Posts Tagged ‘Mt. Tam’

Kidnapped

July 5, 2017

In the best possible way.

My friend met me for yoga, it being a holiday we both had the day off from work.

It was fabulous to see him and I was very much looking forward to having a coffee with him afterward and catching up with him at Trouble Coffee, which is just down the block from my house.

“Let’s get out of the fog,” my friend said as we left the yoga studio, “let’s get coffee somewhere other than Trouble.”

I balked.

Wait.

What?

NO.

I have plans and schemes and designs and I’m in my yoga clothes, I need a shower and um, like, I have no fucking makeup on and am I going to be one of those people who goes and hangs out somewhere in their yoga gear?

NO!

Except, well, my friend had this twinkle in his eye.

“What do you mean?” I asked, skeptical, “it’s foggy everywhere in the city.”

“We leave the city,” he said simply, “my car’s right here.”

“I have to do some writing,” I said feebly, “I don’t have my wallet, I um, shit.”

He looked at me, “you can’t write in the sun?”

Well, fuck.

He had me there.

“Oh screw it, fine, let’s go get some sun,” I resigned, surrendered, went over to the winning side.

My friend didn’t clap with glee, but it was damn close.

I got a great big smile, the door unlocked, I threw my yoga mat in the car and climbed in.

“I don’t have a wallet with me, I don’t have makeup on,” I continued to protest, weakly, as I buckled my seat belt.

“Do you need to go put makeup on,” my friend said with a complete straight face.

“Oh fuck you,” I said, “let’s go, drive.”

“I got you covered, hello, that’s what credit cards are for,” he hopped in and we cruised out of the city and down the Great Highway and onto the 1.

“We’re going to Woodside,” he said and programmed the route.

I have no idea where Woodside is but having been kidnapped that made good sense, you’re not supposed to know where you’re being taken.

And it didn’t matter, I was in a car, the music was playing, my friend was grinning ear to ear and I was happy to see, that yes, indeed, the fog was lifting.

And then.

There was sun.

And it was good.

I mean.

REALLY fucking good.

So happy to get out of the fog for a little while.

We caught up and chatted and talked about his experience doing the Aids LifeCycle.

This past ride was his 9th ride.

He’s going to do one more and then probably move onto something else.

He’s doing a big ride in Toronto this year as well and that may be the next thing for him.

We reminisced about when I did the ride and how ill prepared I was.

First, I was on a borrowed bicycle, one that was way, way, way too big for me.

“Do you remember your first ride,” he laughed loudly, “you show up in cut off jeans and tights, with a huge messenger bag slung over your shoulder, I just shook my head.”

I joined him laughing, “and Converse, don’t forget, I was in Converse.”

God.

I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I decided to do the ride.

I do remember very distinctly, however, crying at the end of that first training ride, I had barely made it the five-mile ride and I was overwhelmed with it.

How the fuck was I going to ever ride 545 miles?

“You will,” he said, “you will, just one step at a time, one pedal at a time, you’ll do fine, you need better gear though,” and he steered me around the Sports Basement racks showing me what I was going to need.

I had no money.

But.

I had a fuck load of heart.

I scraped up money everywhere, I wore old shoes, SiDi clipless bicycle shoes that someone gave me, I got donated a kit from a friend, I bought goofy looking outfits because they were on sale.

I had sponsors from all over the city and the country.

I do not know how the hell I raised the money to ride, but I did.

I don’t know how the hell I did it, but one pedal revolution at a time I did it.

My friend was my mentor.

He got me out, he helped me, he cheered me on, he made up silly songs to get me up hills.

One day, not too soon after I had started doing the training rides he pointed up to this gigantic hill and said, “one day, and not too far from now, you’re going to ride up that hill.”

“What fucking hill?” I asked perplexed, I didn’t see any hills, I mean, I saw a mountain, but not a hill.

“That one there,” he said pointing at the big peak in the distance.

“What the fuck is that,” I asked, followed closely by, “no fucking way.”

“Mount Tam,” he said, “and yes you fucking will.”

He was right.

A few weeks later, maybe a month and a half, I was riding up that fucking hill.

It was a long ride, but I tell you what, my God, the view.

Great.

Out.

Doors.

So much of it, so much beauty, so much joy, so much fucking swearing.

Damn I swore a lot.

I did it though and I laughed with my friend as we talked about all my adventures and misadventures.

And I could feel it, I could feel it fucking stirring, in fact, the thoughts had been stirring for a while.

“I want to do it one more time,” I said over an amazing omelet at Buck’s of Woodside.

My friend just smiled and nodded.

And as soon as the words came out of my mouth I knew I was going to.

“Fuck!  I’m going to do it again!” I laughed and pushed aside my omelet and hugged my friend.

We both laughed like hyenas.

And I am sure as fuck that there is going to be a moment or fifteen when I wonder, what the fuck was I thinking.

But then.

I’ll remember all the beautiful people in my life who I ride for, those alive and those who have passed from Aids and HIV complicated illness.

Later today, after my friend had dropped me back at home, after stuffing me full of joy and omelet and sunshine and promises to help me get a good road bike, I met with my person up in Noe Valley at the Martha Brothers Coffee house on Church Street and Duncan.

I sat on a bench with this man whom I love so much, who I hold with such deep respect and without whom I would not be the woman I am today.

He told me about taking a recent tour through the Aids Grove in Golden Gate Park and how it was to be there and the people in his life and the memories and I took a big deep breath.

“Give me your hand,” I said, “I want to hold it while I tell you something, you’re probably going to be mad at me, but I think that after that passes, you’ll be pretty proud of me.”

He turned and looked at me and took my hand.

“I’m not going to be able to go to Barcelona with you in May because after I graduate from my Master’s program in Psychology I’ll be riding to LA, I’m going to do the AidsLifeCycle ride again,” I squeezed his hand.

I could tell he wanted to give me a lecture, and that did happen a little and we agreed I’d have to let something else go from my life, probably not going to Burning Man next year, but I’ll get to that later, I’m still going this year, but I could tell by the way he held my hand it was going to be ok.

“You are a miracle,” he said.

And I am.

I am also someone who wears my heart on my sleeve, who does things to experience things as much as possible, who dreams big, who goes for it, who loves so, so, so hard.

Because why else live if I’m not going to live it passionately?

Fuck life without passion.

I get to live.

My best friend died this month ten years ago and he’s much on my mind, I did the ride originally for him.

And this time.

Well.

I will do it for him and my person and all the people who I know in my community who still struggle.

But.

I will also be doing it for me.

Because I can.

Because I want to ride my bicycle.

I miss it.

And.

Um.

Ha.

My bicycle bum.

I miss that a lot too.

Heh.

Oh yeah.

It’s official too.

While I was typing this blog I also took a minute, pulled out my credit card and registered to ride.

That’s right bitches.

I am now officially registered for the Aids LifeCycle ride 2018.

Shit.

I better go buy a bike.

What the fuck have I done?

Ha.

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I’m Fucked

April 3, 2016

It’s late.

My brain is on fire.

And I don’t want to do anything tomorrow.

I don’t want to yoga.

I don’t want to homework.

I don’t want to food prep.

I don’t wanna, I don’t.

And.

Yet.

I will.

I was so in denial about how much I needed to hang out with my friends tonight that I really did come awful close to calling the whole thing off.

And things are changing in me.

I can feel this big energy, this big thrust of thought and power and tumult happening.

Fire in the tower.

Change of perspective.

Growing more into my person and light and being.

Or something.

I smashed something today.

I wonder.

Did I do it unconsciously, it was precarious were it was perched, did I, in the moment self-sabotage myself?

Or did I make space, in a dramatic, sweeping way.

For something new.

I broke my brand new bottle of Egoiste Pour Homme.

The same bottle I bought just last week, just last Saturday, at the Chanel on Maiden Lane.

The last bottle they had in the store.

I am sure there will be more bottle of this perfume.

But it felt momentous to buy it.

A bit expensive too.

$100 with tax.

And I opened it two days ago, having used the last of my bottle and lovingly placed the old bottle in the recycle and reverently opened the new box and took it out and sprayed it on me.

And.

I’ve been wearing it for so long.

I couldn’t smell it.

Even a brand new bottle of my favorite scent.

I could barely smell it.

I smelled it tonight.

It was sad and I was upset and I cried on the phone to a friend.

And yet.

There was this very odd, very powerful, and very, very fast, move towards acceptance.

Maybe.

Just maybe.

It’s time for a new scent.

I had actually thought about it before I replaced the bottle, that I might want something new.

Now.

Well.

Fuck.

I love perfume and to not have my signature scent, ok, I can do that, but I do love spraying something on myself, I love how evocative perfume is, scent is important to me.

My signature scent, fyi, is not my favorite perfume.

Second favorite.

Issey Miyake Feu d’Issey was my favorite scent.

They don’t make it anymore and I haven’t worn it for years.

But there was a span, three years or so when it was the one for me.

Fire.

It was a passionate, fire scent that one man told me when I was wearing it that I smelled like “sex and chocolate chip cookies.”

Life was hot and happening.

I was on fire.

I feel like I am on fire again, a lot of energy and thrust and power.

I am not exactly sure where it is leading and I do feel that there will be upheaval, but good upheaval and good change, even if it is uncomfortable.

Change for me typically is, even when it is change for the better.

I feel open to desire.

I feel open to new possibilities and new perspectives.

New loves.

New drives.

New.

I feel scared to get it all done and in and also.

Exultation.

Lifting up.

And a curious letting go as well.

I don’t have to know.

I have some ideas, but I don’t have to know.

I was talking to one of my friends about something I have always thought would be fascinating to write about  and school and studying and the energy and pulse of that.

Academia.

It was and is still a very frustrating place for me to be in.

Yet.

I am alive with ideas and art and poetry and words and theories and thoughts and I am a good student.

I am a student who also has a lot of work to do tomorrow and one for whom the bell is tolling, but I feel I can and will be lead to where I need to go and what I need to write about and how it will happen, well, frankly, I don’t know.

I also don’t know.

Complete sidebar, what the fuck is wrong with my phone.

It won’t turn or on and I can’t tell if it’s doing an update or if I let the battery get too long, but something is not right and I don’t like that.

No.

It’s my alarm clock.

Dang it.

Oh my God.

Thank you interwebs.

I think it’s going to come back on, fingers crossed, let’s see if this works.

Could be time for a new phone.

Just like it’s time for a new perfume.

A new man in my life.

A new perspective.

A new pair of glasses.

Still getting used to the “progressives” and I should be getting back my re-lensed frames next week.

$1,000 out of pocket since my insurance through Healthy SF doesn’t cover optometry.

But two new pairs of glasses and a renewed ability to read all the reading for school and help with all the online work and of course the papers.

I will be fine.

The writing will be fine.

Yes.

It’s late and I’m jazzed up with ideas and hope and recovery and having reconnected to bright, beautiful, smart, capable women.

So blessed with that.

Really.

I don’t know how long this change will last nor what will come out of the inner upheaval, but I feel like it will continue to light me up and lighten up my perspective.

That through all the awareness and acceptance that I can take more action to become even more flexible.

Not just on the yoga mat.

But in my life and how I live.

I can allow a little down time or play time.

Or.

God please.

Some sexy time.

And just by showing up today, to the mat, to the coffee shop, to that one place over there at 7th and Irving, to my friend’s house to go to a birthday celebration up in the Marin Hills–Mt. Tamalpais, the Mountain View Inn–I showed up to my life with a tiny bit of trepidation, suspect and sad and overwhelmed, then accepting and joyful and gleeful and all powered up.

I am ready for whatever tomorrow brings.

And excited too.

The journey continues.

the heart open more.

Love, fecund, rich, deep, and abiding.

Shall see me through.

It always does.


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