The Book Report: August

The path to my book of the month recommendation was curving. I spent some time on the trainer this summer, doing intervals on days when I knew I wouldn't otherwise be able to ride because of scheduling conflicts. It isn't elegant, or sexy in cyclist terms, but trainer time gets the job done, and in a controlled environment no less. Most days I would flip on a documentary to appease the nerd within, but one day I scrolled through Netflix while I warmed up and saw Silver Linings Playbook.

I had been skeptical, mostly because I try to avoid movies and books that are over-hyped. Silver Linings Playbook fell into that catagory, however Jennifer Lawrence costars, and I think she's pretty great. My only point of reference is shameful: The Hunger Games movies. I digress.

A couple of clicks, and I was watching the story play out. I remembered reading someplace that the movie was based on a book, and felt intrigue rising as I slaughtered myself over and over in zone 5a. I finished the workout part of the way into the movie, and stopped it immediately. I grabbed my Kindle, downloaded a copy of the book, and vowed not to watch the rest until I was finished reading.

My two cents: I think this may be a good way to approach book-into-movie titles. Watch the first in the series, or watch the first twenty minutes of the movie, so you have the outlines of characters painted in your mind. Actually, that's a terrible idea. Always read the book first. But if you find yourself gatewayed into something like this, it's not all bad, to have J-Law and the fellow from the movie acting out the roles in your mind.

The book is excellent. I am also generally wary of modern pop fiction, but found the mild suspense of the main character's condition enticing, the interaction of characters realistic and believable, and the subject matter important. Mental health problems are not shameful, no more so than a broken leg should be an embarassment. We have to address this socially, and normalization through pop fiction is fine by me.

The movie, after reading the book, pales by comparison. The performances are great, but the script feels lacking when held up against the original piece, and that is hard to deal with.

My advice:
Watch the first half hour of the movie... until the first time the main characters argue in the diner.
Read the book.
Skip the rest of the movie.

Would I recommend this book to a friend: Undoubtedly.
Warnings: If you're not into f-bombs, maybe skip this. But I think it's an effing awesome read.

I broke my resolution, and gained perspective

I didn't hold up my resolution last month. There would be no two July blog posts. No book report.

I was in a funk. I think I'm just coming out of it. I felt like I was battering myself in training and getting not-so-far. Everything felt hard for a while, on the bike and off. I'm not sure why. We all go through days like that, weeks, months, years of effort stacking up and leaving us feeling weak emotionally and physically. The flip side, neglect, also adds up, haunts us, and finally jumps out of the closet and leaves us laying on the bed in the dark, wishing for a free pass to the past, or a sweet one hour reprieve from the grief. But I wouldn't change my past, since it has made me who I am now: a strong girl, a funny-fun-tough mom, and a sweet wife. The hard things I've dealt with have made me tender, on the other side. Some of those hard things I seized on by choice. Some of them fell into my lap. Training = choice. Oral surgery = not really something I raised my hand and requested. More like a "please teacher, don't pick me," sort of question.

In the midst of my fog, I somehow forgot that I write for me. I want for the things I compose, these pourings out of my heart, to be something people enjoy, thoughts with which they can find a place of identity and stronghold in the good times and bad. Sometimes I want this to be lighthearted, to not be just about bikes, or somedays to only write about two wheels. In the in-betweens, there are beers, little feet playing footsie at the breakfast table in a beam of broken morning sunlight streaming through the window, break-down days, words consumed like food, words not consumed like food because no one wants to read a book they don't love, dinners dished, millions of pedal strokes turned, some fast and some slow, all of life wrapped up in this one long run-on sentence of sweet, crazy, beautiful moments. Occasionally the dark, shitty, and confusing make an appearance, as storm clouds looming on the horizon in my periodless life, but that's all part of the run-on sentence, too.

I neglected to remember that this forum for my thoughts isn't performance art, built to impress the outside. It isn't a novel for sale, or even an autobiography really. It isn't auto-tuned and perfected. Life on the Big Chainring is art at its grittiest, my train of thought coupled together and sent down the rails, clanking along to its destination. I can be who I am here. It is my baby, whom I'd like to see grow, but love to keep small. Writing, words... they're such a part of me. I feel better when I'm spilling them out, keystroke by keystroke, penstroke by penstroke, instead of holding them in. I can't neglect this craft and get better. But my goal shouldn't be improvement, not here; this is my story. I want to tell it. It's the only way to simultaneously extinguish the fire inside and keep it alive, to sustain the burn.