I have overdue complaining, so be forewarned about the tone of this post.
For the past years that I lived here there has always been construction. Always. New neighborhoods that all look alike, with flowery suburban names. It's been annoying, but it hasn't ever hit close to home (not my actual home but my heart). But now, right outside my neighborhood on 1464 is the largest tree massacre I have ever seen. Everyday, about three times a day I pass by these broken limbs and these hard hearted men cutting away. All the orange spray they use to tag the trees is eerie after having watched "The Virgin Suicides." I'm getting pretty close to tree hugging to stop this madness.
Looking at this objectively, it is ridiculous to get so frustrated, but how can't I? I look at life very symbolically, and 1464 is a major symbol within it. How so? I live off of 1464, I went to High School off of 1464, and my past and present jobs have been off of 1464. And now these beautiful trees are going away for a road expansion. I say suck up and deal with the traffic.
I always laughed to myself when driving past the huge collections of trees (may they rest in peace) about how I'd get so caught up in gazing at them, or the clouds. I have a feeling that my first major wreck will be because I was nature watching. Now I just have to restrain myself from crashing into these tree killers, or from yelling at them again. The first time I screamed something at them was an accident. Words just came out. Oops. Today I kept it PC since I was rolling with Mama.
There's a rumor that some vandalism is occurring tonight. I wonder who would do such a thing?
Three days off of work, two days away in Denton. Long car drives, blasting country and mexican and hip hop and rock for hours on the road with the hair breezing along with the wind. Sunburns from swimming and sitting outside coffee shops deep in interest of each others words. Clouds synonymous to us humans, constantly moving and reforming. Sometimes they block the natural harshness of this world, sometimes they let it through. Polaroid shots of the tall & white Sam Houston, an improv hair cut, a hair cutter on a smoke break, a Bob Dylan poser, and tree climbing with rain boots on. Running in a tornado rain storm. Jumping into Lake Madison, hoping the big mouth bass don't bite. Laying on a dock eating banana bread made by a reformed ex meth addict. Vegan grocery food. Judging a man I haven't met by all his possessions. Good mornings on the porch, friendly strangers extending hellos. Freckles on my lips from rays squeezing between clouds. Troops of future students passing through my recent past. Tennis courts and a dry river bed full of midget frogs. World Cup mode and an injured dog. Never have I ever!
Here we are. Summer. It's been a couple months or so since I ditched this blog. Oops. No excuses, but I stopped keeping up with the blog after I had a weekend that I just did not want to write about. But I have found new inspiration: my friends! The other day I was exploring a forest with Hope, my hippie friend and her dog and she suggested, in her high-pitched fast-paced tone, that I continue this 'ol thing, incorporating her into it. That was during her 'get fit for next semester' phase, though, which has recently ended. So I'm pretty sure she won't be exercising with me. And today I found out that a few friends from Denton are all starting blogs about their summer adventures. A couple of them mentioned me in a post and that lead me here, tapping away at these keys. I'll be taking a new angle, or angles, though. I won't limit to writing about exercising. Cause that got boring. I'll keep up the regime of participating in some new physical activity each week. If it was interesting/embarrassing/significant in any way, you'll read about it. But beyond that I'll be here just talking about this little life of mine and my ritzy job at the Houstonian Golf and Country Club. Yep. Country Club. I've worked there for 3 weeks now as a poolside server, and I'd say I've already made an impression. How so? Well the Houstonian is about a 2 minute drive from my house, and one day I decided to bike it. What you need to realize is that a major rode takes up 1 minute of that 2 minute commute. All was well, and I was safe on the side of this busy road, and then I turned into the property. I turned sharp onto a gravel road, a short cut, and right there was a golf cart driving along that spooked the shinola outta me. Naturally I grabbed those breaks hard. And naturally the bike flew out from under me. My face hit the pavement and slid. I was pretty scarred up, but I went ahead and worked. Turns out I kind of cracked my teeth, and I had a Hitler-mustache looking scab for a week, but other than that I'm fine. Swayze, my bike, only got a little dusty. The Hitler 'stache has been a hoot. Members kept asking questions. One really bubbly girl said "You're so pretty! What happened?" The members have been pretty great so far. No real snoots so far. Just a bunch of skinny, tan, sharply dressed folks who buy over-priced mediocre food.
So I had a two week break without writing, which I feel a bit guilty about. But then again it was Spring Break and I am entitled to some type of relaxing. But today I cease the ceasing.
On Friday I revisited a past fear with my friend Cara: rock climbing. I've had a thing against rock climbing since Middle School when I took it for a P.E. class back when I lived in France. French schools have a very different program when it comes to physical activity. A lot more diverse and hands on than America. Over the three years I spent going to a French school I took ping pong, swimming, wrestling (mixed with girls and guys), ping pong again, ribbon twirling (I'm not joking), soccer, track, volleyball, ping pong once more, gymnastics, badminton, rock climbing, and then a bit more ping pong. Of all these sports, rock climbing and ping pong were the ones that irked me. I could never advance all the way up the walls, and I could never advance very far in the ping pong tournaments.
Naturally, I felt inadequate and insecure during those classes, and those feelings have stuck with me anytime I do those activities. Every time I play ping pong I get a nervous chin twitch. And when I went rock climbing Friday, I felt the same nervous insecurity as I gripped onto those silly colored rocks, halfway up the wall and unable to bear on. I am proud in myself in that I made it up two different courses (one I did twice), but they were the lowest level. I did attempt to do a higher level, but came right back down from that one.
There's something about getting stuck up there on that wall... I grip onto the rocks, up against a wall, unable to pull my own weight, struck with panic and anxiety. It's as if I'm in a metaphor. A depressing yet beautiful metaphor. The panic and anxiety is completely unpractical and illogical (check out The Logical Song by Supertramp, by the way, it's a great 80s hit), yet there it is. All entangled in me. And I'm not afraid of heights. That's not the problem. I would get the same bit of anxiety if I were to play ping pong. And that's as about as a low a sport as you can get, besides limbo.
I must seem an unstable girl, but I assure you, I function just fine. I didn't cry or freak out when I was rock climbing, except internally. I manage my crazy so it doesn't seem that bad. Impression management is a big deal for me, as for the rest of the majority of the human race. There was no way I'd have mental breakdown in front of the whole gym. I get enough weird looks simply explaining this odd emotional experience to my friends.
Finally some sunlight and warmth has arrived, adding a bit more enjoyment and taking away the need for layer upon layer of clothes. So this weekend, I shed the sweaters and took Swayze out on a ride around town. I had no defined duration or destination except to go somewhere I've never seen and try to get completely lost.
I ended up cycling right next to a really big road at first, cars whizzing past in the 50s mph. It was a bit frightening at first. My imagination wandered and my mind entertained scenarios of crazy car swerves, tire blow outs, and sudden pot holes in the sidewalk that would launch me into the street. With such thoughts, I soon left for a bit of off-roading in an empty lot between an apartment complex and a mechanics shop that led to some woods. I hoped for a pathway, and there was one alongside the fencing of the mechanics shop for awhile, but it soon ended right at the edge of the forest. I found the remnants of a hobo's place of living: a couple couch cushions, a hat, a ramen noodle wrapper, a CD player with speakers, and some bread slices in a plastic bag. I ended up stopping for a bit, exploring the woods a little more sans Swayze, and taking a few phone camera pictures.
After awhile I rode off and back next to the big road, but soon escaped to the safety of a neighborhood. It had been so long since I had rode for the heck of it. It ushered in the memories of childhood, when I'd ride up and down streets with friends around when I was 10, sometimes stopping to explore, sometimes racing, sometimes just riding. My friend Heather would always say the same lame joke as we rode around. "Hey Julie! Ketch-up! Get it? Catch up, ketchup?"
When I was riding in the neighborhood, one I had never seen before which fulfills one of my bicycle goals I had set, all of the sudden I saw a very different looking building. The structure was not of a house but was of an octagon shape. Then I saw the title "Islamic Society of Denton." How quaint. I wasn't surprised to see the building, just surprised to see it in this location, right around a bunch of houses. I stopped for a minute to take a picture, but then the congregation exited the building. I didn't want to take a picture since that would be a bit awkward, so I decided to ride down the rode and back. And I'm glad I did. That road, Greenlee, had a lot of interesting spots.
A beautiful tree with branches like spider legs sat in the front yard of a run down house that almost looked abandoned except for the old school car and the truck parked in the open garage. One spider leg branch was so massive it need the support of a wooden splint that had been stuck in the ground. At first glance it looked as if the branch had stuck itself into the ground like and ostrich head. Across the street and a couple houses over was a fraternity house with a short school bus that had been spray painted parked in front. A couple of people sat in the lawn, and a guy played catch with two dogs. A few houses down from that was an old place that looked more like a waiting area for a train station. The mailbox in front had an anchor attached to it as well as some type of rusty lantern. The whole ride along this street I kept stopping to take pictures with my phone camera, which must have looked silly to all the Islamic people that drove by, heading home from their service.
Seeing as a lot of cars had driven by, I went back to the building to take a picture of it (as shown a few paragraphs above) and saw something that caught my eye: a pair of Nike shoes flung over the telephone wire. This instantly made me think of the movie with Shia Laboeuf back in his Disney days where he has the worst luck and ends up getting for trouble over a pair of shoes. At least I think it was because of a pair of shoes. The movie was "Holes" if I'm not mistaken. Anyway, I had to get a good angle of these shoes. So, seeing as no one was around, I decided to climb atop the big brick rectangle mailbox in front of the Islamic Society. I ended up scratching my leg up on the brick, which drew blood. It looks like some clawed animal took a swipe at my thigh. And the picture that I ended up taking from that angle wasn't even worth the hassle. Seeing as blood was trickling down my leg, I rode over to the frat house to ask for a band-aid, but to no avail. But I did find out that the frat boys take the short bus when they go downtown for clubs. Very "Night at the Roxbury."
So I rode back to the dorm to tend to my wound. Once cleansed and bandaged, I decided to ride to a hill and do a bit of reading. I headed back to the bike rack and there I found a couple bicyclists sitting on the sidewalk. It looked like the aftermath of a big fall, so I went to see if they needed band-aids. Turns out they were alright, and I went on ahead to enjoy some hill reading with a nice view of the highway.
This Friday I embraced a new wave of experience, one that quite literally could have flung me into deep waters had it not gone smoothly. I went sailing. On a sailboat. With sailors from the university sailing club. In fact, I might just be joining this group for competitions, or regattas, as these water sport competitions are apperantly called.
How did I manage to get into sailing, you may wonder. Well, I was having a text conversation with my friend Nolan, which led to him telling me about his travels with the sailing club he had joined this semester to different cities for regattas. I expressed interest in sailing, and he provided a way to join.
All I did was go to a meeting last Monday, fill out a form, do a basic swimming test at the pool last Wednesday, and go to the lake on Friday to test out the water. And it was cold. It was around 35 degrees outside plus wind chill, plus cold water being splashed onto my body. Those sailboats don't block the water waves much. I mean, I wasn't expecting to be that close to the water. I could literally stick my hand right into the water. All I've ever been on are a couple of cruise boats and a couple of motorboats, so I was subconsciously expecting protection from the waves, but sailboats are on such a smaller scale!
Only 3 people fit comfortably on the boat I went on (called 'The Gurth'). I was a crew member, a guy Randall being the other crew member, and this guy Ben was the skipper (the main dude). There is so much jargon that was thrown at me that I'm sure I'll eventually remember. I now know that the ropes are called lines and that they control the two sails. How exactly they control it is difficult to figure out. There are way to many lines to trace. I was in charge of the 'jib line' which controlled the direction of one of the sails. It had a name, but all I can remember it as is the not main sail. Initially I got to connect the not main sail onto the boat. I simply snapped a few buttons to connect to a wire.
Being out on the lake should have felt more liberating. I blame the bad weather and my runny nose. I didn't feel the cold too much until about halfway into the sailing adventure, the whole adventure totaling to about 4 miles. What was really fun was that we sailed under a huge bridge. Every now and again Randall would take the camera he had brought out it's pouch and snap a few shots of the water, or of Ben or me. I'm surprised he wasn't afraid to ruin it, cause apperantly turning over a boat happens fairly often.
We ended up having a bit of a mishap near the end of the sailing trip. It was not due to my novice inabilities, however. As we were nearing the port, skipper Ben told crew member Randall to untie the line that held the not main sail, but he accidentally untied the line to the main sail. Not good. In fact, the main sail almost landed straight on my back. It fell right behind my back, however, and it was like a huge sheet had been thrown over my head. Eventually, Randall retied the line for the main sail and had that up in running. But by that time we were headed too long in the same direction and were a few seconds away from hitting the side of the port. There was nothing to do but brace for impact. So the Gurth hit and then we assessed damage, which wasn't all too bad, considering it won't affect the performance of the sailboat. It looks horrid, like a gnarled tooth right at the front of the boat. It gives it personality, though. Sort of like a pirate with pointy, misshapen teeth. It's lived a little.
So finally, we parked the sailboat. Or whatever the term for boat parking is. Then began the dismemberment of the parts. Taking down all the sails and untying lines took so much longer. Or maybe it was a false perception due to the shivering.
I felt a bit wimpy in comparison to the rest of the sailing club members. They took the cold weather like champs. I was barely able to bear it. Right after I got off the Gurth I was chatting with the Vice President of the club and I asked "Where is the warm?" wanting to go sit by some heating system and dry off. He told me "The warmth is in your heart. We're sailors." Until the sun starts shining brighter, a sailor's life is not for me.
Yoga. The practice to control the mind and body. The union of self and the Supreme Being. A course of physical and mental disciplines to achieve liberation from the material world.
So, I did yoga. I followed a 30 minute video of my sister's. The lady had a really calming voice and there was a lot of stretching, which was relaxing, but beyond that I didn't feel much liberation, control or union. It must come with time, I suppose. I feel like the exercise value of yoga is very minimal but it would be an excellent warm up or cool down after running or cycling.
It was a bit odd towards the end of the yoga video. The instructor lady was telling me to relax all the different parts of my body. "Relax the spot between your eyes, relax your tongue." The lady was drawing attention to two body parts of which I am very rarely self aware. It was difficult to figure out how to relax them. If you really focus on your tongue, it feels so awkward and weirdly place in your mouth. At least for me. Perhaps because I have a permanent bottom brace, or because I have an odd imagination.
So besides my description of exercise, I have some good news. I finally have Swayze, my bike from the 70s, up and running once again. He's been hooked up to the bike rack the past couple of weeks with a flat tire. The poor guy has been missing out. As it turns out, on Tuesdays there is a huge community bike ride around campus. I might take him out to that to make up for the weeks of neglect and to celebrate his healing. And other good news: I took the train Friday and had no major delays as last time (I had a 4 hour delay a couple of weeks ago and had to wait, drenched from the nonstop rain).
Back to my exercise description. The yoga was not the introspective and meditative experience I had looked forward to, but I did walk away glowing with energy and a better attitude towards the day. To be honest, I've been in a bit of a slump, or ditch, or any other depressing metaphorical comparison that may come to mind. Yoga helped me get through that day. Maybe it did help control the mind, causing it to produce an inkling of happiness and a bit of energy.
A four day weekend has just ended. What a rare thing to experience, and all thanks to wondrous snow. Thursday early morning it began, and did not end until late that night. The whole town was blanketed with the white snow, closing the school for two days.
This altered my work out plan for Friday, seeing as the REC center was closed. But I worked something out last minute, and coerced my ex-dance major friend, Alyssa, to teach me something. So we had a 30 minute session, with lots of stretching then some unchoreographed dancing around her living room.
The stretching was very relaxing. I'd done most of it before, since I had taken a dance class back in High School (it's so nice to say that: 'back in High School'). Honestly, stretching become a big habit for me. I made it a goal to stretch every morning after the dance class had ended, a habit which ended sometime in the past 6 months. I would feel the urge to stretch in the middle of conversations or class, and would look rather silly. It's just so relaxing. Even writing about it, I've had to pause and pull on my arms and roll my shoulders. The power of association.
Alyssa did show me some real painful stretches, but pain leads to an even higher sense of relaxation. It really makes me want to do yoga, which I plan on this next week, so wait to read about that.
Besides the Friday dance session, I went to a Turbo Kickboxing class at the REC last Monday, and a Glutes and Guts class Sunday night (Valentine's day). Kickboxing is basically just bouncing around, punching and kicking the air, but it's so much fun! And the Glutes and Guts was pretty intense, but I pushed through it.
Well that about wraps up my weekend. Although there was a lot of running in the snow, which could count for some kind of exercise. And a few friends and I were building a huge fort, making snow blocks out of big plastic tubs, so that could count as lifting weights. And Saturday I went to a dance. Definite cardio up in there.
Week 3. I will be keeping this post shorter than the previous 2 due to a lack of reading and a surplus of procrastination. For tomorrow a whole Shakespeare play has to be read and I've been cramming that dense reading into my noggin. There have been some odd side effects: poetic, old-timely speech. All of the sudden I'll start speaking as if I'm a Shakespearean character in the play.
But enough of homework, and onward to my exercise this week. I had planned on joining with my friend, Liz, and going to the more elite athlete's gym for some tennis, badminton, and the like, but she 'rolled' her ankle playing indoor soccer Thursday. It didn't come as much of a shock to me, knowing how intense of a player she is. This girl is pure muscle, one of those gym junkies.
So I quickly came up with a new plan after hearing of Liz's ankle. As it turns out, I couldn't come up with anything too original on such short notice and ended up deciding on going to the classes I went to a couple weeks ago. But, being caught up in catching up with Erika (a best friend), I came in a few minutes too late for the Core Body Express class. What a bummer.
And then I waited for the next free class: Abs & Back. While waiting, I did an abs warm up, using a machine, and a few leg machines. The ones where the legs are kind of flailing back and forth. 45 minutes later, the class began. Although it is only a 15 minute exercise, it is a dense as reading Shakespeare; just as much blood was pumped as brain juice this weekend. On a side note, tan people wear sweat so much better than the pales. We pale people just turn red and look flustered, while the darker skin merely shimmers more.
After the 15 minutes of the slightly painful abs and back strengthening, I still felt I needed to push myself. Perhaps it was a feeling of guilt for having missed the Core Body Express class that spurred me on to the track. Either way, I run all around that sucker. A whole dang mile and then some. I was really wanting to quit after a couple laps, but I decided to approach the task with a 'step by step' mentality, which helped so much, not only for that run but for reading the Shakespeare. Step by step, I will run, and word by word, I will read.
That mentality has been a goal in my mind, a theme I truly wish to see prominent in my life. Thinking into the future, into even the step after next, can potentially cause so many negative things. Worry, fear, anxiety.
"Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?... Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." Mathew 6:27 & 34.
So we are off to a rickety start. I specifically stated that the whole point of this blog is to keep myself accountable to consistency in writing and exercising, yet I have missed the second Friday. Not without good reason, however. Let me tell the whole tale of excuses:
5:00 A.M. the buzzer goes off. I wake up, grab my backpack full of the necessities and head out in the dark of the morning to start the series of traveling to get to Waco, Texas where I will spend most of the weekend. First I get a ride to the bus stop where I ride to downtown Dallas. But it's a bit tricky finding the bus stop, and my ride misses the turn twice. So the second time I tell him to just let me walk back since it's almost time for the bus to leave. And so I walk, my feet sinking into the wet mud. I get on the bus early but with a trail of dirt clumps behind me.
7:20 A.M. I arrive in Dallas, excited to finally see the skyline in person. Despite the raining, the fact that my shoes were wet, and that my umbrella is broken, I walked all across the town. I found another broken umbrella, stranded on the street, it's spine stuck in a gutter. I explored for a few hours, waiting for my train to arrive. For breakfast I went to a hotel and ended up walking into the middle of a Pharmaceutical convention. I ended up feasting on a cheese danish and coffee while people watching/reading.
11:00 A.M. I get to the train station and find out the train will be delayed for an estimated hour, so now it will leave at 12:50. So I go to nearby a nearby diner and eat lunch.
12:30 P.M. again I go to the station and find out the train won't arrive until 4:00. So I leave to explore the town, slightly upset to wait for so long and to have gotten up so needlessly early. Anyway I walked and walked and walked. I believe that could count as exercise. I mean, my feet were sore at the end of the day from all the brisk walking in the midst of downpour. I walked at least a couple of miles, looking at the buildings and trying to find a new umbrella. I ended up finding another broken umbrella in a trashcan and left mine along with it. They looked like flowers in a vase.
4:20 P.M. I wait by the train tracks for the train's arrival. Finally it comes and the next step in the series of traveling takes place, just 4 and 1/2 hours delayed. During the bus ride, which was 4 hours in itself, a blind lady, her guide dog, and her son sat nearby. The whole ride my mind wondered how the life of mother would differ without sight. Imagine... never seeing your baby? Never being able to tell if he looks more like his mother or father, not even knowing the features of you or your husband. Think of all the times he would say "Look mom! Look what I can do!" How depressing and frustrating that would be. What if the kids at school bullied him because of your one wandering eye? What if they shunned him because of you? This lady seemed fine, however, and perfectly capable of coping with her motherhood. She showed no sign of struggle or insecurity.
7:30 the train brakes and stops. I step off the train and proceed to the next step in the series. Kaitlin is waiting in her car and we drive back to Waco for dinner. I'm exhausted by this time, having been up for 14 hours on 2 hours of sleep. So dinner, then a movie which I fall asleep on the couch after a measly third of it has played.
So there is my tale of excuses for delaying the training. Being physically exhausted from the 12 hours it took to travel to Waco, I simply let this one slide. And if you are thinking I should have made up for not exercising on Friday by doing it Saturday, I thought of that too. But I went to Austin with Kaitlin to the baby shower of an old time friend and had no time that day due to the socializing at the baby shower with all the childhood friends. And then that night, I joined Kaitlin, her boyfriend, and his Japanese culture fanatic friends for the evening.
It is an inconsistent beginning, but from now on, I will fulfill my vow to myself and continue on with this commitment.
To begin this blog, I'll explain why I'm doing it: self-discipline with a hint of accountability.
For this whole Spring semester of 2010, I will be spending part of my Friday doing some type of physical activity, then will write about the experience on Saturday. Writing and exercising are two activities that I wish were second nature, but tend to shove onto the back burner. No longer! I found a way to trick myself into doing both every week: give my vow to the public.
You might be wondering who this 'Julien' of "Julie & Julien" is. I didn't know myself until my friend Paul suggested this title for the blog. As Paul and Google explained, Julien Greaux is a super martial arts guy. He looks really intimidating, honestly, like Schwarzenegger mixed with a fake-baked Edward Cullen. But I won't be following his fitness regime as Julie Powell followed Julia Child's cookbook. I was just drawn to the catchy title. In no way do I wish to possess his massive masculine physique by the end of this semester.
For my first day of exercise, I went to some free classes at the Rec center: Core Body Express and Abs & Back. The class descriptions sounded about as intimidating as Julien's protruding veins. And the Core Body Express class was, at first. The title suggests a train, don't you think? Polar Express vs. Core Body Express. Both require a lot of equipment foreign to me. A BOSU ball, a stretchy cord thing, dumbbells, a mat (which is really just a fancy exercising rug), and, most intimidating of all, a barbell. I'd never even touched a barbell in my life, and now I was going to lift one. With weights.
Before the class began, I decided to slyly observe and copy. So I used stretching as my cover as I figured out what in the heck everyone was doing with this BOSU ball and barbell. My cover went smoothly, and I copied with few blunders. I did accidentally do this type of Russian leg kick dance while the rest of the class was stretching their legs the opposite way, but I don't think they noticed.
So I had all my weapons collected, and the battle for fitness began. Fighting the battle came surprisingly natural. Although a few missteps occurred, I didn't fall on my face when we were bouncing on the BOSU ball, or drop the barbell when we were lifting it. And we did jumping jacks! It's always comforting to find something familiar amongst the unknown. Jump rope would have been nice too, though.
I expected to be cripplingly sore after the two classes, but I could even ride Swayze (my bike from the '80s) around campus for a bit afterward. Freshman 15, you better watch out. With every bead of sweat, your existence fades away.
