Woodstock and the 12-Year-Old

Another 10 minutes on the treadmill this morning, this time listening to my Woodstock album. I hoped to keep in the spirit of the 40-year anniversary celebration. Funny thing is, though, I was only 12 when Woodstock happened, and, even if I'd been 18 or 20, I doubt very seriously I would have ventured north to see what all the hoopla was all about. In fact, I doubt I would've been networked enough to even know about the festival. Sure, there was plenty of rock in Chattanooga, on the turntables and FM radio, but that sort of intrepid hippy/flower power doings simply wasn't happening in Chatta-vegas, as we loving call our "large town."

The bagel for breakfast gave way to a late lunch of an apple and a craisen/walnut mixture. It was delicious! After work we ate at Souper! Salad!, and I avoided animal products altogether. I wasn't to keen on the vegan route--and I'm still not convinced--but I need to get ye olde cholesterol down.

I splurged for the 40th anniversary boxed set of Woodstock, the movie. I'd never seen it in its entirity--still haven't; watched about 3/4 of disc 1 (of 3), and will watch the rest tomorrow--but it's certainly in keeping with the mood.

You know, the nearby Bonnaroo festival is only about an hour away in Manchester, Tennessee, so perhaps I'll "get my Woodstock on" and go to that celebrated, world-class festival. I'm not interested in drugs or sex with strangers, and I doubt I'll run naked in the rain/mud, but I could see myself braving the heat and noise to camp within hearing distance of some mighty good music . . .

Treadmill Ten

I'm sure that ten minutes on a treadmill at 2 mph is NOTHING to most of you, but, to me--in my particular physical shape--it is similar to most of you running a complete mile. Ten minutes a day for a week is a decent goal, I think. I can increase both the time and speed incrementally each week until I'm a Greek god.

Yeah, right.

You can also follow my progress on youtube.com. My account name is killfromtheheart, if you are interested.

Ahead: Where shall I find a scale that can document my progress? Stay tuned . . .

Begin the Begin

Thus begins my first blog. At 52.5 years of age, I choose to put myself out there, as it were, as I go about the business of saving my life. I mean this not only denotatively, but connotatively, as well.

I am obese. I have high cholesterol. My legs hurt most of the time causing me to gimp along. I need to lose weight.

I also need to talk. I'm not even that interested in anyone listening. As a child of the 60s and 70s, I'm acutely aware of Andy Warhol's truism that everyone in the future would be famous for fifteen minutes. I wonder if he said that because he believed it would be true, or did he know that we would all clamor to be seen, heard, verified some way?

Anyway . . . here I go.