an uninsured motorist claim. I didn't think I would need it because I've never had any injury I didn't bounce back from on my own, but after five months, I'm thinking I may go that route. This slow process has been frustrating. However, I'm realizing it may be more of a blessing than anything else.

The accident has caused a motivation to build strength. For example, to strengthen my shoulder and wrist, I use a resistance band that I place in a door jamb. Never in my life have I thought about strengthening my wrists! I've mainly thought about the obvious muscles, such as my legs, being a runner.

I haven't been able to run much, with my recovering ankle. As frustrating as that is, I am doing what I can to feel strong. The result is I'm viewing myself as more than a runner. For example, I have found a love for push-ups! Even though I currently do them on my knees, I made it all the way down to my chin a few weeks ago, the same day as the Super Bowl. (And yes, I watched it! Part of my growing interest in football even stems from my accident. I'm fascinated by how football players take impact; they really know how to fall while limiting injury.) My assisted push-up might not seem like much of an accomplishment, but I have never been able to go all the way down to the floor and make it back up! Eventually I'll be able to do that on my feet, too.

Here's a curve ball: I even bought a pull-up bar (quite funny to see my family members' faces when I showed them). I can't do much yet. In fact, I pretty much hang there. I'll hang three times, for thirty seconds each, then I'll try to do ten pull-ups, in which case I think I might be moving half an inch now, and then I'll do three sets of ten, while standing on a chair.

I've heard some people with similar injuries say they feel pretty normal, as long as they keep up their exercises. If this accident means I must now do exercises I never had to do before to feel normal, then I will exercise and become stronger in the process. Because of this accident, I might become stronger than I ever would have otherwise.

And I just have to add, seat belts really are important! I was wearing my seat belt during both my accidents, and the second one is where it really counted. My injuries have been challenging, but I couldn't imagine hitting my head at 45 mph. Who knows, it might have saved my life.

How Learning about Football Made Me a Better Person

A school friend told me his girlfriend broke up with him yesterday. This guy is one of those class-clown, everything is a joke kind of guys. He brushed off the terminated relationship, but I think deep below that he's really lonely.

I didn't know what to offer him when he told me about his ex. I just listened as we road the college shuttle bus together. He started to sound upbeat again when he changed the subject to the NFL playoffs, comparing the Ravens' loss to the Giants' win, both coming down to a field goal. I think the loss the Ravens went through, being the underdogs and getting so close to the Super Bowl, missing by only a kick, helped him put his relationship into some perspective. This would have sounded so strange to me when I knew nothing about football, but it helps me to understand a different kind of loss.

When it comes to football, I still know just a little bit above nothing, but I was really happy that by learning more about this sport, I could have a conversation with this guy that seemed to raise his spirits. This wouldn't be possible only months earlier!

Packers vs. Giants

I am so proud of myself for watching my first NFL playoff game today: Green Bay Packers vs. New York Giants. In previous years, if I read that first line, I wouldn't even know what I was talking about. Packers? Giants? It would have meant nothing to me. I knew a touchdown meant football; that was about the extent of my knowledge.

I decided to watch football to become closer with my brothers. My brother who lives in Tuscon is a huge Packers fan; my brother who lives here in Utah was rooting for the Giants. The Giants won 37 to 20, and I think the hail Mary put the game in the Giants favor. I was rooting for the Packers, but at least I know what a hail Mary is now. This is also the first time I've watched a game where my team lost (because I've watched enough games to count on one hand!).

I am thinking I would like to watch the Super Bowl this year. I don't know who to root for... the Packers are out now; I'll continue to adopt my brothers' teams before I develop my own preference. I used to think football was boring and dumb; it just seemed like a bunch of big guys jumping on top of each other. The more I watch it, the more I appreciate it for its complexity. I think the Packers didn't give up today, although they seemed to have anxiety with so many fumbles. Fumbles? Is that even the word I'm looking for? I know so little; it's like a joke, but I'm laughing at it and willing to learn more.

I am a Closet Crier

When I decided to do something new each week for a year, I expected such an adventurous year would be wildly happy, but sometimes it was the exact opposite.

All these new experiences did make me happier overall, but only after facing people and parts of myself that left me sobbing in my bed at times I felt I should be smiling. I am a closet crier; I cry more often than people probably realize, since it's almost always when alone.

I am afraid of being rejected for showing my true feelings. I carried that fear with me when I wrote the first draft of my manuscript. Like a good girl, I edited out all the pain I experienced, keeping it as hidden as I could.

A good example of this is my chapter about the Ogden Half Marathon. I never thought I would run 13.1 miles; I still have my finisher's medal hanging by my window. But what I remember most from that day happened right after the marathon, and I dared not write a word about it.

I had met someone as a result of my new experiences. I ran faster during my half marathon because I knew he would be waiting at the finish line. My family would also be there, and this is the first time he would meet them.

I was twenty-six at the time; he was nineteen. I looked up to him because he lived on his own and in some ways had more life experience than I did, seven years his senior.

As I ran, I imagined how great it would be for him to meet my family. In Utah, most people marry young; the average age for a woman to marry is nineteen, and here I was twenty-six. My family sometimes wondered why I was single, and now I had someone to introduce to them.

When they met him, my younger sister, Tiffani, also nineteen, looked like a younger version of me with perfect makeup and hair in contrast to my sweaty self. I could not help but make the comparison. I even had orange legs! In an attempt to look more attractive for this guy, I had used a spray-on tanner that didn't quite match the rest of me, so I looked like I had eaten one too many carrots.

Later that day when I asked my older sister, Cari, what she thought of this guy, she said, "I probably shouldn't tell you." Of course this only made me press for an answer, so she said, "Well, he was looking at Tiffani a lot."

I already knew it was true even before she said it. I knew exactly what she meant by it, too. I could only be grateful that we were alone at the time.

I certainly did not want to write about that in a book. Instead I wrote about the different kinds of buses driving runners down Ogden Valley to the starting line, about conversations I had with people who have no significance in the story, and about the color of my timing chip that recorded my time during the race. Riveting, I know!

The truth is that for a long time after this guy met my family right after my race, I felt like a failure; regardless of how far or fast I ran, in the end, I am undesirable.

By censoring the real feelings I had that day, I do not give myself a chance to overcome the bigger picture: not just 13.1 miles, but the damaging self-images that kept my heart in chains.

The crushing disappointment of this guy meeting my family is now going in the book.

Happy New Year 2012

Two years ago, my new year's resolution was to write a book about my new experiences every week for a year. I finished my first complete draft on December 31, 2010. The plan seemed simple: spend 2009 living the book, 2010 writing the book, and 2011 publishing the book. It seemed logical to me. After all, I gave myself three years!

So now that 2011 is over, did I accomplish that goal? Not even close. And I'm glad, because after about three months of sending queries for my manuscript, enough time passed to realize my sitting manuscript was in no means ready for publication.

I've done a lot of writing in my life, but this is the first time I've written something past two hundred pages. I've had over a dozen book ideas, but I usually don't even make it past the first few chapters, or even the first few pages. What I realized as a first timer is that a book should be like a good landscape painting: there are dramatic rises and falls, as well as some even ground, but there must always be a clear path to follow. Some of my new experinces are irrelevant and probably boring to the reader, so I'm finding ways to consolidate them with the better ones while focusing on the key points that build the story.

I don't know when I'm going to be done revising; it could be ten months or ten years. I know what I need to do, but it's easier said than written well.

Furthermore, that year of new experiences truly changed me, and now I'm in my second semester back as a full-time college student. Through some of my new experiences I decided I wanted to be an art professor, but I still have a long way to go on that, as well. So I'm hesitant to make any 2012 new year's resolutions about the book, other than to revise. I scheduled an hour every day to work on my book, but that's only if I've finished all of my homework, so it will be hit or miss.

Regardless of the rate of progress, I still believe in my book as much as I ever did, if not more. I know that sounds cliched, but it is true. It made such a difference in my life, I can't help but think it will make a difference in someone else's life. All that change is very scary, but so liberating! Life is so much better with new experiences. Even today, I cooked salmon for the first time in my life (and it was delicious). I never knew it was as easy as a little seasoning and butter, preheating the oven to 350 degrees, and coming back in fifteen minutes!

So here's to a happy new year of focusing on school, revising my manuscript in my spare time, and eating salmon!