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For years my running has been lackluster. My three-times-per-week run progressively diminished into a three-times-per-week jog. So, I changed. I fell in love with the elliptical trainers. The ones offered in the gym by my place are similar to these, although ours have individual rails that the pedals/things run along.

Since my Thanksgiving break exercise consisted of little more than extreme doses of situps and pushups, I’ve been itchin’ for some aerobic action. In the past few weeks, with my new elliptical friends at the gym, I’ve been doing 20 or 25 minutes of intense cardio. I’ve accelerated quickly doing this and my heartrate soars during each trip. It’s a great feeling to have my heart beating wildly and it makes me far more alert and able once I finish the workout - overall, an appreciated adrenaline hit.

Tonight I did 25 minutes at my most extreme pace yet. I averaged about 186 strides per minute for the full extent. After 8 minutes, I was dripping sweat like it was raining around me. The sweat was so bad that the track rails were becoming more friction-ful although my pace was so rapid the liquid appeared to evaporate at every instant a pedal guide ran over it. Even still, the machine vibrated for a few seconds under my feet around the 20 minute mark and I saw a black grease being spread from the pedal guides. I didn’t even know that backup lubrication existed. Strange.

These workouts are a blast and walking away from the gym looking like I was pushed into a pool is a nice feeling. Well, it’s an interesting feeling. Maybe not so much nice.

My only gripe was that the scale I weighed myself on prior and following the workout told me that I gained a half-pound. No one ever mentioned to me that I have been attracting matter lately. I’m still deciding on whether that is a good or a bad thing. It’s tough to have celestial powers.

In my efforts to *attempt* to get one serving of meat per week (that’s 3 ounces, people), I mistakenly had two servings yesterday. Red meats, poultry, and many fish are entirely out of my diet now but during my remaining carnivorous lapses, I will occasionally fall back onto some of my favorite foods.

Erin picked me up from Lynchburg for the journey back to VT. We needed something to eat, and after several aborted missions to good food shoppes in the area (it seems 4pm is too late to pick up a veggie wrap at any deli around town) we were lucky to find that the Yellow Submarine was still open. I had an Egg Salad & Cheddar Melt. Wow. Such a simple sandwich and recipe received its justice at that restaurant. I’m not crazy about eggs, despite them still existing on my “very occasional list of acceptable meats I will sometimes consider the possibility of eating”, but this was a fantastic sandwich.

And then we stopped briefly ::cough:: at the Bookshop on the Avenue to peruse their collections. Erin effectively went Christmas shopping for her whole family, while I picked out the most worn down editions of the books I was interested in. Really used books are so much better - the smells!, people, the smells! Anyways, after our very brief 90-minute pitstop, we hit the road with Joe Bean’s coffee and seaweed.

The seaweed came in handy later that night, when, after arriving and unpacking, we made sushi with Alex. Not to imply we chopped Alex up into concentric circles of meat and then wrapped the raw flesh in rice and portobello mushrooms. Erin was the one who did that; I played no part. Mmm.. but we actually purchased some crab meat at Ghetto Kroger for the dish and we each put our cooking or watching-others-cooking skills to work.

Making sushi is surprisingly easy. You might be surprised… surprisingly.

So with two servings of meat (maybe three, since that egg salad sandwich had plenty o’ egg) under my belt, I can safely head into the new year without consuming any more animal friends.

A Thanksgiving trip to Maryland again filled my stomach with many good things. However, the VT gyms aren’t open until Monday, if I am correct, so I’ll let the damage settle before getting back into my sveltest shape. And “sveltest” is not a word… yet.

Two.5 weeks remain in the semester and I intend to toil every moment away. If you see me around campus and I am without reply, forgive my unsocial passing for I am weary. If you see me and I am far beyond elated to talk with you, forgive my extroverted latching for I haven’t seen the warm body of another human in many hours.

But most likely, I will be just the same. Although come final exams, things change and my motivation is turned up to eleven; yet, I will still manage to have fun. And I urge you to take pictures of those moments. Because I can’t. I am still without a camera. ::curses BestBuy, curses::

I dreamt of zombies this morning. By this morning, I mean around 4 or 5am. The setting was unfamiliar and so were the characters; granted, I wasn’t expecting to recognize any of the zombies as the undead themselves, but I just didn’t know any of the people involved, living or un-living.

But, one of the people was striking like Piggy from Lord of the Flies - annoying and pestering know-it-all who had poor timing, hygiene, and looks. But I shouldn’t beat up on the Piggy-character in my dream. Although, I did. I hit him with a shovel when he became a zombie. Not that a blow to the skull with a shovel would slow a zombie down. Or.. at least, I thought he was a zombie. I don’t recall him having the conventional dead flesh and askew facial expression; but he was in the way of me temporarily disabling the zombies and he got brutally pummeled with the lot of them.

So for a while, me and some arbitrary friends warded off zombies in some large house that we became trapped in. I recall no other method of defense apart from the shovels, although I do remember holding a garden hoe for a while and ramming that into the undead for some time. As far as zombie stories and dreams go, I wouldn’t say this was extraordinary. I don’t believe anything heroic at all came of our unfortunate endeavor. Neither do I even remember how we got into the situation in the first place.

I’m not even sure it occurred at night, as would be expected. I suppose, upon waking and ridding myself of the morning confusion, it made me have even more appreciation for my favorite spin-off, Shaun of the Dead. Not that it’s my favorite, but it is a spin-off.

Having this wealth of free time has left me in a stasis, so to speak. So much so that I browsed Target today. I’ll say it again… I browsed Target today. At some point, I would look at my cell phone to check the time and then sigh and continue walking in circles. Were there more things to do in Lynchburg - an H&M would be nice - I could possibly enjoy this time, but I feel drained. Much of my time has been spent either snacking or working out intensely. I’ve likely done around fifteen hundred situps so far this break. After a while I just feel like falling asleep (which I’ve done plenty of too). Thus goes the dreary life in Lburg. Although, I am very much looking forward to visiting the Bookshop on the Avenue tomorrow with Rianna. That will be a delight, I’m sure.

I began reading The Catcher in the Rye yesterday. This happens to be one of the books I purchased at the BotA in May. I heart buying used books, and I frankly dread and avoid new books. My copy of Catcher has been so abused that it has been falling apart as I am reading. The cover cracks into pieces as I shuffle it into a more comfortable grasp and edges of the pages will disentegrate as my fingers brush past. My future library will be composed of books like this - books that have been touched and pages that have curled, bent, or dog-eared (most likely by me). Writing about the level of intimacy I partake in with my books makes me want to read. And that I shall.

Rianna and I met up at The European Cafe for lunch today, and it was closed. The hours, according to the sign behind the window, said they should be open at the hour (actually, open at 7am) but the neon OPEN sign was turned off and all interior lights were equally dimmed. I was upset (kind of looking forward to warm pita & hummus for lunch) but we made our way to one of the other tiny restaurants in Wyndhurst, The Fat Tuna. ’twas good, but not like pita & hummus good. Nothing is like pita & hummus good. Except, perhaps, pumpkin pie.

We had a great talk. A great talk. There is no other person alive, I would say, that I genuinely enjoy every minute of our conversation or not-conversation. Our silences and glances tell tales too, and laughter or shock could result from a raising of the eyebrow just as much as a dark, verbal confession. I always love our talks.

Upon returning back to the cars, I checked out the Euro Cafe again to see what was up. What was up was very strange. Two people had pulled up to the cafe and were loading items from inside into their van. At first, I thought this peculiar, but I looked and watched further. These two people were grabbing all kinds of stuff from the previously-locked shop - wines, tortillas, glasses, even some showy decorations.

The more I think about it, the more confused I am. I have been checking local news online to hear about any recent robberies at said cafe, but would be also as upset to hear that The European Cafe has closed its doors already. In a short period of time, they have become my favorite local spot, and I would be in tears if they decided to shut down. I just wish I had asked one of the two if the store was closed permanently or if they were ransacking the unattended goods. At one point, the man brought out two boxes of wine bottles. Maybe I should have asked for a few pounds of coffee. And a scone.