Ohmygod.
Work has slowed down enough today to give me time to write to you again. I’m sorry, I still don’t feel like telling you about my nights because some things are just for me. However, I
do have the following. And it is
interesting something, all right.
I am growing to love my oldshool Blaisdell Y more and more; it’s the kind of place the Village People sang about, because you used to be able to stay overnight. I’ve had the urge a few times, because there’s so much to do there. The other day I was checking out the running track and found the heavy bag, and my life changed that moment. Also, I’ve been dismounting the crosstrainer and climbing the 2 million stairs up to the track to walk, because I miss it badly and walking on a treadmill isn’t the same, since there’s always CNN or MTV right there looking at you.
So anyway, walking. I’m not training for the 2005 3day. I’m going to crew the Minneapolis and possibly Boston events, but I don’t need that tendon stuff again this year, no I don’t. This time, it’s just for fun, because there’s nothing better than just moving your body without the added resistance and space-age engineering guaranteed to make your movements 300% more effective. What this means is that you burn far fewer calories walking, but it’s more satisfying in a way.
When I’m walking on the track at the Y, it’s nothing like the lake. 18 laps make a mile. I can’t count that high, nor can I watch the clock because I forget what time I set as my end point as quickly as I decide upon it. So I do things like walk until my iPod battery runs out, or until my head is aching because the dry air has made my sinuses arid and painful, or until I have passed that old guy twice (isn’t that called skunking?). It works for me.
Also, there is only one thing that smells better than the Y (chlorine and gym shoes and heat), and you can’t have him.
Now, not to spring this on you out of the blue or anything, but I think you should take my advice and get some therapy. It’s possible a lot of people see a therapist, but most people don’t talk about it. Me, I’m not ashamed to tell you how much I love it. I think therapy is the greatest invention ever, right up there with the smallpox vaccine and individually-wrapped string cheese.*
I don’t honestly think I have more issues than anyone else, but I’m pretty intent on making peace with the ones that concern me. I can self-analyze to the point of paralysis, so I think the best route is working through them. That’s what we do, and it’s amazing. In addition to the sense of empowerment and understanding you get from therapy, you also get the reassurance that you’re nowhere near as fucked up as you think. If that’s not worth $170/hr, I don’t know what is.
One of my favorite recurring themes is control-freakishness. I have first-hand knowledge of the fact that several of you have concerns about whether you, too, might be just a little bit OCD. Yes, you do! I am here to clear it all up for you, my friends:
How to tell if you’re obsessive-compulsive.
It’s straight from the DSM-IV, yes indeedy. We actually went over this list a few weeks ago. Three of those criteria fit me pretty well (I’ll give a prize to whoever guesses which). The others don’t, not even remotely. I think if I didn’t view social activities as productive, I’d probably be in trouble.
Thank god for not being OCD! I’m something else.
jenni ripley: something else.
I will be back to my regular routine next week! I promise.
Jenni
* One of my favorite games is to try to figure out what everyone else in the waiting room is there for.
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