Lest we forget: life is so achingly fragile, and there are no second chances.

A week ago today was the fourth anniversary of my father's death. That morning, I asked myself the kind of question that defines the difference between adulthood and childhood: "If I had no more chances after today, what would be my greatest regret?"

For me, the answer was clear. Something about the day, the anniversary—something indefinable and pressing—meant that I spent that morning finally doing something about it. Actions that may or may not get written about here. It's too personal, and has ramifications on lives not my own. Even if I could write it, I am not sure that I should.

Today, after a crossword-and-cat-induced nap, we dressed and headed out for Indian food, at a restaurant in which we are regulars ("No bread tonight?") and came home to a message on the answering machine.

He was the "striped pajamas guy." I still don't know his name, nor did I, until today, know how long I'd seen him in the gym. He was a fixture, just someone that I saw a lot, and someone who put the weight racks through their paces.I spoke to him for the first time today. I brought my dumbbells to my bench at the back of the room, and looked over at the terrifying stack of weights on his bench. Note to self. Don't piss off the guys that bench over 300.

"I envy you that."

"Yeah, well, I've been off for a while. I'm capable of better. This bugs me."

"Funny, I've been saying that myself."

I swallowed my pride and stuck my head into Lynn's office and said, "Can I talk to you?" He walked out of his office, we propped up elbows on the front desk, and I told him about the upcoming hiking trip. I told him about deciding to do my best to prep my body for the trip, and asked if he had suggestions. "Fix your quads. Fix your back. You're gonna use those on the trail more than you realize." Then he grinned, an evil grin that I've learned can only mean heavy physical exertion is about to be suggested, and pointed. "You know what you need, right?"

"Oh, God. What?"

You know me. I make a plan, and I sink into it. I was told yesterday by a friend that he envies my focus, and perhaps it's true; I perceive myself as scatterbrained but maybe it's not so much so as I tend to think. The books scattered across multiple rooms would certainly belie that opinion.Life's been odd lately.

I've been trying to put it into words and have thrown every attempt away; the entry I quickly entitled 'braille night' has been rewritten at least seven times, with every attempt causing me more frustration and leaving me nothing but silence here.

Two years ago, I made myself a promise. I had no idea when the promise would be kept, or how, but that there would come a day when I could turn my thoughts inward and know that I'd be satisfied. In theory, it was so incredibly simple. In practice, it has taken two years, a radical life change, and much effort to pursue.

I will not let my weight dictate what I can or cannot do in this life.

The fat girl struggling on the elliptical survived by reminding herself of all the things she wanted to be able to do. Climb stairs. Dance. Run.

Hike.

The incantation remains the same:

Memory, leave me something - I lose so much on a daily basis; give me this, on days when I was happy, for the days that will inevitably come when I am not, so that I may remember the taste of these moments that, inevitably, go…
— 'Rockies on my right,' 10 October 2004