Vociferous voices: June 2007

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

nostalgia and comfort food

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(that's cheap red wine in the corona glass)

The bike ride home from work today was the hardest one I've had so far.

I remember the first day that I rode in this summer thinking, "huh, this isn't that bad, maybe I'm not in bad of shape as I thought."

And the rides haven't been that bad. I'm not going to say they're fun. I wouldn't say that any sort of exercise if "fun". I'll just never be that guy. I ride my bike in to work for two reasons. The first, and the weaker reason to be honest, is because i think it's the environmentally right thing to do. I drive my car less, i spend less on gas (i've only saved $15.75 so far this summer though. And my bike has been a constant stream of acquaintance needs, flat tires, busted derailer, needed a new safety light, new helmet...)
and I'm not clogging up the roads with another car.
I can do it, so i should.

The other reason, and the larger (ha ha i made a pun) is my weight. Or not specifically my weight, but the health problems it brings when I don't watch it. I have two pretty specific breaking points. And the lower of the 2 I get kidney stones. When I was above that weight I was getting a kidney stone every three months. That sucked... a lot. And the other breaking point, about 10 pounds above that, seems ot be when i get my pancreatitis attacks. I've had one big one, and two pretty little ones. Let me tell you, next to pancreatitis, kidney stones are like a warm cuddling session in january.

So I'm motivated.

I haven't weighed myself since I started biking this summer. I wanted to give myself a nice big surprise. I was saving it for a day when i was stressed and needed a littel pick-me-up.

I've been biking since the 2nd week of June, I've put on about 90 miles. Not a huge accomplishment, but for a guy who can only associate the word 6-pack with the Taco Johns 6 pack and a pound deal... it's not so bad.

Today was stressful, this week has been stressful.
The ride home was dreadful.
It was hot and humid, and for the first time when I got off my bike, my legs shook and I felt like crap.
So i shower and weigh myself.
and....
are you ready for it?
are you trapped in eager anticipation?
are you on the edge of your seat?
are you saying "good cheese christopher, just frikkin tell us already?

fine, here it is...
I gained 3 pounds.

yup, i gained 3 god damned pounds.
Sarah said it's probably muscle.
I don't know if I believe that.
And even if that's true... what the hell is the end game here?
I slowly become this knot of sweaty stocky muscle?
I wanted to lose weight. And without that, it's going to be hard to stay motivated. There's already this little part of me thinking of reasons I should just drive in tomorrow.
It might rain...
It's going to be humid...
I could get home quicker.
I'm worried about my tire going flat again (2 flats already this summer)

I think those little voices have always been there, but I've been able to shout them down with "I'm getting in shape damnit, leave me alone!"

Friday, June 22, 2007

Union Utopia

Two people are meeting for the first time. They are talking awkwardly. He's been watching across the terrace for almost an hour. Drawn to her for the book she's reading and her little round glasses. He's wearing athletic socks and sandals. His skin is evenly and naturally tanned and his hair shaven close to his head He has the little goatee and the sharp dark eyes of an equator intellectual. And yet he fidgets terribly when he compliments her.

Two people are saying good-bye for the last time. They are hugging and smiling and wishing each other well. Numbers have been exchanged. They'll call once they are there, and settled in.... they say.

But they never do. Four years of friendship fades in to fond memories with a sliver of guilt.

Someone in the crowd is falling headlong in to unrequited love.

He brushed by her in the line for ice cream. She isn't wearing perfume, but her dark skin smelled like the lilacs beneath the window of his childhood bedroom. He's only had two honest to goodness girlfriends in his life. He's from a small town, all corn fed, farm fit, and drunk on the city. He didn't know that he could fall for a girl with skin so dark. He'd never thought about it. He'd never ruled it out, but he'd never thought about it either. And yet, as he watched her walk away, her hips swaying beneath a backless summer dress splashed with reds and blacks and yellows, his "union utopia" ice cream dripping and forgotten onto his fingers, he lost his heart to her.

There is a girl out there somewhere - her dark hair piled on top of her head - a few loose curls have accidentally fallen to perfectly frame her face. She's wearing her favorite shirt - the one that makes her feel beautiful without looking trashy. And for the first time in her life she is feeling a dark hatred that burns to hot she forgets to feel the pain.

She's deep under the shadow of the big oak tree. You'd miss her if you weren't looking for her. She's looking out across the terrace. Her eyes don't burn. They are flat. - they aren't kissing, they aren't even touching. But he's leaning towards her, nodding in time to her every word while she twirls a blond strand of hair and dangles her high heeled show from her foot.

There's a young girl, she's maybe 11 or 12, sitting at a table by herself. She's reading "How to Survive Middle School" though she hasn't turned a page in 10 minutes. She has her own table, her own soda, her own bag or Dorritos, her back pack on the table top, her cell phone left out and carefully positioned so that it is visible even though it never rings. She's trying very hard not to glance at her parents two tables over.

A couple in their 40s holds hands, squeezing at the same moment without speaking a word as they both look at the steps to the theater.

A tall man in dreadlocks and headphones nods his head and wonders where he'll sleep tonight.

A girl smiles and waves and she approaches a group of sorta-friends, determined not to be alone tonight.

A boy, full of confidence after his first year of college, turns up the collar on his shirt and walks like he's in a movie.

A man in his middles.... sits in the shade and scribbles furiously in his journal. Like a child with his hand in a stream trying to touch everything that floats past.