I never thought that I would be able to say this, but I have officially gone one whole year without dessert. It all started on my twentieth birthday when my friend Olivia told me that I should try to go off dessert for thirty days with her. Feeling full from the obscene amounts of pizza that I had just crammed into my mouth, I readily agreed to the challenge. The next day I realized that my overstuffed stomach had lured me into a false sense of confidence, because I was already wanting to drop out of the challenge.
I have been quite restless lately. It is odd that I should feel this way since I have had the opportunity to travel to New York City twice and Washington D.C. once this summer. But even with these excursions, I have still felt trapped and antsy. So what can I do to relieve this feeling of entrapment? If this were a New York Times bestselling memoir, I would buy a one way plane ticket to Finland and backpack through the country with nothing but a journal and a sleeping bag. In case you did not know, this is not a bestselling memoir, so I have to do more realistic things to make my summer more interesting.
I have always enjoyed eating, and can remember how even as a young teenager I would binge on food. One memory that sticks out is of a time when I snuck into our laundry room to eat ice cream that was in the freezer. I was so scared of getting in trouble for eating something that I had been told not to touch that I did not even use a spoon to eat the ice cream. Instead, I scooped it out with my hands, as if I was a starving man who was raiding a dumpster. I wish that the stolen ice cream was an isolated situation, but that was not the case.
It’s been awhile since I have written about my attempts to spice up my life, so I decided that it was about time to sit down and share some things that happened at the start of this semester. The biggest thing, other than getting back into the swing of things at college, was that I attempted to add working out into my routine. Right now you are probably rolling your eyes thinking of the millions who commit to working out at the beginning of the New Year, well…I am one of those people. However, I did not plan on ending in a few weeks since I had a firm belief that I would start to actually enjoy working out. Haha, not really, I just believed that after repeated workouts, my brain would respond to the perceived trauma by pumping me full of endorphins to numb the misery.
The day after my sister’s wedding was the first time I was able to try out my newly purchased ski equipment. A friend’s dad, who had been skiing for most of his life, had offered to teach me the basics. I had gladly accepted the offer because the only other time I had been skiing had not gone as smoothly as I would have liked. A few years ago some of my sister’s friends from Connecticut were visiting our house and thought that it would be fun to all go to a nearby ski resort for the day. My sister had begged me to go along since she had never been skiing before and didn’t want to be the only one to look like a fool. I agreed to join them (mostly because my sister had offered to pay for my lift ticket and ski rental). Since skiing wasn’t exactly a regular occurrence, I didn’t have any proper ski clothes, so I chose to wear my dull, brown Carhart coat and Wrangler blue jeans. I looked like a farmer boy and felt like an idiot, but I told myself that other people there would be wearing work clothes. They weren’t.
Typically that phrase is followed by, “Short, fat, and wide.” However, that would not be truthful since at the wedding the bride was stunning and beautiful. The day of my sister’s wedding finally arrived after months of planning, weeks of preparation, and days of emotional highs and lows. I was awakened at 7:00 AM by a loud knock on my door and the voice of Olivia, one of the bridesmaids, telling me that it was time to get up and get ready for the day. I tried to ignore her gentle prompts to get up, but after a few minutes of lying in the quiet of my room I decided that it was pointless to try to sleep and had better get out of bed. I made my way downstairs and was surprised to see that there was no one there, so I took a shower and ate breakfast, enjoying the calm of the house. It was after my shower that all hell broke loose.
If you read my last post you may recall that I have had some minor issues as I attempt to start learning how to ski. I had gone to multiple ski shops only to find that no one would adjust my ski bindings. All of that changed yesterday when I took my skis to a new shop. I was quite distrustful of ski shops at this point, so I had made sure to call ahead and confirm that they did in fact have the bindings I was looking for and that they would install them for me. So I entered the shop with the same wariness that a shark attack survivor has when going swimming.
I did not mention this in my introductory post, but one of the activities that I plan to add to my overall life experiences is the sport of downhill skiing. I had the random idea at some point during the semester that I wanted to become a skier, so with only one time ever skiing under my belt I went on a Craigslist and Ebay shopping spree, buying everything that I would need to start skiing on a regular basis. Most people thought that I had lost my mind since I had only gone skiing once and most of that experience had involved me falling/sliding down the hill on my side. However, I would not let those people’s words deter me, I knew that if I wanted to have more life experiences I would need to take some chances. Here are a few things that I have already learned about skiing:
I am not a fan of situations where I must introduce myself. And no, it is not because I have an acute fear of saying my name or having people talk to me. Rather, I hate the conversation that follows an introduction. It is as if one must cram every single documentary-worthy life experience into the next two minutes of conversation. The following is an example of how I feel during said conversations: