Posts Tagged ‘bicycle riding’

Ice, Ice Baby

July 29, 2014

And not the diamonds.

No.

Just the ice.

Actually, let me upgrade.

Ice, ice, peas.

Peas.

Tanks.

Fuck me man.

I am over this.

I am over it and than some.

I am just tired, is what it is.  Worn out.  Sacked out.  Beat down.

And it’s just Monday.

Eek.

I will get through, I am sure I will, but I was tired so quickly today and my ankle was much sorer than I thought it would be, is that grammatically correct, sorer?

What ever it is, it, said ankle was really tender today and all the muscles around it were in protest too, like hey, ankle, snap out of it, we be tired of carrying the brunt of the weight, get on some support.

By the end of the day I just felt like it had all been sucked right out.

And it was a lovely day with the boys, they were sweet as pie, it was great to see them, they were super lovey and I got lots of hugs and even a little down time with naps.

Not as much as I could have used, but I snatched thirty minutes of down time with a moment to put up the foot and chill.

I began to wonder if I was coming down with something, my energy just way low.

And a friend shared his experience around a broken leg and it was an aha moment for me.

He said that it was almost harder when it started to heal because he realized how weak he had become.

That is what I feel like, weak.

And I have felt weak and vulnerable for weeks now, and it just makes me tired.  I have been showing up for work and showing up for commitments and trying to go, go, go, and not like my normal pace, but just a little bit, and I can’t seem to muster it.

I know this will pass and in that there is the relief.

Today just felt interminable.

But it is a feeling and they pass, just like the days pass, time passes, the world moves on and before I can blink I will be onto something else, some other adventure to ruminate on, some other part of myself or my body or being to “improve” something to learn and grow around.

Part of the exhaustion, I must admit, seemed mental too.

I have been thinking about a story piece and working on it and the performance is tomorrow and I just could not wrap my head around practicing more for it, writing more on it, then going and doing it tomorrow after I got done with work, commuting on more public transportation down to the Mission/SOMA border, being there, then commuting back to the beach.

I really wanted to cry when I thought about it.

I had the piece on my mind all day long and wrote and rewrote it in my head and thought about re-visiting old blogs to get inspiration and it all just seemed like too much work.

I might be trying to go to fast here, the intuitive thought, perhaps next month, perhaps not tomorrow.

And.

Maybe just pause and wait until tomorrow and see how you feel.

Maybe I will feel amazing and excited and want to go perform and even if it’s just to be bad, since I have not had a lot of practice telling it, just mostly the writing of it, because bad is better than not at all.

I kept admonishing myself, just show up, that’s half the battle.

That’s where most of the work is for me.

Just showing up.

Sitting down in front of my laptop and opening up the blog page and just letting the words roll down the page like alphabet rain.

I know that part of this too is that I don’t want to disappoint someone who has made the suggestion to me to go and have this experience.  I take all her suggestions, or almost all, I am realizing, if there’s one or two I haven’t taken it’s rare.

This would be me not taking the suggestion, show up and be horrible and have fun with it.

I took the other suggestions she gave me over the weekend about getting a little notebook to jot down creative ideas, I usually carry something with me anyhow, but I picked up a special little guy just for more writing down of the stuffs.

I like the idea of being bad, well, sort of, I really want to show up and be perfect, but I know that’s not possible and the stress of being perfect is not worth the effort, I am too tired for it.

I like the idea of being of service.

“That’s what creatives are, they are being of service by putting their art into the world,” she told me Saturday.  “You are of service to the audience, it’s not about you.  What can you bring to the performance?”

My tired ass self.

I did give her a call today after I got done with work and just expressed how I was struggling with it, not so much the writing, I got that down, at least the bones and musculature, it needs a little fleshing out, but I could extemporarize it quite well, I believe; but the idea of just getting there.

That’s what was exhausting.

And it made me long for my bicycle and that bums me out, not being on my bike, really just bums me the fuck out.

I miss it so bad.

I miss the feeling of being free on the road and the wind on my face and my legs moving underneath me without pain, just moving, like pistons, clocking the distance down Lincoln or through the park.

Exercise is important to me too because it helps stave off that low-level depression that can sneak up on me when I am not as active and that could be some of this too, tiny bit of depression, woven in with a smidgen of self-pity, some physical discomfort and pain, and voila.

Perfect cocktail of “tired the fuck out.”

I will wait for tomorrow to make my final verdict.

Tomorrow is another day.

Tonight is for tea and rest.

And iced peas.

Hello Gorgeous

March 10, 2014

I said to myself this morning as I looked in the mirror.

That is not my typical response, just so you know.

I felt and still do feel, really pretty today.

Perhaps it was the sleeping in.

I could not believe I slept in so long.  It wasn’t until nearly lunch time that I realized that I had not actually slept in.  It was Daylight Savings time.

Oops.

I still felt good.

Really good.

I went for a bike ride along the beach.  I got some grocery shopping in.

Actually, a lot of grocery shopping in.  I went to three different stores–SafeWay, Noriega Produce, and Other Avenues.  Each had something I needed to get and I really want to stay with this habit of prepping my food for the week.

It is so helpful.

I actually have opened up my fridge a few times and was tempted to take a photograph of all the goodness.

Homemade chili in Mason jars: grass-fed, organic ground sirloin, browned with organic onion and garlic, hot soaked red and white organic beans (navy and kidney) black olives (I know chili does not typically have black olives, but the version I like the best is my mom’s, shocker, and her’s does include black olives and celery), fire roasted tomatoes, cayenne, chili powder, sea salt, Spike, black pepper, organic beef broth.

I also made a pot of brown rice and then packed it all up, froze two batches of it and canned the rest.

Then there’s organic Japanese sweet potatoes, carrots, the rest of the celery, Earth Balance, Nancy’s Organic plain, non-fat yogurt, organic low-fat string cheese, bottled water, Stumptown coffee in a jar for iced coffees–it’s going to be warm this week–unsweetened vanilla almond milk, organic Omega 3 brown eggs, Veganaise, lemon humus, organic strawberries and black berries, and left over Tom Yum soup from Thai Cottage.

It’s a pretty looking fridge.

I remember once a friend coming over to my house in Madison and being shocked at the amount of food in my fridge, and I was living alone at the time.

My fridge then probably looked something like this: cheese, big block of medium or mild cheddar, gallon of milk, mayonnaise–Hellman’s, the big jar, not the small one, I mean why, sliced turkey sandwich meat, potato bread or maybe wheat bread, but probably potato I liked how soft it was, tomatoes, pickles, iceberg lettuce for the sandwiches, beer, couple of growlers from the Angelic–the Bitter and maybe the Nut-brown, but probably the Bitter, Framboise, eggs, white potatoes for baked potatoes, sour cream, bagels, cream cheese, white tortillas, butter, in the freezer, ice cream, ice, vodka, frozen fruit for making frozen margaritas, on top of the fridge, lots of booze, good stuff, you know, top shelf, I liked to entertain.

In the cupboards boxed cereal, Bisquick, flour, sugar, brown and white and powdered, baking chocolate, white chocolate, cherry preserves, fruit in heavy syrup, chocolate chips and nuts for baking, baking soda, baking powder, maybe oatmeal, but not for breakfast, for baking, table salt, molasses, heavy corn syrup, popcorn.

I was a Midwestern kind of gal.

Now.

Not so much, but there are shades of her still here, and I like that, I don’t need to change that, I can just recall fondly when I would make fried chicken and potato salad and corn on the cob with gobs of butter and salt and chocolate cake and drink a big cold glass of milk with it all.

Then.

A cigarette and a beer or a soda.

I liked Coke.

Not the powder.

That came later.

Part of being pretty is taking care of myself, I know that now, I can see it clearly and as my food continues to be clean I am feeling really good and that to me is noticeable.

Plus the warm weather today did not hurt in the least.

It was glorious to ride my bicycle outside, to run errands, to sit and eat the meal I prepped for the road, had a 6:30p.m. commitment at Church and Market, that I ate with a bottle of sparkling water outside the Church Street Cafe.

Used to be that when I was out exercising I would use that as an excuse to eat whatever I wanted.

I remember going with my ex-boyfriend to the gym, he did not need it he had the metabolism of an angry hummingbird, and then after going to the McDonald’s on East Washington and eating a double quarter-pounder with cheese meal and yes, please supersize the fries, with a coke, easy on the ice.

Blech.

So happy I don’t do that to myself anymore.

It’s Spring around here and I am feeling fit and sassy and sexy and gorgeous.

And it’s ok to say that.

I don’t often acknowledge myself as being attractive.

I could today and I am going to let myself have that feeling and take it with me to bed.

I don’t know what the morrow will bring, so revel in these moments while I can.

I have a tendency to see myself differently, I don’t know if it’s body dysmorphia, could be, I am not one to self-diagnose, but I do know that I don’t have a good perspective on what I look like.

I look like me.

I tend to think that I look like how I feel.

I felt good today, sweet, well rested (even if it was just a trick of Daylight Savings, it worked), and pretty.

Happy.

Serene.

I mean, not much happened, but that’s an ok thing too.

A long bike ride, a home-made meal, sunshine, the swell of the ocean waves as they crumbled over themselves.  I saw a dolphin leap through a wave as I was cycling to the grocery store.

How’s that for scenic?

The ride to the grocery store is along the ocean, I take 46th to Lincoln, hop over to la Playa, then ride along the bike path to the SafeWay.

It’s like when I lived in Paris and I got to see Sacre Couer every time I went to the post office or to hop on the Metro at Anvers.

I live a damn good life.

Maybe that’s it.

My life is gorgeous.

Either way.

I will take it.


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