Well hi there. Happy New Year!
I have something up my sleeve this fine evening, and no, I'm not talking about dominoes from last night's game of Mexican Train. That was a fair win. Really.
Anyway, here's the thing: we all know that I love to write. We all know that I wish I wrote more, especially where blogging is concerned. And because I'm sick of constantly whining about my lack of dedication and constantly making excuses for it, I've decided to take drastic measures.
This year's New Year's Resolution: To write a blog post every day for an entire year.
Yes, it's bold. Yes, it's tough. But it's also very, very necessary. It's time I got my act together where writing is concerned. It's time I actually followed through with a New Year's Resolution. Plus, let's face it: if I can go without chocolate for 40 days (see Lent last year), then I can do anything.
Here's the other thing: I'm once again ditching you and running toward the shiny professionalism of Wordpress. Rest assured, I will come back. I always seem to.
But for now, this is where I'll be hanging out (http://holly365project.wordpress.com/). I hope to see you there.
Showing posts with label Goals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Goals. Show all posts
Monday, January 2, 2012
Monday, November 7, 2011
Two Stories
I have a few stories for you. Story No. 1 : Sprechen Sie Englisch?
Some nice young man just came up to where I'm sitting fiddling around on Mac, and started speaking to me in rapid-fire German.
Here is what I do when I hear rapid-fire German:
1. I don't interrupt (even to tell them I don't understand; it seems rude).
2. I try to erase the deer-in-headlights look I know is probably plastered on my face
3. I throw in a few nods for good measure
4. I try to pick out words I actually recognize to see if I can get a general grasp
5. When the person finishes, I give a little laugh to see if he/she was just quipping. If they look confused, I set in with the "Sprechen Sie Englisch?"
Anyway, it turns out that the poor guy just wanted to know if there is a place where he can smoke indoors.
Story No. 2: Karma's a...Well, You Know
Ever since I've left America, I've been finding money. This, I realize, is a strange concept coming from someone who is horribly unlucky at cards, someone who is a terribly distracted driver, and someone to whom generally ridiculous things always seem to happen (ex: getting pooped on by a pigeon whilst in Venice. Don't make me tell that story, please).
But, despite the various scientific arguments against my newfound lucky streak, there it was all the same. In the Toronto airport, on my very first day of travel, I found about $10 of Canadian money lying on the floor. In Venice, I found a 5 Euro bill drifting between walkers' feet on the sidewalk. In Berlin, I found 15 cents lodged between cobblestones at the zoo.
Before you ask me to buy your next lottery ticket, let me tell you what happened to me this morning. I went for a run (yes, yes, still working on that. I want to do a 5K in the spring with my Mom and sister, so I have an actual goal now). Before going for said run, I stuffed a 20 Euro bill in my shoe, thinking I could stop at the grocery store on my way back (the Special K addiction marches on). You already know where this is going, don't you?
When I got to the grocery store, so very excited at the prospect of cereal and milk for breakfast instead of the Nutella-smeared toast they offer at hostels, I bent down to retrieve my cash, only to discover that it was gone. It had fallen out somewhere along my route. Although it was a windy day, and although there had been dozens of other people biking/walking the same path as me, I still went back to look.
No luck, dear readers. I can only attempt to console myself by viewing this as a mere $4.85 loss. Doesn't help much (I really, really, wanted that cereal).
Some nice young man just came up to where I'm sitting fiddling around on Mac, and started speaking to me in rapid-fire German.
Here is what I do when I hear rapid-fire German:
1. I don't interrupt (even to tell them I don't understand; it seems rude).
2. I try to erase the deer-in-headlights look I know is probably plastered on my face
3. I throw in a few nods for good measure
4. I try to pick out words I actually recognize to see if I can get a general grasp
5. When the person finishes, I give a little laugh to see if he/she was just quipping. If they look confused, I set in with the "Sprechen Sie Englisch?"
Anyway, it turns out that the poor guy just wanted to know if there is a place where he can smoke indoors.
Story No. 2: Karma's a...Well, You Know
Ever since I've left America, I've been finding money. This, I realize, is a strange concept coming from someone who is horribly unlucky at cards, someone who is a terribly distracted driver, and someone to whom generally ridiculous things always seem to happen (ex: getting pooped on by a pigeon whilst in Venice. Don't make me tell that story, please).
But, despite the various scientific arguments against my newfound lucky streak, there it was all the same. In the Toronto airport, on my very first day of travel, I found about $10 of Canadian money lying on the floor. In Venice, I found a 5 Euro bill drifting between walkers' feet on the sidewalk. In Berlin, I found 15 cents lodged between cobblestones at the zoo.
Before you ask me to buy your next lottery ticket, let me tell you what happened to me this morning. I went for a run (yes, yes, still working on that. I want to do a 5K in the spring with my Mom and sister, so I have an actual goal now). Before going for said run, I stuffed a 20 Euro bill in my shoe, thinking I could stop at the grocery store on my way back (the Special K addiction marches on). You already know where this is going, don't you?
When I got to the grocery store, so very excited at the prospect of cereal and milk for breakfast instead of the Nutella-smeared toast they offer at hostels, I bent down to retrieve my cash, only to discover that it was gone. It had fallen out somewhere along my route. Although it was a windy day, and although there had been dozens of other people biking/walking the same path as me, I still went back to look.
No luck, dear readers. I can only attempt to console myself by viewing this as a mere $4.85 loss. Doesn't help much (I really, really, wanted that cereal).
Saturday, July 30, 2011
The HemingWay
Moose antler on my bedroom wall: check
Brush with journalism: check
Posse of famous authors, bullfighting scars, ambulance-driving experience, residence in various foreign countries: in progress
Thursday, July 28, 2011
I Went Running Today
I went running today.
I know, I know. Who is this hacker writing on Holly's blog, and why is she so crazy?
But it's true. I went running today. It's all part of my master plan. You see, I've been really trying hard to work out every single day lately. I've actually been doing so for about a month now.
(Mainly because I want to have the cardio part covered in case of a zombie invasion)
My current workouts consist of following along with DVDs: Balance ball schtuff, Tae-Bo, Denise Austin's whywon'tthiswomanstopsmiling kickboxing, Gilad's epic beach aerobics, etc. I've done it all.
The thing, is, though, I can't exactly bring my workout tapes to Austria with me. I can't exactly bounce around throwing punches in my dorm room. I can't exactly squeeze a balance ball through customs.
So, I'm running. Because it requires nothing but pavement and shoes. (And a top and shorts, please.) I found a good running plan online, designed especially for beginners. It basically has you do intervals of running and walking, alternating, and then gradually decreases the amount of walking as the weeks go by.
I kicked off said plan at a local track today. My Mother the triathlete came with. She did a triathlon last Sunday, placed 82nd out of a thousand-something people, placed second in her age group for the swimming, and she came with. She biked 15 miles this morning, and she came with.
She then proceeded to lap me around the track multiple times, barely walking at all.
Maybe I should do the rest of my training without My Mother the Triathlete. I don't know if my ego can take it otherwise.
Just kidding.
What I'm not kidding about is how hard running is. I remembered hating it in 9th and 10th gym (the last time I ran a mile), but I thought it would be different now for some reason. I thought it would be romantic; I thought the pounding of my feet and the beating of my heart and the bass in my ipod would inspire me and propel me forward. Instead, I sweated and I panted and I walked more than I ran.
But I did run a half mile. Walked about a mile. And that's okay for me, a non-triathlete.
I'll keep trying.
I know, I know. Who is this hacker writing on Holly's blog, and why is she so crazy?
But it's true. I went running today. It's all part of my master plan. You see, I've been really trying hard to work out every single day lately. I've actually been doing so for about a month now.
(Mainly because I want to have the cardio part covered in case of a zombie invasion)
My current workouts consist of following along with DVDs: Balance ball schtuff, Tae-Bo, Denise Austin's whywon'tthiswomanstopsmiling kickboxing, Gilad's epic beach aerobics, etc. I've done it all.
The thing, is, though, I can't exactly bring my workout tapes to Austria with me. I can't exactly bounce around throwing punches in my dorm room. I can't exactly squeeze a balance ball through customs.
So, I'm running. Because it requires nothing but pavement and shoes. (And a top and shorts, please.) I found a good running plan online, designed especially for beginners. It basically has you do intervals of running and walking, alternating, and then gradually decreases the amount of walking as the weeks go by.
I kicked off said plan at a local track today. My Mother the triathlete came with. She did a triathlon last Sunday, placed 82nd out of a thousand-something people, placed second in her age group for the swimming, and she came with. She biked 15 miles this morning, and she came with.
She then proceeded to lap me around the track multiple times, barely walking at all.
Maybe I should do the rest of my training without My Mother the Triathlete. I don't know if my ego can take it otherwise.
Just kidding.
What I'm not kidding about is how hard running is. I remembered hating it in 9th and 10th gym (the last time I ran a mile), but I thought it would be different now for some reason. I thought it would be romantic; I thought the pounding of my feet and the beating of my heart and the bass in my ipod would inspire me and propel me forward. Instead, I sweated and I panted and I walked more than I ran.
But I did run a half mile. Walked about a mile. And that's okay for me, a non-triathlete.
I'll keep trying.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
What Humidity Does to People
It's so humid outside that I almost left my car in the Target parking lot and swam home.
Luckily, my room is nice and cool (and CLEAN I might add (this is new)).
I've decided that I'm either going to finish For Whom The Bell Tolls tonight or die trying.
It's embarrassing that one book has taken me almost a month to complete.
I blame the heat.
Luckily, my room is nice and cool (and CLEAN I might add (this is new)).
I've decided that I'm either going to finish For Whom The Bell Tolls tonight or die trying.
It's embarrassing that one book has taken me almost a month to complete.
I blame the heat.
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