I Hit a Tree

I started writing because my thoughts were so loud and distinct. Organizing them into stories was a way to control them, make them useful, funny, instead of tormenting. My mind has become quieter and more action oriented, equaling a a cut back in the writing.

Yesterday, the thoughts started up again. I was composing a story in my head as I biked about how only you know what is right for you. No one else can tell you what you are feeling, physically or emotionally. There is so much pushing, to be better, faster, stronger. I will be all of those things, but I can't just be those things because someone tells me to be. To the girl at the bike store: I got the beginner shoes because I'm beginning. So, to answer your question, "Are you walking or are you biking?" I'm doing both, thank you. And to the dude with the hearing aid that told me I was never going to pass him in the granny gear: My heart rate is at 90% capacity, even in the granny gear. I may need to use the dead and buried gear for some of the hills. Just keep walking your dog and if my biking bothers you, turn down the hearing aid and close your eyes. While crafting my witisisms and searching for the thread that would link all of my thoughts into an inspirational tale, I hit a rock, lost control and slammed my bike and body into a tree.

I'm covered in welts, but no serious injuries. The new moral to the story is, stop thinking about the story and focus on whatever your doing so you don't slam into a tree.

Goal Accomplished

Goal accomplished. I'm a badass. There is dirt and a twig at the bottom of my laundry bin. My mountain bike is a source of so much pride, it might as well be the latest Mark Jacob's handbag. If something awesome doesn't happen in a day, I know it is my fault for not going out and doing something awesome.


This is is how badass I am now: I don't want to finish this post because I want to go mountain bike.

Fashion Crack

Nobody is allowed to give me shit about being some wimpy, clothing obsessed, just likes to party, prissy girl. I will shut you down.

But of course I am.

Even though I've been having to wear mainly dry-wick clothing this summer (def: quick sweat drying), I've been loving seeing other girls around town in sun dresses and sandals. Obviously, I miss my friends in Los Angeles. They greatly contributed to my happiness. I'm not going to bullshit you though, I miss wearing cute dress and shoe combos more than I miss all those great people. Sorry guys. A shoe never talks back.

The thing about Los Angeles is that it makes clothing easy to love. It's almost never too cold for a skirt. If It gets a little chilly, some over the knee boots will warm you up. You are going to want to wear a little blazer to the party, to stay comfortable. Upon entering said party, make an enterance, and make sure the blazer is seen. Remove blazer, hopefully revealing cute flair layer, something fun and flattering. Once the party really gets going, and you are dancing, your over the knee boots push you over the edge of hotness, and you take off the flair layer, revealing a perfect, delicate and sexy underlayer. This must be suitable for the dance floor but possibly too sexy for bright lights. Now, you are simplicity except for your amazing boots. Which is why it's so important to invest in accessories. Oh, the beauty of the outfit.

Los Angeles loves the outfit and I do too. Wyoming doesn't care what the outfit fucking does. Wyoming is cold, unforgiving, and demands ugly practical shoes. Shoes with substantial rubber grip, or it will throw you on the ground and make you squirm like a piggy in an oil slick.

There's gotta be a way to be super cute, creative, and modern with clothing in the deep cold? Right? Well, I can't find it. How do people do it? And still have the outdoor fun?

Somebody help me. My fashion crack source has been ganked by wyoming and I'm about to start twitching in a corner, crying about how ugly I feel and how dry my hair is.

So Excited I Might Pee My Pants

When is the last time you did something so fun that you didn't want to stop, even to pee?

For me, it was about 6 minutes ago. I just got clip-less peddles for my mountain bike. Even though it goes against logic, clip-less peddles are when you clip your shoes onto your peddle. This allows you to pull up on the peddle, as well as the typical pushing down. I've been off my bike for about a week now, because I got the wrong shoes and have been beaten down by some seasonal allergies. Everyday, though, I've dreamed about riding my bike. Excitement isn't as forceful as when I was a child, so I've let life get in the way of getting the right shoes, but today I got them. I got out of the car, immediately put my shoes on, and started trying out my new bike technique. I just couldn't wait! I couldn't go inside to put my belongings away or pee. Excitement took over and had me on the bike, attaching and detaching. Only being able to ride around in a tiny circle on a drive way, since I don't really know how to work the mechanics, I felt 4-years-old again. I practiced until I was about to wet myself.

Now, get out there and find something so fun that you almost pee in your pants. Life's too short to not be having that much fun.

Fat People Running

It's fat people running. It's babies dancing. It's me mountain biking.

Haven't been keeping up with this blog lately. There has just been way too much badassing and working to fit it in. Plus, my mind is becoming strangely clear and quiet from all the physical activity. Just got back from mountain biking, though, and on the tail end of my ride, I saw a fat man running. He reminded me of why I started this blog. I'm here to pay homage to that brilliant period of time when you are doing something that you are so unprepared for that you look ridiculous. You keep on doing it and you start to look great. I feel so inspired when I see fat people running. There bodies aren't trained. They are soft and lack aero-dynamisticity, but they are giving it a go. I love knowing that if they keep running, their bodies will adjust to help them run better. They will change their composition.

Babies dancing is springy, full of joy, but let's face it. The kids are shit for rhythm. Doesn't mean we shouldn't let them kick out the jam.

The New Yoga

Stretching in a bath. Try it.

I Play Co-ed Soccer

I joined a co-ed soccer league today. There are are couple of types of co-ed teams here in Jackson. Some are full of college athletes and some are full of people drinking beer on a field. I was lead to believe that I was going to a game with a keg. As my coercer, Anna, and I approached the first field, our eye-brows shoved our foreheads together in confusion and horror. These couldn't be the people we were supposed to play with. They had uniforms. They had coordination. We were not part of they. The games are held at the high school stadium, which gives some context to Anna's next statement: "Wait. I think those are actually high schoolers." What are relief.

The last time I played soccer was in third grade. I was on a team that scored one goal all season, and it wasn't scored by me. Sports with teammates and balls have always intimidated me. On the swim team, the only person you let down is yourself. If you happen to space out pretending to be a dolphin, a ball isn't going to hit you in the face. Both facts comfort me. Co-ed soccer only appealed to me because I figured if I was drinking, being hit in the face would be more understandable and less painful. As we pulled up to the other field, my eyebrows got pushy again. Wait. These people look pretty good too. They weren't in formal uniforms, but they did have specific shoes and socks designed for soccer. There wasn't a keg in sight. Nobody even looked like they had been drunk earlier in the day. Unfortunately, this was it.

Being co-ed, I guess it's hard to get enough girls. If the dudes happen to get enough girls to form a team, three, they are at high risk of losing the girls because they will have to play the whole game. Even though my knowledge of soccer ends with kick the ball with the inside of your foot, I was welcome, as a girl. Playing soccer, while still being flinch and cramp inducing, is pretty fun. And I'm going to keep it up. At least until I get nailed in the face by a ball.