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Showing posts with label Gold's gym. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gold's gym. Show all posts

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Not everything is a Journey.

Good morning!


The tiny little dictionary I have in my work desk defines the word "journey" as "to travel."

I bring this up because the word "journey" has become one of those go to words that's being used WAY too much.



Don't believe me? Okay, ponder this: Recently I completed...sort of...Gold's Gym 12 week body challenge. I've now been asked to write an essay detailing my "journey" during the challenge.

This request is just one in a very long line to things that have now been labeled a journey. I'm not sure, but I believe we have Paula Abdul to blame for this over use of the word. If you recall, some time in the middle seasons of "American Idol" Paula Abdul started using the phrase, "Your journey with us is over." As if that wasn't bad enough, Ryan Seacrest, that pocket sized Peter Pan that is going to use his elfin magic to some day rule us all, picked up the phrase and now, though Paula is a faint memory in American Idol history, the concept of the "journey" sticks with us every single week.

I suppose you could make an argument that contestants on American Idol do go through a journey of sorts. Maybe you could argue that their transformation from unknown to household-name-for-about-three-weeks is a journey.

But really, is EVERYTHING a journey?

When we write, do we think of our characters as being on some sort of "Journey?"  Maybe.  I once described Dream in Color as "Ramona's Journey."  But that just felt silly.  It's not a journey, not really.  It's her story.  It's the story about how she overcomes obstacles to find true love.  I don't know if we can call that a journey.  Some might.  Sure, Ramona loses a pile of weight and accepts that yes, she is worthy of love. 

But is the concept of a journey being over used? 


It certainly is in every day language.  The journey ends for every contestant who gets kicked off a reality show.  I've used that idea in conversation and felt really stupid afterward.  Honestly, not everything is a journey.  Sometimes it's just getting from point A to point B.
 Gold's Body Challenge was not a journey for me. It was getting from point A to point B and hopefully losing some weight in the process. I did find out some things about myself, both physically (I have arthritis, and I won't die if I run for three minutes in a row) and mentally (My brain is not as smart as my body when it comes to running on a treadmill because my brain does not believe that a fluffy girl like me CAN run. Note, I said, CAN, not SHOULD. Two different things entirely. Just because I CAN doesn't mean I SHOULD.)

I know we all think our novels are epic tales of a heroine's journey.  And wouldn't it be great it they were?  But for the most part, if we really think about it, our heroes and heroine's are not all on epic journeys.  Not every book, thank goodness, can be Moby Dick.  (And if you've been reading this blog, you know that I rank Moby Dick as the WORST BOOK EVER WRITTEN.) 

Unless your characters are named "Scarlett and Rhett" I'm not sure you can use the word "epic" when referring to a love story or a romance.  (And there is a difference, my friends!)  And I certainly don't think we can label every couple in a love story or romance as being on a journey.  Unless they are parted by something really, really, really HUGE. like a war, or maybe a century, you really can't call it a journey.  Maybe on the movie poster, but not on the book.  Sorry.
So I'll be writing my essay for Gold's at some point. I think it's due in a month. And yes, I am one of those people who did everything at the last minute. But I will NOT use the word "journey."

At least, not if I can help it.

Saturday, July 31, 2010

Freedom isn't free...but it's freeing!

Hello everyone on this fine Saturday!






Has a whole week really gone by? Really?





I'd say I was busy with work...but you all know 95% of my work involves playing spider solitaire and watching the last precious weeks of "As The World Turns" on my computer. And I'd say I was busy writing, but, well, again, that pesky spider solitaire. One day I will win!





What I have been busy doing, my friends, is pondering things about my life and trying to release those things I cannot change. For example: I cannot change the fact that my mother loves my brother and my husband more than she loves me. There's nothing I can do about being pretty far down on her list when it comes to important relatives. I can write about my feelings in a humorous way (Those of you who have read "Dream in Color" know what I mean. Those of you who haven't WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?) or I can do it in a very dramatic way: The maternal figure in Shara's life in "Lies in Chance" is murdered when the book opens. For me, writing is cheap therapy and it means every family gathering is actually a deductible expense for me.





I can change a number of things: I can change how I look. I darkened the door of Gold's for the first time since Tom lost his job back in January. It felt good. And then my knee really hurt so that felt bad, but I'm going to hit the gym again tomorrow or Monday because it did feel good.





Some time back I did one of those soul searching exercises because someone close to me told me I was doing something that was wrong and intolerable. I spent a lot of time and sleepless nights wondering what that was. After a year of wondering, I found out what I did and I realized it wasn't something I could change about myself.





See, I'm essentially a happy person. There are a few souls out there who have seen me when I'm sad or depressed. I call those people my closest friends and family. But most of the time, what you see is what I am. A happy person who would much rather laugh at life and be friendly with everyone regardless of political views, religion, and all the other things that seem to make people mad. For me it's just easier being happy and friendly than anything else.



While I've always been that way, that doesn't mean I haven't changed in the years of my life. I've softened my views in some ways and changed my views in others. It's called growing up, we all do it. But the core values, the core things of who I am...those have not and do not change.





For example. I'm a life long Barry Manilow fan. I am a Christian. I love pizza, ice cream, soup and grilled cheese sandwiches with jam on top. These are things I've loved since childhood.

When I was a teen, I fell in love with Rick Springfield, my husband, and movies. I haven't been a teen in a couple of decades, but I still love those three things.

My favorite song of all time, "Ah Leah" has been my favorite song since I was 15, and I will always, always, always get a tear in my eye when the songs "Waiting for a Girl Like You" and "Broken Wings" come on the radio. (And thank you Rick Springfield for rerecording those two songs.)





Also, I'm a writer. I've been a writer since the age of six when I wrote an illustrated history of the Civil War. (Shelby Foote, eat your heart out!) I was a writer the day I opened up "Little House in the Big Woods" and said, "Hey, I can do that!" (The writing, not the living in the woods in a log cabin with no central AC or cable.)





So looking at this big thing I was doing that was so wrong, I realized...the wrong thing was I was being me. I hadn't changed. Sure, I had joined this group or that group, read a book I wouldn't have looked at ten years ago, saw a movie I may not have liked five years ago. My core, what I am, hadn't changed. The other person, the one who had liked all those things about me before, had.

We all have that. We all have moment when a relationship ends and it hurts like lit matches on bare skin. I'm not just talking about a romantic thing. Every relationship that ends ends with pain. And then, after the Shock Denial Anger (is there any situation in which I cannot quote Rick Springfield? I DON'T THINK SO!) there is Acceptance. And there is freedom.





Knowing what I know now, I realize that this was a lost year for me. I was so worried about that thing I was doing that was offensive, I let it hang over me like a heavy cloud. That cloud is gone. I am free.

The adage "Freedom isn't free" is a very good one. It's always applied to our amazing men and women in the armed forces. GOD BLESS YOU! If I may, I'd like to apply it to everyone who's had their heart broken, really broken, by a friend, a family member, or a lover. After everything else washes away, there is freedom. And that freedom wasn't free, you paid for it in tears, in sleeplessness, in dashed hope. But now you have your freedom to be you again. You have your freedom to go out and live without the cloud.





Do I still feel sad about this? Yes. I have mourned and I will mourn again. There will be times when I question myself, because something like this leaves you a little unsure, a little wary of the next relationship.





Freedom isn't free, my friends. But it is freeing. If you've lost someone because it "wasn't you, it's me" then believe it. Stand a litter straighter, sing in your car, laugh as loud as you want to no matter who thinks you sound like a cackling hen. Be kind to those around you, and be cheerful as much as you can. Not everyone is going to like you. Maybe that's freeing, too.





(Meanwhile, if you or a loved one is serving in our military, God Bless you and I pray all our soldiers every where come home safely.)





NOW, GO FORTH AND WRITE!

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

If a fat girl falls off the treadmill in Cadio Cinema and no one can see her, does she still get credit for a workout?

Good morning all!

Well, I've not been all that enthused about my new membership to Gold's Gym, as I've mentioned here a time or two. HOWEVER, the Gym FINALLY opened their real doors this week. No more working in one sweaty, un-air conditioned room with fifty other people, oh no. No, now we are in Gold's for REAL!

I have to say, after one work out there yesterday, I'm dangerously close to falling in love with a room.

I'm not a confident weight trainer. (Okay, I'm a complete chicken.) It seems like I always wind up following a gaggle of muscleheads who are trying to outdo themselves one some machine and I sit in their cloud of BO and farts while changing the weight on the machine from 400 to 40.



Now I'm at Gold's, and they have "Lady Gold's" Normally, my conservative brain would say that it's just not right that the women should have a separate place to work out...and then I walked into Lady Gold's directly from the locker room (No walk of shame through Musclehead Land.) I enjoyed the fresh, cool, unstinky air as I was able to ride the recumbant eliptical (My favorite) and hear the TV (NCIS) over the sound of the four other women lifting weights without grunting or farting, or anything. It was lovely.

Then, bolstered by a great halfhour in Lady's Gold, I braved the ten step walk to Cardio Cinema. This may be my new home. Seriously. 1) It's dark. 2) There's a movie with surround sound and it doesn't matter that the movie was "Fast and the Furious," I hopped on a treadmill and hoofed it for half an hour, a record for me. Again, this space was free of Musclehead nation, though they lurked at the banech press thingy just outside the door. I heard only a whisper of their grunted communications while I tread on and on in surround sound glory.

Yep, I'm lovin' it. I'll go back this afternoon. Who knows, if I do this often enough, I may even brave hitting the pool...in spite of the fact that the Mensa scholars who designed this place put GIGANTIC picture windows that look over the pool from Muscle land. I'm not sure I'm ready to have the over pumped watch me hack my way through a lap in my swim suit. We'll see.

On a completely random note, for those of you wondering, we did get a letter yesterday telling us that after a two week investigation, the Waukesha police and the bank both decided that no, hubby and I did not go to the Janesville Walmart and spend $200. We get to keep the refund and I'm hoping that those who stole our debit card numbers are found and flogged by several muscleheads in a small, stinky room.