I am going to Boston in 34 days. Until then, I am going to work out in some capacity every day. Tomorrow it may just be going for a longboard ride when the sun comes up, but come on, that can be some pretty decent exercise, too.
Sometimes I just don't get myself. I always talk about how amazing my body feels after a good run or some other substantial workout and how it gives me energy throughout the week if I do it.
Yet, there I sit, not exercising every day. Does that make any sense? I've been really pleased with the work ethic I have developed in terms of staying on top of school and finding every opportunity to further my career. But my personal health and fitness? Um ... yeah.
Well, no mas! Viva la revolucion! Look, I'm not saying I'm "John Candy with a smoker's cough" out of shape, but you're boy needs to do work! And do work I will ... I hope. Tonight was a start. I did 10 minutes on this stair-climbing thingy my parents have, and I was sweating like an Everglades tour guide. Like I said, a start.
Working man
One day I'm opining about the NBA Finals, and the next day I am writing a story about local Democratic leaders' thoughts on the state budget ... and I'm beginning to enjoy it. I'm not going to lie, my editor hasn't really been the best at giving me stuff to do. Almost every story I've done I've come up with myself. Plus, I think his feedback is more positive than it probably should be. Everytime I turn a story in he acts like it's the best thing he's ever read. Trust me, it's not.
But alas, it's been fun ... I interviewed two high-ranking Cochise College administrators, one of which is the president, who are set to retire. The story was essentially about how they have spent the last decade working so closely and with the same vision, that they have developed a strong friendship outside the chaotic world they work in every day. They were genuinely some of the sweetest people I've met, and when they began crying when they talked about leaving soon, I had to remind myself that my objectivity could so much as allow my eyes to mist. Thankfully, they didn't. What can I say, I wear my heart on my sleeve. I'm probably in the wrong profession.
On Wednesday, I got to have some fun and write a column about the NBA Finals. The fact that I literally got paid to spend a few hours writing it is mind-boggling to me. If that's how I make a living, I'd be more than content.
A wide array of tunes
Summer is a time that I love, because invariably there are more free moments. Moments to read. Moments to walk. For me, there are been more moments to listen to a many moments of song. OK, I'm going to stop saying moments now. I just wanted to make sure you were all paying attention.
This particular song has been in constant rotation in my ears today. It reminds me of the source of my grand affection and reason for my upcoming trip to Massachooosets, Ms. Abby Marie Gilmore, because the great Bob Dylan sings about Kansas in the first verse. We have a bit of a joke about that state, and I'm sure I'll share it one day ... but that's for another time.
I've also been getting my read on. The current page turner I'm glued to: The Bleachers, by John Grisham. The same guy who authored The Client and a bunch of other books I've never read, writes this one about a group of guys who once played for a storied high school football team and have now all met back up because their legendary coach is about to die. Gripping to say the least.
It is very Friday Night Lights, which if you know me, you know is my favorite sports book. Actually, I guess it is possible to know me and not know that. In fact, I would venture to say that most people who know me actually DON'T know that Friday Night Lights is my favorite book. Wait, this is good. Now, if I ever get asked one of those goofy, "Tell us something most people don't know about you" questions, I'll have a sure-fire winner. See, blogging really offers some insight into some of life's most important quandries.
Anyway, this has been theraputic. I'm out. 34 days.
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