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My deepest condolences to Amanda Jo Earhart-Savell's family and friends. I am shocked, dismayed, and saddened by the turbulent events that took Amanda's life way too swiftly and with such horrific violence. Why on earth would anyone hurt a young woman with so much promise, such a big heart, and a smile brighter than sunshine? I cannot even comprehend this tragedy, cannot wrap my brain around it. Amanda was there for me in my time of need, and while our paths traveled in different directions these past couple of years, my heart and soul will never forget the helping hand she provided to me. I wish I had the ability to turn back time, make mountains move, let bygones be bygones, and returned the favor to her in time to save her future. May she rest in peace. May there be stadium stairs, rolling hills, and treadmills galore for her to run. She's on the big stage now. Shine, girl. Shine. And never stop smiling. You are teaching me tough lessons even though you are gone. My deepest, deepest, deepest sympathies to all who knew her, looked up to her, loved her. Photos below courtesy of Weiferd Watts.
I had my fake nails removed this past week. This doesn't seem like a coming-of-age ritual or a life-changing event that warrants a discussion such as the one I'm about to provide to you. And in actuality, I probably wouldn't even mention the incident to hardly a soul. But I noticed something as I drove away from the salon, my short, newly painted nails shimmering and winking at me in an iridescent pink that took me a solid 14 minutes to select. I felt things I hadn't felt in a good six months. I had the pink and white set applied to my nails back in July, as preparation for the start of what was supposed to be a two-show season. Heavy, cumbersome, but beautiful, the nails were a necessary addition to an NPC figure ensemble (along with heels, Protan, rhinestones, velvet, and…oh yeah, sans muscles…oops, did I say that aloud?). I kept them throughout the two bodybuilding shows and entered off season with the outrageous things attached to my fingers.
Here's the thing about fake nails, though. They look positively radiant the first week. The second week, they're pretty but in need of polishing and trimming. The third week they turn into a mess on your hands causing you to shove your hands into the pockets of your pants so no one sees how far behind you've gotten in your nail upkeep. But it wasn't until the acetone had completely eaten away every last remnant of the artificial matter, and the weakened nail bed beneath was filed, buffed, polished, and dried that I realized how much sensation there is in fingertips. My hands felt delicate, fragile, tiny. Almost like a newborn's. But the remarkable thing? The nerve endings jumped for joy as my hands reached for this and swept across that. New sensations coursed through me…ones I hadn't experienced in six months. It was as though my hands had gone through a rebirth.
I look at the entire year of 2006 as one of rebirth. I didn't just remove some artificial nails this year and find myself experiencing new textures. I removed a sensation of trying to conform to someone else's ideal of the perfect body. And in return, I won the right to feel the curves and textures of my own body, a piece of clay of which I commandeered ownership and began to reshape, inch by inch by inch. I already see portions of the transformation. At 27 weeks out from the Team Universe, I see a hint of separation in my quads, a more exaggerated roundness to my glutes, a more substantiated thickness in my back. I am currently rejoicing in the revisited experience of lifting heavily with my legs. My last leg press lift: 545 pounds for 12 reps after weighing in at just 115 pounds that morning. Enough said.
I never want to hand someone else a leash and pull my hair up and bend my head forward so they can enclose my neck with that little piece of leather and yank me in his or her direction. Never. Never. Never. I am the sole owner of my body. I make the decisions around here.
I've recently become hooked on the HBO series, “Six Feet Under.” How I missed this one, I'll never know (well, except for the fact that I'm typically at the gym when most of these critically acclaimed shows are on TV). For those who don't know, this series is about a family that lives in and runs a funeral home. Each episode begins with a death…and in a sense, a rebirth, for each character learns a little more by the time the show had ended. Sometimes that knowledge is rejuvenating. And sometimes it's downright painful. Introspection is never easy.
I've always been acutely aware of my own mortality, the slippage of time through my newly manicured fingers, and my desire to make the most of my life. Have I done just that? Made the most of my life? Have I walked in the right direction each time I've encountered a crossroads? Always chosen wisely? Am I where I want to be if I were to die today? No.
But then again, if I were, what would I have to live for? So while I haven't seen everything I want to and haven't experienced everything I want to and haven't said everything I want to as often as I want to to the people around me, I do know I've seen, experienced, and said a hell of a lot. Thank goodness I have more things to see and more things to experience and more things to say. I wouldn't want to feel as though the dirt road of possibilities stopped here.
There wouldn't be a need for rebirth if that were the case.
And so it seems, I have more traveling to do.
Happy New Year to all. And may you all experience new sensations…not just in your fingertips but your hearts and minds.
Jodi
Jodi
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