I have never been a fan of exercise for its own sake. As recorded in this blog, I have taken up swimming—because it’s like flying, because I can do it lying down, because against all odds I’ve become good at it, because there are a dozen ways to play in the water if I don’t feel like logging dutiful laps. I’ve taken up riding horses because I’ve loved horses since I was so high. I’ve taken up roller derby because I have a screw loose.
But pushups? Situps? Planks, leg lifts, jumping jacks, jogging? These are the behaviors of the confirmed ath-a-lete, the sweat monkey, the endorphin junkie. Not yours truly.
The Legion of Super-Heroes, a superhero team that debuted in 1958, has come and gone more often than William Shatner, and with just as great a variety of incarnations. It is usually easy to account for their comic’s demise — poor sales has done them in at least half a dozen times. But why do they keep on coming back? That is unusual — we see no revivals of Brother Power the Geek or Sugar N Spike. Something must account for the LSH’s enduring appeal. 
We are halfway between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox. In the northern hemisphere, the earth is waking, responding to the lengthening days, the beginnings of warmth. We dare to hope for more signs of spring, in the garden, in the sky. They are small and few, but they are there. New buds on branches, still tightly furled. Thawing ice, shrinking patches of snow. Birds frantic and frenetic in their courtship. New babies in barn and fold.
Some years back I spent a year in Los Angeles in the Writers Film Project workshop sponsored by Chesterfield Films and Amblin Entertainment. I thoroughly enjoyed the year, and found out a number of things about myself including that I have terrible Movie Star Antennae:
SARAH’S FLORENCE TRAVEL DIARY, DAY 1