Think of it as a captain’s log, only instead of stardate, I’m using packets of oatmeal to mark time. Current count: 91, which puts me firmly in double-digits territory and a good clip ahead of where we last convened. If it feels like the rate of consumption has increased, it certainly isn’t because the oats have gotten any tastier, nor have they gotten any fresher.
I’m chalking it up to frugality, and while I can’t predict the sustainability of this current bout of austerity, I’m enjoying it. There’s something freeing about being able to resist a purchase, be it a breakfast sandwich or a Blu-ray disc. By no means has my self-control increased. One reason for why I’m spending less is accessibility–there’s no longer a convenient way for me to procure a sausage, egg, and cheese sandwich in the morning, for instance, and so I turn to oatmeal. I’ve also been more conscientious of what I already own. Why reach for a new Xbox game, in other words, when I have so many unfinished ones?
In the spirit of frugality–and to cap off this week’s movie talk–let me save you 10 bucks. I caught a matinee showing of The Amazing Spider-Man yesterday with high hopes. It sounded great on paper: the director of (500) Days of Summer, updated special effects, Alvin Sargent. But no! No. Consider how in one scene, Spider-Man plays a game on his smartphone. And suddenly, at that very moment, I didn’t feel so bad for Uncle Ben anymore, because he only had to live through half the movie.
Precisely one week to the day, in an uncanny refrain of circumstances, I find myself typing under the influence of Red Bull and vodka again. This time, too, there may be trace amounts of Margarita. Rest assured, though, I haven’t loosened up in the least bit, nor have I become fun-loving. Two points of data do not a trend make, after all. Additionally, I hate fun. Occasionally, I also hate blogging! Today is one such occasion, but firing up the keyboard tonight feels indirectly patriotic, simply because the free flow of adult beverages and the luxury of blogging about inconsequential things are offshoots of independence.
I’ve been hitting the movie theater with greater frequency recently, in part to escape the summer heat. I won’t bore you with reviews, but between Moonrise Kingdom and Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter, three guesses as to which one you can safely avoid. What’s been endlessly fascinating to me is the importance of ritual for the average moviegoer. Why do people, for instance, insist on waiting in line for tickets, when these small slips of paper may be purchased from the self-serve kiosks in a fraction of the time? Why is the wholesale consumption of yellow-tinged popcorn so crucial to the viewing process–and, as is often the case, concludes well before the film even begins? It is a cunning pact between the entertainment and corn industries.
These are deep mysteries, to be sure, for which I have no explanations. Indeed, I’m largely content with surround sound and a cool place to sit for a few hours. Sitting, though, is the very habit I must quell, if I am to prepare properly for November. But how to go from zero to three miles, after years of sedentary lifestyle? The answer may be a run to the amusement and back. Carowinds as the proverbial carrot, as it were. I’m thinking of it as a first-world pilgrimage.
Well, I did it. Got caught up in the moment, borne by the glittering prospect of self-improvement, and before I knew it, I had committed forty-three dollars and sixty cents to my first 5K in recorded history. It’s scheduled for mid-November, which gives me ample time to– Exercise, I guess? Or quit, as the likelier case may be, but let us be optimistic for an evening.
On the surface of things, running simply calls for getting from one place to another. I plan on approaching it much as I did golf, with ample advice culled from peers. I know intuitively I’ll need to work my way up to three miles and I can’t expect any miraculous turns of event. But I also know there are multiple schools of thought on proper form, proper shoes, proper regimens, and it’s bewildering. The consequences, too, are dire–torn muscles, decimated backs, busted knees. Are these not fears normally reserved for mob informants?
These concerns are for another day, though. With forecasts heralding a weekend of consecutive 100-degree days, jogging would be an open invitation for heat stroke. Weather advisories recommend, instead, seeking AC and avoiding direct exposure to sun. I’ve trained for this! I’ve trained for this my entire life.