The Gap Between Imagination and Action

 

I was experiencing a lot more muscle stiffness on Tuesday than I was on the Monday, the day after my dozen mile repeats.

So, taking heed from Jeff Galloway I eased off and ran a comparatively comfortable 6 K last night. It was beneficial to loosen up my leg muscles and move some oxygentated blood through them. I probably won't go hard again until Friday and then top it off with 40 K on Sunday.

It was also the day before Seymour's 56th birthday and we surprised him with a cake and a stack of pizzas. I limited myself to two slices of chicken pizza and a rather obscene piece of chocolate cake which not even I could finish. Probably a twinge of guilt... Of course in anticipation of the evenings festivities I had two slices of dry toast and peanut butter for breakfast, an apple and a banana and a Greek slad for lunch with four ounces of chicken breast on the side. It sucks to be healthy sometimes... But the scale said 186 this morning.

Had a lovely lunch with a friend and the topic of people finishing what they started came up. In the course of my strange little life I have undertaken some rather bizarre journeys; literal and philosophical, pyschological and spiritual, metaphorical, even physical. I have travelled extensively and seen a few countries, gotten a couple of degrees, written a handful of screenplays, run a marathon or two and longer, started and run a few companies (most of them into the ground), been married, divorced, bankrupt, made a film and been here and there and what-have-you in-between. Etcetera. Etcetera. Etcetera.

In forty-six years I think I can say I have gotten around a little bit. There hasn't been much rhyme or reason to what I have done other than when I have wanted to do something I have simply gone and done it.

My friend has zoomed through a couple of post-graduate degrees at a reasonably precocious (sp?) age and now teaches at a local university. As we talked about marathons, and writing and the endless struggle to finish projects, I couldn't help but be struck by the numbers of people in life - a preponderance in fact - who talk a better game than they live.

I described it as the gap between imagination and action. I have lost track of the number of people who have told me over the years that they have always wanted to; and here you can pick just about anything - travel, write a book or a screenplay, run a marathon or pursue any other number of dreams and in the end after only the most cursory of attempts nothing ever comes of it.

By no stretch of the imagination do I hold myself up as possessing any extraordinary virtues or talents whatsoever. If anything I think of myself as a grandly deluded amateur with a wide variety of interests, a jack-of-all-trades and master of none that I can think of... A fuck-up of epic proportions, who, when I finally do get something right, or even more absurdly, finished, I tend to chalk it up to luck, circumstances, good fortune, favours from the Gods and a propitious wind at my back.

I will say that I do possess a kind of stubborn obstinancy that passes for tenacity. But for the life of me I do not understand why you would say you want to do something - and then not simply go out and do it.

Call me crazy I guess, but it seems pretty simple.

If you want to go on a trip, buy a map and a ticket.

If you want to run a marathon, run around the block.

Write a book? A page a day and at the end of the year you have one.

The biggest and most grandiose of ideas, the longest of life's journies, are all started with small steps.