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.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Monday, June 7, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, June 4, 2010
I don't want your rules. I don't even want my own. :My hair
For large spans of my life I seemed like the type of girl who was about to chop all of my hair off into a boy short cut. Spunk, sexual confusion, admiration for Gwyneth Paltrow in the movie Sliding Doors, I don't know. People asked for it. I considered it. La di da di da. Never happend.
I needed a rule to launch me in: Cut my hair short when I was thin enough to have the cheek bones to support it. I was thinking being a waifish pixie was my ticket to the androgenous carnival of modern fun and amusement. For the first time in my life, I'm being confronted with accidental weight loss. I'm riding my bike and climbing mountians, and I'm just dropping weight. This is weight that I was happy to carry around. I stored it in my pants and pranced it around proudly. Now, it's leaving me. As with most of my plans and expectations, turns out, my rule blows. A pixie cut is the farthest thing from a solution.
If my body is going to muscle up and drop signs of feminity there is only one solution: Bigger, Busslinger, Possibly Brighter Hair. Watch out. I may start teasing the shit up.
I needed a rule to launch me in: Cut my hair short when I was thin enough to have the cheek bones to support it. I was thinking being a waifish pixie was my ticket to the androgenous carnival of modern fun and amusement. For the first time in my life, I'm being confronted with accidental weight loss. I'm riding my bike and climbing mountians, and I'm just dropping weight. This is weight that I was happy to carry around. I stored it in my pants and pranced it around proudly. Now, it's leaving me. As with most of my plans and expectations, turns out, my rule blows. A pixie cut is the farthest thing from a solution.
If my body is going to muscle up and drop signs of feminity there is only one solution: Bigger, Busslinger, Possibly Brighter Hair. Watch out. I may start teasing the shit up.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Hater Help: Getting Up Glory
I went back-country skiing again!!! I hiked up a big mountain, Glory Bowl, for those in the know, and it was awesome. The hike up took me forever. Everyone passed me. I almost threw up and there was a point where I could only take 10 steps without a pause. What is important though, is that I made it. Taking a chance, pushing my own limits, I decided to try this whole back-country skiing thing again. It didn't hurt at all, besides the challenge of the hike. The skiing was smooth and easy.
After seriously contemplating not going because it could be unsafe, I couldn't resist. The #1 reason I was driven to go was a conversation I had with a hard-core skier after my previous back-country flop. I told him of the perils, the falls, the temptation to just sit and cry. His response was something to the tune of, "That's ok. You're just not a back-country skier. You're a lift skier. That's who you are. You are someone who skis the lifts." He didn't intend it in a mean spirited way, but in my head the hater warning flashed. This guy echoed my fears back to me and as he shrugged off my attempt, I knew that wasn't the end of my back-country exploration. Nobody puts baby on a chair lift and tells her that's all she can do. At this point, I would like to say thank you to all the haters out there.
My first winter in Jackson, I was definitely a fish out of water. I was a girl who had stopped working with vintage clothing, who had never skied before, who had never really been around snow before, who was active but not athletic. A lot of that first winter was spent learning how to walk and drive on snow. But after I mastered that, I even got a little skiing in. At the end of winter, my lovely friend Anna said to a boy, "Aren't you proud of what a snow bunny Jessica has become?" His answer, "She learned how to look like a snow bunny but she isn't actually a snow bunny." True, I came to this town with more knowledge on shifting appearances than hitting the slopes. He wasn't wrong, but he also wasn't right. He couldn't see the snow bunny badass blooming inside. His words prickled me. Thanks to his underestimating me, I fully realized what I wanted to be capable of, which is the first step towards success. So, thanks haters. Without you, my own desires wouldn't flare up inside of me so brightly.
No one knows where you are coming from and only you know what you are capable of accomplishing. Actually, what's even better is you probably only realize about 1/100th of your own possibility. Let the haters light the fire under your butt and use the flame to rocket up the mountain. The climb is the hardest part. You are gonna need all the inspiration you can get.
After seriously contemplating not going because it could be unsafe, I couldn't resist. The #1 reason I was driven to go was a conversation I had with a hard-core skier after my previous back-country flop. I told him of the perils, the falls, the temptation to just sit and cry. His response was something to the tune of, "That's ok. You're just not a back-country skier. You're a lift skier. That's who you are. You are someone who skis the lifts." He didn't intend it in a mean spirited way, but in my head the hater warning flashed. This guy echoed my fears back to me and as he shrugged off my attempt, I knew that wasn't the end of my back-country exploration. Nobody puts baby on a chair lift and tells her that's all she can do. At this point, I would like to say thank you to all the haters out there.
My first winter in Jackson, I was definitely a fish out of water. I was a girl who had stopped working with vintage clothing, who had never skied before, who had never really been around snow before, who was active but not athletic. A lot of that first winter was spent learning how to walk and drive on snow. But after I mastered that, I even got a little skiing in. At the end of winter, my lovely friend Anna said to a boy, "Aren't you proud of what a snow bunny Jessica has become?" His answer, "She learned how to look like a snow bunny but she isn't actually a snow bunny." True, I came to this town with more knowledge on shifting appearances than hitting the slopes. He wasn't wrong, but he also wasn't right. He couldn't see the snow bunny badass blooming inside. His words prickled me. Thanks to his underestimating me, I fully realized what I wanted to be capable of, which is the first step towards success. So, thanks haters. Without you, my own desires wouldn't flare up inside of me so brightly.
No one knows where you are coming from and only you know what you are capable of accomplishing. Actually, what's even better is you probably only realize about 1/100th of your own possibility. Let the haters light the fire under your butt and use the flame to rocket up the mountain. The climb is the hardest part. You are gonna need all the inspiration you can get.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Smart Choices in Back-Country Skiing and Other Things I Don't Know About
The weather being so crappy has made me seek out some new adventures. Actually, this is more of revisiting old adventures. Adventures of the mind. I've been reading a bunch, strengthening my vocab and mental prowess. I used to read all the time. I hope this doesn't make me sound like a loon, but I cut back on my reading because I came to the conclusion that it was making me think too much. As in, fueling neurosis and causing me to be so heady that I wasn't sociable. Mainly, I just got tired of people telling me that I think too much. Trust me, I'm not a genius and the thoughts were not leading to solving the environmental, political, or economical crisis of our time. The people were probably right. I was thinking too much. Actually, I might be thinking too much right now. I'm already doubting the reading.
I would prefer a nice cleansing hike right now, but it's snowing. Other people are out there being active. They are back-country skiing. Dang-it! I want to do that, but based on the first and only time I tried, I know back-country skiing can be scary. It's scary because it is legitimately dangerous.
This is where thought becomes unavoidable. Thought is key in risk assessment. In my reading today, I found some badass wisdom from Yvon Chouinard's book, Let My People Go Surfing. This man is the founder of Patagonia, the outdoor clothing and gear company. He was also one of the early innovators in rock climbing and seems to be someone who conquers all sorts of outdoor adventures while running an extremely successful and environmentally responsible corporation. Damn, this man is a badass.
Since trying some back country skiing and having it kick my tush, I've been contemplating limits and knowledge. Chouinard had some advice for me today. He says, "Never exceed your limits. You push the envelope, and you live for those moments when you're right on the edge, but you don't go over. You have to be true to yourself; you have to know your strengths and limitations and live within your means." Essentially, he is reinforcing the philosophy I've heard around the mountain: ski today at the level that allows you to ski tomorrow.
But how do we learn our limits? Mr. Chouinard shares later in the book about how he started being careful. He dove off a bridge and hit a sandbar that was a foot underwater. His neck was fractured by landing directly on his head. I don't know if I should be using this guy as a role model. I guess I won't know what to do until I do it.
I would prefer a nice cleansing hike right now, but it's snowing. Other people are out there being active. They are back-country skiing. Dang-it! I want to do that, but based on the first and only time I tried, I know back-country skiing can be scary. It's scary because it is legitimately dangerous.
This is where thought becomes unavoidable. Thought is key in risk assessment. In my reading today, I found some badass wisdom from Yvon Chouinard's book, Let My People Go Surfing. This man is the founder of Patagonia, the outdoor clothing and gear company. He was also one of the early innovators in rock climbing and seems to be someone who conquers all sorts of outdoor adventures while running an extremely successful and environmentally responsible corporation. Damn, this man is a badass.
Since trying some back country skiing and having it kick my tush, I've been contemplating limits and knowledge. Chouinard had some advice for me today. He says, "Never exceed your limits. You push the envelope, and you live for those moments when you're right on the edge, but you don't go over. You have to be true to yourself; you have to know your strengths and limitations and live within your means." Essentially, he is reinforcing the philosophy I've heard around the mountain: ski today at the level that allows you to ski tomorrow.
But how do we learn our limits? Mr. Chouinard shares later in the book about how he started being careful. He dove off a bridge and hit a sandbar that was a foot underwater. His neck was fractured by landing directly on his head. I don't know if I should be using this guy as a role model. I guess I won't know what to do until I do it.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
I need a teddy bear.
It's 2 am and I can't sleep because the wind in rushing by my window and beating on the pane. It's howling, gusting, smacking. It might be about to beat me up. I'm just plain scared. So much for badass. I need a teddy bear and a glass of warm milk.
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