Help! I can't write. I can't think. It's too hot. My butt is sticking to this giant exercise ball that I use as a desk chair. There are four (4) children in the house (Albus came home from camp along with AppleApple, but they both had a great time and are thinking about going back in August). There is also one (1) babysitter here, and one (1) neighbour girl who is reading and/or writing with Fooey and/or Albus. And I am upstairs sweating and unable to think clearly and having the smallest of panic attacks that I may never finish these three stories, that I am without talent or ambition; and then I take a deep breath and think, 'k, but it's hot. All I want to do is sip a shandy and lie under a palm tree and have somebody fan me (Kevin, honey, are you busy?).
Good thing all three of these stories are set in tropical locales. You'd think that would inspire me. Two hours remain. I can do this, right? Small goals: perhaps one paragraph and an outline? Perhaps one small scene? On a beach? By an ocean? With yoga? I want to put yoga into a story. This may be the day that I try.
Speaking of small goals, I must report that last week I did not quite fulfill my goal of two yoga classes and two runs/week; but I did manage two yoga classes on back-to-back days, plus one run, and felt good and fit. Started this week with one yoga class on Monday (it was packed, despite the heat), and went for one ripping good run yesterday evening after spending most of the day in the truck driving to and from camp, with children in tow. It was a long solo trip--the longest I've ever attempted, actually--and we had fun. Video players are wonderful inventions. But, man, did I need to run when I got home; it was like medicine. I had the words "Unbearable Lightness of Being" looping through my mind. I jogged slowly for the first half, then wondered what it would feel like to push myself faster and faster on the way home, and by the end I was burning it up. It reminded me of being a kid and running heedlessly, experimentally, for fun. It's rare to take that opportunity as an adult. I realized that my usual runs are very light and gentle, pleasantly paced, and my breathing isn't the least bit challenged; and that it feels very different to run hard and breathe hard. I wonder how long I could keep that pace up? (I'd estimate I ran hard for a little over 1 km). People run marathons in a kind of a sprint, don't they? I can't imagine how one would train for such a challenge.
Onto my own private marathon. It's been a very very slow race. Patiently paced. Maybe what I need is a good hard sprint here at the end.
Labels: babysitting, kids, running, summer, tutoring, writing