a sweaty, sweaty place

The gym. The stinky action-packed, meat-head, and eating disorder filled place sometimes makes me want to vomit. It's a place of wanna-be go-getters who believe one more rep will boost their ego and metabolism up one more notch. It's a place full of skinny people getting skinner. It's a place of repetition. It's a place of some people legitimately trying to give themselves a healthy life. It's a place of sweaty, sweaty people. Who decided that gyms were a good idea anyways? Yes, let's put a bunch of really heavy objects in a room and go lift them to see who is all that is man. On the flip side for the women - "I bet I can elliptical faster than you!". Oh the joys of this petty little sweat box. As much as I am definitely trying to treat the gym in a sarcastic manner and attempt to belittle everyone who is serious in here, I must admit that once upon a time I was, in fact, a gym rat.

For me, high school was all about basketball. When I wasn't shooting, I was working out and lifting weights. And when I wasn't lifting weights I was eating peanut butter. Protein. Num num. That was my life. My identity. I wanted to play college ball. Then senior year came around and I had surgery on my legs (basically because I jacked'em up practicing too hard, too much, and too often) and my whole perspective changed. I went off to college on no scholarship of any kind with my only sense of who I am being basketball. And there I was, but basketball was no where to be found. That year I naturally gained the freshmen 15...well 25 in my case and was unhappy because I didn't know who I was. College has been a battle of back and forth thoughts of who I am, changing majors 4 times, transferring schools and transferring back, etc etc. But finally, the beginning of my senior year, I can tell you 100% who I am, what I love, and what I'm about. Some people have a straight shot life. They know what they want to do and they go forth and conquer. Mine, not so much. But I wouldn't change it for the world.

As I'm sitting here in the gym writing this, I'm reminded of my journey and where it started. Sometimes I have an urge to go lift weights to remember my glory days, but then reality hits me that I could go lift for 10 minutes and I'd bulk up like Mrs. Hulk. Not worth it. So I've sworn off weights and taken other interests. But the gym reminds me of who I am, who I want to be, and who I never want to be again. I only hope now that the poor girl sweating on the elliptical figures out who she is before turning up the speed one more time.

I remember...

Wrote this in class in like 5-10 minutes. Had to be an "I remember" poem. Enjoy!


I remember scarped knees and torn jeans
I remember the way that you took care of me
I remember throwing you in the pool with my brothes
Obviously you let us do it, you were one of the cool mothers

I remember playing dot to dot with freckles on Dad's face
And the laughter that followed when he woke up in a daze
I remember vivid nightmares and scary dreams
Me crawling in your bed and sleeping inbetween

I remember the amazing chocolate chip cookies you make
Now I've got the recipe and my friends always make me bake
I remember the simple days of keds and side pony tails
I remember when Dad pretended to eat snails

Those were the days when nothing else mattered
When Santa was real and the fantasy wasn't shattered
I may be 22, but I don't think I've grown up
More scraped knees to come, wish you were in college with me to clean me up.

Shiver me timbers this is awesome

Watched this for class. It gave me shivers. This is what's up folks.

I'm back!

One of my teachers this semester has us keep a writer's notebook. I've decided that I'm going to start sharing some of things I put in it over the course of the semester. This blog is one of the quick writes I did in class the other day.

Topic: Riding my Bike

He let go! I was doing it all by myself! There I was, a little nugget of a child, long-blonde pig tails whisping out from underneath my helmet, riding my Schwinn bike around the culdesac. Well, I guess it wasn't my Schwinn bike. Everything I got was a hand me down from my two older brothers. But who cared?! I was riding that Schwinn with style while Dad cheered in the dust I left behind.

As I look back on this moment, I'm realizing that it was a major stepping stone in my life. I've always hit the ground running, no hesitation, no looking back, but rather doing things because I love them no matter the consequence. My life has always been in full throttle and I've always been someone to discover things for myself. Maybe it's because I know my families right there for me if I fall.

But no matter how busy and chaotic my life gets, I always find time for my bike. There's something nostalgic about a bike. It reminds me of scraped knees and road rash. It reminds me of culdesac parties and kick the can. It reminds me that nothing that is "important" to society in the 21st century actually matters. That money, fame, material things, or my iPhone doesn't create happiness. Rather happiness is a mental choice. A state of well-being. Riding my bike reminds me that fresh air, wind in the face, and zipping down a hill is worth 100 times more than getting an A on a test. Most of my friends stress about life and grades and blah, blah, blah. They also don't ride bikes. Or take a stroll in the park. Heck, they don't even open their blinds. I on the other hand am not a stresser. I believe there are bigger and better tings to worry about than school and money. I'd rather take advantage of the outside world than study. And I make it a priority to "play" a little bit for myself everyday. And I swear that's all a stress free life needs.

Play a little bit. Ride a bike.