Cold Wet Paint

I meant to blog about having cold wet paint dumped on me for hours this weekend but my bother beat me to it and with much more detail and accuracy than I could muster from five days away. Don't let that stop you from reading it though. It was hard and uncomfortable at times, but it was so much fun. I went home on saturday and sunday night and felt proud of myself and everyone involved. I'm excited to see the result and to remember for a long time to come that someone once had the idea of dumping paint on me all day, and I agreed to do it.

I'm feeling physically pretty good these days. I have been stretching before exercising for the first time in my life and lifting high reps of less weight. People always told me that a person should stretch before exertion but I never really bought it. I get the benefits now, it actually feels nicer all the time to be a bit more limber. I can touch my toes with a locked leg now, I couldn't even do that in high school while running cross country.
I went for a nice 5 mile run through the streets of Atwater Village and Glendale last night. The sky over Griffith park looked amazing and I managed to jay walk and catch stoplights in just the right manner so that I never once had to stop. I dodged cars and dogs and peoples and kept moving. Every time I started to feel tired I remember that my sister is going to run a half marathon in under two hours, and that to do that she must run nine minute miles instead of ten minute miles. I would just say that to myself when I wanted to rest while running: "Nine Minute Miles". I was probably running closer to seven minute miles last night, but nine sounded better.
I finished with a stupid sprint kick up Edenhurst to Veselich. I like to run in the park or at night because I like to finish big and it's a bit embarrassing in the middle of the sun light to be grinding full bore up a residential street. I would make fun of me if I saw myself doing that. It feels good though, and to finish a run without it is sort of like sex with no orgasm.
As I walked back to the apartment after the run trying to catch my breath I asked myself how I ever stopped running for such a long period of time. I didn't answer because of course I remember, still it seems so stupid now.

I have not been writing much lately. I need to lock myself in a room and revise a bunch of the shit I've spewed out but it's just not happening. I want to be that type of person, I respect that kind of focused energy but at heart there is something in me that lacks a measure of discipline. Why can't I just do it perfect the first time?