A Love-Hate Kind of Day

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The Palo Alto Library is swanky. I half-limped here from downtown with my dead electronics and chargers in tow several minutes ago before settling down in a perfectly ergonomically designed chair facing an ultra-modern brick fireplace. Time to RICE and write.

I wasn’t supposed to be writing you from the Palo Alto Library. I was supposed to be writing you from a hole in the wall joint in San Francisco’s Chinatown. I was supposed to have my bubble tea in one hand and my memory card full of Golden Gate Bridge pics in the other. Today was my day to explore one of the self-proclaimed greatest cities in America, but I was faced with a tough call at 7am.

You see, tomorrow I’m going surfing. Today I could hardly get out of bed. Now that I’m off the Sea Bird and my limbs have a chance to stretch to their full length again, I’m a tad sore. My knees are inflamed just as they were during my marathon training several years ago. I could have gone to San Francisco but I hear there are hills. Inflamed tissue and grandma joints don’t do well on hills. So instead of taking myself on an adventure, I am enjoying my lovely staycation at the library. Rest, Ice, Compress, Elevate. Must heal for surfing.

Surfing has agonized my landlocked soul and body since ’93. It’s a love-hate relationship. I have spent years studying surfing and preparing for the day when I’d make it to the big leagues. I have studied swells, wind conditions, and different beach breaks throughout the country. I have spent years religiously learning tricks on my Indo Board. I have pursued competitive swimming, yoga, and even skateboarding to help me become a better surfer. I have researched Fulbright locations, college campuses, and jobs that would facilitate my surfing career. My bedroom in Norwich, NY looks like a Hawaiian surf shack.

I have only been surfing 7 times. This is unacceptable.

Inflamed knees are unacceptable.

 

 

 

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