Posts Tagged ‘exercise’

All The Pretty Bicycles

August 5, 2017

I got another donation today for the ALC!

Aids LifeCycle that is.

I’m registered to do the ride next June, just scant weeks after I graduate with my Masters degree in Psychology.

That’s going to be one hell of a month, let me tell you.

I suspect though, that the riding and training are going to be just exactly what I need to not be too focused on school, graduation, my internship, all of that.

The exercise will be good for me.

Aside from fine tuning my legs and ass.

I miss by bicycle commuter legs and derrier, let me tell you.

Yoga is nice and I’m totally loving my increased flexibility, but my bicycle behind has gone the way of my one speed parked in my garage since I started doing all my commuting on my scooter.

Aside.

It fucking rained this morning!

I heard it and registered it while I was sitting and wrapping up my morning writing.

I remember thinking, “that’s weird, it sounds like it’s raining.”

But I didn’t really think it was raining.

It was raining.

I got to ride my scooter to work in the wet and I was not anticipating that this morning.

It ended up being fine and the rain ceased a bit when I got to the Inner Sunset and Laguna Honda was dry, it did rain a little bit in Glen Park, but it passed by the time I was done with work.

Thank God.

I don’t like riding when it’s wet.

I didn’t like it on my bicycle.

I don’t like it on my scooter.

I can do it on either, although I have not tried riding my one speed to my job in Glen Park.

I could.

But man.

It would be a haul.

I would have to avoid the hills, I couldn’t make it up the big hills.

I would have to go around.

Making the 6.6 mile commute to work about 8.5 miles.

This means heading all the way up Lincoln, cut through the Pan Handle, take the Wiggle, hit 17th to Valencia, Valencia to 30th and Church and I would still have to climb Chenery to Fairmount.

It would likely take me 50 minutes on my bicycle.

On my once speed, on a road bike I bet I could winnow it down to 45 minutes.

I can scooter it in 20 minutes and I am not sweaty when I get to work.

If I had a geared road bicycle, which is what I will have soon, I thought I was going to buy one while I was on break from the family, but stuff just kept coming up and the press for the bike was never very heavy on me.

Now that I have two donations under my belt and I am starting to get emails from my ALC representative I’m starting to feel itchy for a road bike.

It’s been seven years since I had my road bike.

It was a Felt 45, 56 cm.

I got it for $500 from a rider on the tour who had upgraded to a nicer ride, he totally gave it to me for such a deal.  Here is the most recent version of the bike that I had on the ride in 2010. Only about $2900. No sweat.

Ugh.

The Felt was great, sturdy, I was able to do all my training rides on it, but it didn’t have the top granny gear, which I want this go around my knees are ten years older, and there were a couple of hills on the ride when I did it in 2010 that I had to stop on and rest.

I didn’t walk a single foot.

I didn’t push my bike.

I never took the sweep vehicle for a ride to the next rest stop.

Although one time the van passed me and the driver told me that she almost pulled me out, I was in an active bonk.

A bonk is what happens when you’re on a long ride and you haven’t eaten enough to fuel the ride, it generally happens on long rides.

I remember well that it was a long training ride that day, I was some where out past the Nicasio¬†Reservoir on my way to Pt. Reyes, it was a century ride I’m pretty sure (100 mile ride) I think, I don’t recall exactly and I was very much looking forward to stopping and eating and my brain was loopy and I was slow and I couldn’t figure out why it was taking me such a long time to climb the hill I was on.

I was totally bonked.

I got off my bike and just about fell over.

My friend saw me and ran inside the deli and got me a loaded baked potato.

I literally was sitting on a parking lot cement curb marker in the middle of some supermarket parking lot in Point Reyes with sweat and tears running down my face eating a hot potato so fast I can still feel what it felt like falling down into my tummy and when the food hit I got high.

I am not joking.

I bonked once on the ride to L.A.

Again.

Thank God for my mentor and riding partner, he saw it happening.

I had agreed to run a meeting on the beach and instead of going to dinner had hustled down to do the hour on the beach at sunset and I am super glad I did, it was glorious, but then standing in line for dinner I began to faint, like weaving on my feet as I stood there waiting for my turn to queue up to the steam tables.

And the line was long.

My friend saw another friend and hustled me over to her and told me to stick my head between my knees he’d be right back.

He came back with two pints of milk.

“Drink this now!”

I didn’t argue, just sucked down the milk, the effect was electric.

I almost threw up, then the milk sugars roared through my blood.

While I was getting re-calibrated my friend hopped back into the dinner line and brought me back a tray which was basically a pile of mashed potatoes.

“I can’t eat this for dinner!” I exclaimed.

“You will eat all of that and then you can have some protein, you have zero blood sugar, you got to get it back up or you’re going to the med tent.”

He was quite right.

Anyway.

I had a lot of adventures and misadventures.

The four flat tires and getting stung by a wasp on a training ride to Petaluma and back.

Now that’s a story.

For another blog.

The point is.

It’s time for me to get the road bike.

I might wait until after Burning Man.

I might not.

If I end up having to do the rental car, which is what it’s looking like, I may eschew the cost of getting a playa bike, as I’ll have to get a bike rack and that’s another couple hundred and I don’t know, I’m thinking maybe I just fucking walk the event like I did my first year.

The road bike has to be and I will invest in a good one.

I have done a little research and I’m getting it narrowed down.

But.

Yeah.

It’s time.

I can feel it in my bones.

Time I got my bicycle on again.

Thank you so much to my two donors!

You rock.

And if you want to donate.

Just click here.

I’ll update you as things move along.

Be assured.

You’ll probably get hella tired of reading about my bicycle adventures.

But.

They’ll be fun.

I promise.

 

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God Damn!

June 6, 2016

She shouted as she got onto the beach.

“It’s fucking freezing out here,” she squealed wrapping her bare arms around herself.

I chuckled inside.

I was wearing leggings, a long sleeve shirt dress, cardigan, and my hoodie, one of the four in my closet, yo.

Yeah.

I was rocking the flip flops, but I don’t like sand in my shoes, I get that enough at work with the boys when we go to the playground.

This is not, of course, the first time I have heard such an exclamation from some one getting off the N-Judah at the end of the line.

Welcome to the Sunset.

It’s fucking cold out here.

My heater is on.

Not on high, but it’s on.

I just got back in from my second, yes, second, bike ride of the day.

Neither one of them was real long, but they both got my heart rate up, and it was quite nice to come home to my cozy, good smelling, little home and turn up the heat a little to warm up the studio.

I was thinking today, why hasn’t some one started a sweatshirt stand out here?

I mean, seriously, I might make a mint.

Or you’d think San Fran Psycho would open a pop up or something at the end of the train line, just would hoodies and hats and probably some scarves.

They’d make bank.

I saw another gaggle of girls, who from the talk sounded like they were coming from the sacred inner city warmth of the Mission district, bleat like small lambs to the slaughter as the minced up the dunes toward the beach in bikinis and cut off shorts.

“It’s so cold!”

And repeat.

I had a nice little day in my neighborhood.

Despite waking up with dread on my chest like a weight of demise and ruin.

What the fuck?

I had a fantastic night last night, why the anxiety, the dread?

Well I know.

I have that thing upstairs that likes to ruin shit for me, my brain, that is.

So.

I just did what I do best.

The next thing in front of me.

And a lot of writing this morning.

I finished up my notebook that I bought in Paris at the Palais de Tokyo over Christmas when I was there visiting.

I opened up my Brooklyn notebook.

Or I suppose, I should say, my New York notebook.

Which I had bought when my friend and I hit the Strand.

A very dangerous place for me to be considering my fondness for the written word.

I did get sucked in, I did, until I realized that I could buy any and all of the books that I had in my hand in San Francisco, and that the weight of the books would not be fun in my suitcase on the way home.

I bought, rather, notebooks, some stickers, a magnet, and today I opened up one of those notebooks.

It was the one I had started when I was staying at the Air BnB in Clinton Hill.

The one that I slapped the Gorilla Coffee sticker on.

I also, happily, glue sticked my Paul Simon ticket from last night’s show in there too.

I have ticket stubs from the Brooklyn Museum, the MOMA, the New Whitney.

A postcard I got at the MOMA of a Warhol Marilyn with a pink background.

Stickers from the Brooklyn Museum.

The business card, which was really a clever word balloon cut from a book, from the art studio I got the private tour of, Doug Beube, as well as the business card from Mat Moreno [sic] which looks like a Metro card, who gave me the tattoo at Three Kings Tattoo in Green Pointe.

I also have their sticker.

There’s a few other things in there and I am always so grateful that I do that, scrap book a little, they are sweet, small tokens of my time.

So.

Yes.

Lots of writing.

Then some phone calls to my people.

It always helps to just drop a message and say, I know I’m being crazy, my brain wants me to have things to do, stuff to ruminate on, all I have to do today is show up to the 7:30 p.m. thing up at St. Gabe’s and just take the rest of the day as it comes.

One moment at at time.

And it all works out.

I think, no, I know, God damn it, I am getting old, that part of my unease was sleeping in as “late” as I did.

Gah.

I remember sleeping until 5p.m. before and rushing to get myself to the bar to work by 6p.m.

Not any more.

10 a.m. is sleeping in.

10:30 a.m.

Fuck.

That’s heresy.

I screwed my whole day.

That was the story, oh fuck off narrative, I was telling myself, I had wasted the day already, even before it had begun.

Might as well just make it a rotten one.

Wait.

Stop.

Pause.

Breathe.

Pray.

Try again.

Call another person.

Ask how they are doing.

Go buy some groceries up the street.

Then.

Oh.

Novel idea.

Cook the food.

Ha.

I actually made a really fucking delicious dish today, I haven’t made it in a long time and I must be craving something, because it was calling.

Basically I made a sort of stew.

Turmeric seasoned brown rice with a little olive oil, garlic, salt and pepper.

And.

Chicken, shrimp, and mussels sauteed in their own juices with a little garlic, chopped onion, Basil, Oregano, Parsley, lots of sea salt, I like things salty, ahem.

Then I threw in four green zucchinis chopped up with a can of black olives and some crushed tomatoes and let it simmer in the pot on the stove.

It was hella good.

I froze some and put up the rest for meals at work this week.

Love taking care of myself.

Although.

There, it snuck in, for just a moment, man I wish I was cooking for someone.

Ok now.

Stop it.

I hate this trope my disease likes to throw out.

It has not been working for me lately though, I’m like, over you, shut up, move on, been there, done that.

I recalled my conversation with my friend last night after the Paul Simon show and how sometimes the solution is just to do some fucking exercise.

Yes.

Hop on the bike.

I took a short bicycle ride and felt much better.

And.

Yes.

There is an afternoon yoga class.

Sign up for it.

Ok.

And fuck it.

So what if it’s grey, take a walk to the beach.

I was on the beach for an hour, talked with the moms for a half hour, did my daughterly duties, and then I collect sand dollars like pennies from heaven.

Seriously.

I have never found so many whole sand dollars on a walk on the beach.

I could set up a sand dollar and sweat shirt shop on the beach if I don’t make it through grad school.

She sells seashells by the seashore.

I found nine or ten and some pretty stones and sea glass.

I picked out the ones that pleased me the most and put the rest back for some one else to happily discover.

I got back here.

Hopped into my yoga clothes.

Got on the mat and got happy.

Then a hot shower, God, I swear, is a hot shower.

And.

Dinner was a repeat of the delicious.

Then, yeah, fuck it, ride the bike up to St. Gabe’s.

And like that.

My day.

Two bike rides, cooking, writing, long walk on the beach, ahem, collecting shells (yeah, I am a girl like that, shut up), yoga, and doing the deal.

Even when my head tells me, lies to me really, that my life is not enough.

It so obviously is.

Happy.

Joyous.

Free.

 

Warm and cozy.

Down by the sea.

Wrapped up in my music and the love of the day.

Nigh y’all.

Happy Sunday.

It was smashing.

Seriously.

The Jig Is Up

February 7, 2016

This is not what I wanted to hear from my person.

In fact, there was a lot I wasn’t expecting to hear from my person today and boy howdy, was it affecting and effective.

She pointed some things out to me as I watched my toes curl and uncurl in the warm sand.

At least I was in a sunny place to hear the news.

We met at Trouble Coffee and Coconut Club and walked from 46th and Judah out to the beach.

Every once in a while I need to stop and remind myself how lucky I am that I get to live here, literally steps away from the ocean, from the sand, the sun, the surf.

It was beautiful.

I was surprised by the number of people out at the beach.

Which I shouldn’t be, when it’s nice, the city shows up.

I was rather expecting that it would be quiet, all folks hailing towards the great sport ball thing downtown.

That was not the case, however, there were lots of folks out at the beach and we took a moment to find the right spot, a bright vantage over the beach, the sun sparkling on the water, the surfers out past the break.

I had a moment, spoken out loud and quickly acknowledged as bullshit, of thinking, how come I’m not out there, in the surf, surfing?

I am just not good enough, strong enough, fast enough, I’m not doing enough.

I am not enough.

And.

I am fucking pissed off.

Angry.

I was surprised to have it named.

She named it, I recognized it, and yeah, there it is.

Fire.

Lighting my face.

I’m fucking mad.

Well.

Hello.

I had no fucking clue.

But once it was out of the bag, well, a lot more came out too.

“I noticed it the last time we met and I think it’s been going on for a while now,” she said.

Uh.

Yeah.

Fuck.

I mean I know I have been feeling uncomfortable and I know I push myself really hard.

“You need to lighten up,” she said.

Ugh.

Yes.

“It’s about happy, joyous, and free, you can’t bludgeon yourself into joy.”

Um.

Ok.

Fuck.

“Listen, these are good tears, these are not like the crying you were doing when we first started working together,” she added.

Yes.

This is very true.

I was in a painful spot then and this is more an uncomfortable place.

And I forget how I can get used to being uncomfortable, there’s a kind of, sick, yes, but known, comfort in it.

Except that I cannot sustain it like I used to and I don’t enjoy it and oh yeah.

It doesn’t fucking work.

EVER.

So.

We did some reading.

And man, I mean, come on, I have read this before, but it hit me so squarely, so right on target, like on a completely different level, I was blown wide open.

And yes, the woo woo, sunshine God shone down on me and I felt lifted.

My eyes raised and I watched a surfer catch a bomb and ride through a bright tunnel of water, the curve never quite catching up to him, it fell and he drifted over the top and into the valley, a trough of water, only to re-emerge and float over the next wave behind it.

It was a beautiful moment.

A pod of surfers out in the bright water.

The sun on my face.

My heart open.

My brain balking right and left at the suggestions I was hearing.

“You’re going to balk,” she said, “I know it, but I’m going to suggest it anyway.”

I thought, I’m not going to balk.

I balked.

Fuck.

I balked hard.

I’m still sort of balking.

Not really.

But I want to.

I don’t want to take the suggestion and the thing is, it’s a great suggestion and one that has been nibbling away at me for a while now, one that I know in my heart I need to do.

I need to.

It’s been suggested to me by my physical therapist, my therapist, my psychiatrist, my primary care doctor.

I could increase the list.

But basically what was suggested, what I know I should be doing, because what I am doing now is not quite cutting it, I need to exercise.

Ugh.

I so don’t even want to write that.

“You need to get some of the anger out,” she said, “get into your body, you push yourself so hard and you’re always thinking and you’re in your brain, you need to get into your body.”

This suggestion had been handed down from another woman, in my lineage, who had noted my antsy, angsty self a few weeks ago and she passed it along to my person, who passed it on to me, up in the dunes, down by the beach, girl get your exercise on.

I guess so.

“Swimming, dancing, yoga, take a class, three times a week, you’ve got two weeks to explore it and get back to me, and yes, I know you’re busy, but this is going to be really helpful for you,” she said and then added, “I was in the same place at the same time as you and it saved my ass.”

I know she’s right.

My shrink and my therapist had suggested it to me as a natural way to combat the depression and anxiety that I was suffering from, suffer from if I’m not careful about my diet and exercise.

And.

Yes.

I do ride my bicycle.

A lot.

But it’s not the same and I have known it’s not the same for a while now.

I’m not getting enough of it, it’s too easy, it’s infrequent, if ever, that I’m breaking a sweat or working, I’m just traveling, here to there, and often times, in my head, rather than in the present moment.

“That wall your friend was talking about, that will come down too,” she added.

Oh.

That would be nice.

I do want that wall to come down.

I do want to be approachable.

And I do want to lighten up.

I finished the reading with her, took my leave and met another lady at my house.

I shared what was happening and then made some suggestions, booking time down the road for our next meeting.

Then.

Lunch out side.

And a trip to the Haight where I bought some shoes.

Yes.

Yes, I did.

And I played pinball at Free Gold Watch.

And went to the Citrus Club for dinner–boiled edamame with sea salt, jasmine tea, and hot and sour shrimp soup with tofu instead of noodles.

So very good.

I then scooted up to Noe Valley and saw some folks I haven’t seen in a while.

I checked the fuck in.

I got accountable.

I shared my discomfort, in a general way, and I shared my solution.

And after I gave my number out to a few women I met.

It was a good day.

Even when the jig is up.

And it definitely is.

I am ok.

I am loved.

And I definitely took a giant step towards lightening up.

Hello joy.

It’s nice to see you again.

Let’s get reacquainted.

And.

Let’s get sweaty.


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