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!
Monday, January 23, 2012
Sunday, January 15, 2012
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 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.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
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!
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!
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Good-bye to Being a Polite Member of Society
It's amazing how a conversation with a friend can jump-start your writing.
My friend Natalie is a Mormon who doesn't exactly fit the mold. After we went to a movie tonight, I found myself so engaged by our hour long conversation in her car, I couldn't even sleep before writing.
I learned that Natalie goes to church regularly and doesn't drink alcohol or coffee, but she sees her religion as a guideline for living, not as the One and Only True Church. Natalie strikes the perfect balance between someone who combines the strength of religion with her own inner strength. She accepts a non-Mormon like me, not out of forced effort to be nice, but because she understands me.
I have not felt this understood by a Mormon before in my life. It encouraged me to make Mormonism a major facet of my book. How do I write a book about new experiences in Utah and not mention Mormons? It's like pretending the proverbial white elephant isn't in the room. Some of my new experiences even directly involve the Mormon Church, so I can't tiptoe around it.
In my first manuscript, I tried to make it readable to both Mormons and non-Mormons. My problem is I've tried so hard to please both sides, I edited out many of my thoughts and emotions. My boldness made my year successful (sometimes I still feel shocked by what I did). Ironically, I wrote my manuscript of this bold adventure with timidness, afraid of being too open, too offensive, too honest.
In order for my book to be successful, I need to rewrite it with the same honesty I lived it. To the best of my knowledge, no one has written a book about doing something new every week for a year, but this story also explores what it's like to do that while living in a religious bubble. Even though I am not Mormon, I am far from being untouched by Mormonism. Mormon culture plays a bigger role, specifically the culture in northern Utah, which, if you don't know, is really, really Mormon! I'm not making any judgement on that. I will say that when you have friends who will stand in front of a tv censoring the kissing scene of My Big Fat Greek Wedding, then someone who decided to step far, far outside that bubble didn't do it without wondering whether anyone who reads her book will decide she's a freak.
In many ways, I owe this book to living in this culture. If I had been very worldly, perhaps a book of new experiences wouldn't be as eye-opening. Considering I grew up with even PG movies under the radar and had never even tasted a Pepsi or Coke (because Mormonism discourages caffeinated drinks), well now you have quite the story!
The only problem is I didn't feel comfortable telling it. And I know not everyone will be as compassionate as Natalie.
I'm afraid I'm just going to have to be offensive and leave it at that.
My friend Natalie is a Mormon who doesn't exactly fit the mold. After we went to a movie tonight, I found myself so engaged by our hour long conversation in her car, I couldn't even sleep before writing.
I learned that Natalie goes to church regularly and doesn't drink alcohol or coffee, but she sees her religion as a guideline for living, not as the One and Only True Church. Natalie strikes the perfect balance between someone who combines the strength of religion with her own inner strength. She accepts a non-Mormon like me, not out of forced effort to be nice, but because she understands me.
I have not felt this understood by a Mormon before in my life. It encouraged me to make Mormonism a major facet of my book. How do I write a book about new experiences in Utah and not mention Mormons? It's like pretending the proverbial white elephant isn't in the room. Some of my new experiences even directly involve the Mormon Church, so I can't tiptoe around it.
In my first manuscript, I tried to make it readable to both Mormons and non-Mormons. My problem is I've tried so hard to please both sides, I edited out many of my thoughts and emotions. My boldness made my year successful (sometimes I still feel shocked by what I did). Ironically, I wrote my manuscript of this bold adventure with timidness, afraid of being too open, too offensive, too honest.
In order for my book to be successful, I need to rewrite it with the same honesty I lived it. To the best of my knowledge, no one has written a book about doing something new every week for a year, but this story also explores what it's like to do that while living in a religious bubble. Even though I am not Mormon, I am far from being untouched by Mormonism. Mormon culture plays a bigger role, specifically the culture in northern Utah, which, if you don't know, is really, really Mormon! I'm not making any judgement on that. I will say that when you have friends who will stand in front of a tv censoring the kissing scene of My Big Fat Greek Wedding, then someone who decided to step far, far outside that bubble didn't do it without wondering whether anyone who reads her book will decide she's a freak.
In many ways, I owe this book to living in this culture. If I had been very worldly, perhaps a book of new experiences wouldn't be as eye-opening. Considering I grew up with even PG movies under the radar and had never even tasted a Pepsi or Coke (because Mormonism discourages caffeinated drinks), well now you have quite the story!
The only problem is I didn't feel comfortable telling it. And I know not everyone will be as compassionate as Natalie.
I'm afraid I'm just going to have to be offensive and leave it at that.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Go Hot Dog! Revision Notes
"Go Hot Dog!" is now in it's 15th revision. Holla!
Here are some helpful readers' comments:
1. My writing can be too ambiguous.
Example:
“She’s coming out of her shell, isn’t she?”
“Yes, this is quite the change in her,” Ann said.
What are these characters talking about, right? It takes the reader out of the present and leads nowhere. The hardest thing about writing a memoir is to avoid journaling; this past statement is relevant to me, but not to the reader.
2. I need stronger character description.
I barely describe my friend Heidi. Someone mentioned that while she actually knows Heidi--what she looks like, why she's there supporting me, etc.--not everyone does.
3. Wordiness.
Ex: We worked at a half reprographics, half art store...
Change to...We worked at a printing and art store.
Ex: I wore a long-sleeved jacket... (Duh! Am I going to wear a sleeveless jacket to a freezing race? Wait, don't answer that...)
Change to...I wore a jacket ...
Thank-you to everyone who helped me improve my first chapter!
Here are some helpful readers' comments:
1. My writing can be too ambiguous.
Example:
“She’s coming out of her shell, isn’t she?”
“Yes, this is quite the change in her,” Ann said.
What are these characters talking about, right? It takes the reader out of the present and leads nowhere. The hardest thing about writing a memoir is to avoid journaling; this past statement is relevant to me, but not to the reader.
2. I need stronger character description.
I barely describe my friend Heidi. Someone mentioned that while she actually knows Heidi--what she looks like, why she's there supporting me, etc.--not everyone does.
3. Wordiness.
Ex: We worked at a half reprographics, half art store...
Change to...We worked at a printing and art store.
Ex: I wore a long-sleeved jacket... (Duh! Am I going to wear a sleeveless jacket to a freezing race? Wait, don't answer that...)
Change to...I wore a jacket ...
Thank-you to everyone who helped me improve my first chapter!
Monday, August 29, 2011
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.
#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.
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