Transformation: (In)complete
The self-imposed Transformation Challenge is nearing its end. Dreamed up early one Sunday in May around 3:32am, the time each morning when I decide whether to lie in bed for the next several hours until I fall asleep again, or head downstairs, eat large, buttered matzos and write blog posts, the Challenge had something to do with carrying me between jobs and onto a beach in a bikini.
A progress report, then, is warranted.
I read five books. Night, a memoir by Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel. Let the Great World Spin, a lovely novel by Colum McCann. Take This Bread, Sara Miles's account of her abrupt, wholly unexpected conversion to Christianity and subsequent opening of food pantries across San Francisco. And several novels by the always delightful Alexander McCall Smith.
I self-promoted. I worked at getting my writing out there, to good effect.
I boxed. Hitting the heavy bag is great fun; jumping rope will kill you. My cardiovascular endurance, in short, sucks. However, I'm keeping up with the twenty-somethings in the class, and it's no small thing that I consider the push-ups and sit-ups a welcome break. This class is the most difficult, demanding physical experience I've ever subjected myself to, and consequently a great mental challenge, as well; I'll be glad when, on Saturday, I'm done (I told Greg last night, "I don't need to be that in shape"). At that point I might as well join the Navy SEALS, as strapping on a 50-pound backpack and running along the shore would be a relief. There'd be a breeze from the ocean, whereas Frank won't even turn on a fan.
I wore that bikini. Who's to say when one's body is bikini-ready? I spent much of my bikini-wearing time sure I was forgetting something, or appreciating the greater restroom-friendliness of the wet two-piece suit over the one. Anti-climactic, that.
One must never stop evolving, and to that end I've got some new goals. Working on my book is one, as there's a respected literary agent who wants to see more. As for the continual efforts to improve upon the almost-40-year-old body, I'm dreaming up a new plan for that, too. Just you wait and see.
A progress report, then, is warranted.
I read five books. Night, a memoir by Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel. Let the Great World Spin, a lovely novel by Colum McCann. Take This Bread, Sara Miles's account of her abrupt, wholly unexpected conversion to Christianity and subsequent opening of food pantries across San Francisco. And several novels by the always delightful Alexander McCall Smith.
I self-promoted. I worked at getting my writing out there, to good effect.
I boxed. Hitting the heavy bag is great fun; jumping rope will kill you. My cardiovascular endurance, in short, sucks. However, I'm keeping up with the twenty-somethings in the class, and it's no small thing that I consider the push-ups and sit-ups a welcome break. This class is the most difficult, demanding physical experience I've ever subjected myself to, and consequently a great mental challenge, as well; I'll be glad when, on Saturday, I'm done (I told Greg last night, "I don't need to be that in shape"). At that point I might as well join the Navy SEALS, as strapping on a 50-pound backpack and running along the shore would be a relief. There'd be a breeze from the ocean, whereas Frank won't even turn on a fan.
I wore that bikini. Who's to say when one's body is bikini-ready? I spent much of my bikini-wearing time sure I was forgetting something, or appreciating the greater restroom-friendliness of the wet two-piece suit over the one. Anti-climactic, that.
One must never stop evolving, and to that end I've got some new goals. Working on my book is one, as there's a respected literary agent who wants to see more. As for the continual efforts to improve upon the almost-40-year-old body, I'm dreaming up a new plan for that, too. Just you wait and see.
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