Charting one woman's journey
to the body of a goddess.

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February 10, 2005

Today, I think the Fatastic Journal is going to start to sport a different look.  My attention span to exercise is that of a gnat.  I've been trying to find something, anything that will inspire me to do what I need to do.  I have a great treadmill.  I have a great exercise bike.  I have an exercise ball. I have resistance tubes.  I have videos and DVDs out the wazoo.  I have a mini-trampoline. I could exercise every day of the week and not do the same thing twice.  Truthfully, I hate it all.  Since we're in the balmy 40's here in Grizzly Flats, California, I took it upon myself yesterday to go for a walk.  About 50 minutes later, I was dragging my half-dead self up my driveway.  My feet felt like they had flippers attached and weren't working well or hitting the ground right.  My shins were sore the rest of the day and I was a little off balance.  I really do realize that it's not supposed to be fun.  It's just SO not fun!

Today, I did the same thing.  Forgot my watch, but took a pedometer with me.  I did (evidently) 2.32 miles and 5094 steps.  Again, I was pretty sure I was going to collapse into a huge, asystolic puddle, twitching and foaming at the mouth.  It was terrible.  The air was crisp and clear.   Temperature was OK.  I felt alright for the first mile, but after that, it was terrible.

I did, however, take my camera this time, which is where the new look comes in.  If I am going to do this (and so far,  I guess I will), I want to at least be doing it for some reason other than the fact that I overate for about 15 years.  Katrina Rasbold:  Photojournalist.  I figure I can at least look for things to share with you each day.  That will also make me more accountable while it lasts.  Do I sound cynical?  Oh well, Cynics (and stretch pants) R Us.

When I was little and saw signs like this, I used to think the road
was unfinished.

A typical Grizzly Flats driveway.  We're high fallutin' 'cause we
have gravel.

I used to pay money to get these at Christmas time.  Now they're
all over the place.

Awww.  Gonna be a Christmas tree when he groes up.

And his friends.

??!!  Some Starsky and Hutch fan after my heart.  Hello Antonio

This house is on the market.  Here is the metro listing.  Anyone
want to be my neighbor?  Better hurry!  The equity is climbing
by about $15,000 or so a month up here!

Woodhenge or a tree graveyard?

This sign was next to the tree graveyard, I guess to justify killing
these old soldiers.






[insert steaming emerald envy here]

This place also had those white, lighted reindeer hooked up to a real sleigh.
I was going to take a picture of it, but there was a guy working in the yard
and he wasn't excited about my photo taking.

The only evidence of litter I saw in over 2 miles, with the exception
of a cigarette butt.


Picture didn't come out well.  I wanted to show you the Christmas lights
on the roof.  This is VERY common. Most people not only do not take
down their lights, but light them up each night.  I kind of like it and
Christmas decorations after January 1st have always grated on me.

I'm not really this wide.  I was wearing a giant fleece shirt that billows.


I'm having wood envy.  >:<

This is also common:  homemade road signs.

I was walking for about a mile and a half and following some inner
compass that said the road I was on, that I'd never been on before,
would take me to the end of my road on which I'd also never been.
This stop sign was my beacon of hope.

As it turned out, it was even better.  That road turned into my road!
Score!  This is actually "Logan's Run."  No sign calling it that, but that
is what it's called, just like "Four Corners" and "Guttenberger Corner"
have no sign legitimizing them.

Another angle on Logan's Run (70's sci fi fans are alll atingle now).
Road narrows, um, yeah.  Narrows to the width of a sedan and the
road goes STRAIGHT down the mountain, cutting off about 15
minutes or so from the drive if you take the short cut.  It's not for
wussies or tourists.  I, of course, take it at about 40mph.

"Trucks not advised?"  Should read, "HUMANS not advised."

Pfft.  Everything here has a view.

Pant Pant Pant.  Only 200 feet straight up to Grizzly Peak (also with
no sign) to get to my house.  Took me a while.  They did NOT change
the population sign when we moved in.  Harrumph.

I think the FH stands for "fucking hell," as in, "Why in the... did I do this?"

More tomorrow?  Maybe?



December 27, 2004 - February 9, 2005

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