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halle creative

  • work
  • sparknotes bio
  • (un)domesticated goddess-ish
  • let 'em talk

fitness f(un)atic

(un)domesticated goddess-ish is about the life of a 20 something single city girl gone *gulp* soon-to-be-wed mountain step-mom. 


A cross-country move is daunting. But when it's with your life partner-in-crime to a city where Athleisure is considered dressy, I was immediately more enthusiastic than apprehensive. 

In December I said so long to my 6th Ave apartment of four and a half years. Toodleloo to the dry cleaner I shared an address with yet never gave me a "neighbor" discount. Goodbye to the 2 Bros Pizza on the corner that selfishly stole all of my dollar bills and my size 26 jeans for a year. And hasta la vista to the bits of dried vomit and urine stains (from dogs and otherwise) that found their way onto my doorstep every Sunday morning.

Life in Colorado is different for all the right reasons, but I definitely didn't think it'd take *this* much adjusting. Particularly when it comes to fitness. You see, I was a pretty serious athlete growing up. I played a Division I sport in college, I work out 5-6 days a week, I shop a lot - so yeah, I think I'm a pretty fit human being. 

Then I moved to Boulder, CO. 

One of our first weekends here, we decided to go on - what I thought was - a pretty aggressive hike to a 13K foot summit. And no, I didn't know how to appropriately use "summit" in a sentence prior to this outing. My hiking boots didn't have a speck of mud on 'em yet and I had to borrow some of my fiance's layers (you need a *lot* of gear here. No, like, a lot. Like, we have a ROOM for it.). But I wasn't about to let my rookie appearance let people think I couldn't climb it. Hike it? Whatever.

Five steps in and we see someone taking spikey things off their boots. After learning what the hell microspikes were (you guessed it, more gear we don't have), we quickly learned how much we needed them. But it's fine, I'M AN ATHLETE, ready to eff up my hiking boots.

A few crab walks, "mandatory" snack breaks and a triple salchow later, we reached the top. Pretty damn tired but confident about my climbing/hiking skills, I was ready to scale to the bottom. Until I saw two dudes running - RUNNING - uphill. Not walking with a little bounce to give off that running allusion, I mean heart monitors strapped to their bare chest in December, training for Olympic trials kinda running. 

Ok fine, people train for stuff, SO WHAT?! Then an older woman ran past us, but not before she smiled and waived then continued on her afternoon jaunt. Ok cool, so she's fitter than me AND I wanna bake cookies with her?! I am not worthy. 

At this rate, it'll take me approximately...the rest of my life to be half as fit as these people. 

Tuesday 01.24.17
Posted by sarah halle
 

What the f(un)k?

(un)domesticated goddess-ish is about the life of a 20 something single city girl gone *gulp* soon-to-be-wed mountain step-mom. 


I used to think those little "please curb your dog" signs were so dang cute. It's like saying, hey, we get you think your dog is the cutest, most beautifully crafted creature to grace this earth. So, here's a wee little sign we stuck in the ground considerately asking you to pick up their shit with your hand pointlessly wrapped in plastic.

The signs work 50% of the time 100% of the time, which technically, isn't failure.

So what happens when you live in a city where cement runs rampant and there's nothing to stick those adorable poopie pick-up signs in? Best to keep your head on a swivel, you're constantly dealing with code: poop-suations.

It's my mantra the moment I open our building door. I'm never quite sure what I'll find when I open it. Isn't that part of New York's je ne sais quoi? From homeless people using our door to keep themselves propped up, a missing doorknob, even the occasional vomit stain, I don't just learn to live with it, it becomes part of my routine. After four and a half years, I thought I'd become desensitized. 

That's until I opened my door to the sight, smell and practically emanating heat of a XXL cow pie.

It was neither pie nor was it from a cow. 

I thought, no way. Who could be this blissfully ignorant? Who should be so daring and carefree? Then I looked to the bar next to me: that'll do. 

I leapt out of my apartment the next few days - usually due to my unapologetic happiness over sweater weather, but no. Because of the load of literal human shit hardening outside my door. Every day a few more smears from unsuspecting pedestrians. Poor suckers.

But then finally. RAIN! Mother natures fire hose, ish!

Well a quick heads up, if you're waiting for rain to wash something away...it just smears it. 

Wednesday 11.23.16
Posted by sarah halle
 
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