Coming Clean. Coming Around.
It’s August 21st. I’ll be 31 in two days.
In general, I feel like about seventy million bucks.
But this month has been hard for me. It’s "Christmas season" for my biggest client (read: long hours making marketing for people), it’s a big month for event for photography (read: long weekends working), and I just wrote something that is going to land somewhere really cool (read: holy shit its a secret). But I’ll tell you about that later.
Apparently, I didn’t feel busy enough with what was going on, so I decided to throw a big-assed birthday party (Sal is out with the chef right now buying and prepping all the food), take a photography workshop last week that lasted until 1:00am (I’m not kidding), and train for a fast 10k with Natalie.
On top of this, my party girl bone got all itchy this month and I just had to scratch it. That girl at Avignon Bar on Division Street with her second glass of the super yummy cab? That was me. That was also me sitting at the bar in Yoko’s killing a Moriawase and bottle of Pearl Momokawa sake. And drinking that yummy cocktail made with Lillet, lemon and soda water at the C Bar on Gladstone? Also me.
You get the point.
I come to this a lot. The truth is that I am as much Die-Hard-Foodie-SanFranciscoStyle-Party-Princess as I am Hyper-Dedicated-Super-Emotional-Runner-Cyclist. The problem is that when I dabble in long nights, my long mornings become a little taxing. I make up for it by cutting sleep and my body responds by dragging ass.
I am hoping that this crazy schedule will somehow translate into stellar training for ‘cross (it won’t) but I’m also keeping my cool.
See – there’s this thing I value. Beyond endorphins or red wine or the competitive spirit, or anything else. It’s called range.
Some people would probably call it balance.
It’s about being able to step back, exhale, and miss a few workouts now and then without booking the next available appointment with whatever shrink will see you. It’s about being able to be true to the parts of you that may feel contradictory.
I get an email in my box almost every day from one of those fitness "gurus" out there. He’s a very smart man with a very, very good copywriter, so I stay subscribed to him. But sometimes in his words I am struck by the same sense of horror that I get when I hear a wild fundamentalist Christian crying Fire and Brimstone.
"Of course you want that beer. Of course you want to go out. Of course you could have that piece of chocolate. Why wouldn’t you? It’s immediate gratification. You can rationalize it a million ways. Go ahead, you know you can."
[Here's me nodding along with the email.]
But then he busts your bubble. And he tells you its because you’re weak. And you know it. And you should just steam that broccoli and grill up that boneless, skinless breast and call it a day. You’ll respect yourself in the morning.
And you know what?
I’m 31 years old. The reason that I want the beer is because it’s insanely delicious. I am not a professional athlete, I do not require myself to have "abs of steel", and I am fully capable of living a balanced, healthy life without sacrificing the simple pleasures that are well-done food and miraculously concocted alcoholic beverages.
I will probably go on another alcohol-free kick here in a bit to focus a little as I go into ‘cross season, but the truth of the matter is, I don’t believe the big-muscled, orange-toned fitness man who sends me the well-written, super-persuasive emails every day.
The skinless chicken and lightly steamed brocolli actually wont make me happier. It’s really good. And I eat it a lot. But he’s delusional if he thinks it can replace the joy of beet-and-goat-cheese crostini. (Please!)
So the cyclocross season approaches along with my birthday. I traded in a 400k brevet for a backyard party fueled by my super-talented (and single -contact me!) chef friend, Chris. I bought a king-sized wine glass from the weird City Liquidators store down on the east bank, and I plan to do my part to finish off the keg of Dick’s Pale Ale that will be in the borrowed kegerator.
For now I’m going to enjoy the "balance" and bring in my new year with a bang.
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