The wind can go fuck itself. Really, it can. And no, this isn’t going to be some mindful shtick, like my usual shtick, with a touchy-feely message woven into it by the end.
The wind can go fuck itself.
I have been proximate to, or affected by every natural disaster except for a tsunami. Volcano, hurricane, tornado, mudslide, dust storm, flood, blizzard, avalanche, earthquake, fire, and probably a few I can’t recall, have each threatened my family, my own life, or my home. Wind, to some degree, is a colleague to many of these, though not always.
Truth be told, I love natural disasters and extreme weather phenomenon. I look for them when I can, and enjoy them when they find me. I will go out of my way and take great risks to stand at the shoulder of a disaster, or even within that disaster, and always in awe. When in the throes of an organic upheaval, I am like a child on a thrill ride. And what is a natural disaster, but the ultimate thrill ride…?
I have always accepted wind as a necessary ingredient to propel and expand most these phenomena. After all, what is a fire, or a hurricane, a tornado, or a blizzard without wind…? Wind on an otherwise clear day though, is the ingrown toenail of weather phenomenon. At best, wind on a clear day is annoying. At its worst, it’s hateful.
We’ve had 3 weeks of on again off again rain here in Fallbrook, and with some very powerful winds. Despite the devastation which resulted from these storms, I have enjoyed every moment, though it has kept me from my cycling routine. Today I woke to a blue sky, and a day which promised to be clear all day and near 70 degrees. Thanks to a couple of cancellations at the peak of the sun, I found myself with a warm afternoon off. My bike was calling me.
I wasn’t too far from the house when I turned from northbound Main Avenue to the eastbound Mission Road when it hit me; a dry Santa Anna which slowed me immediately and nearly stood me up. Oh, and I was then heading uphill. I found myself tucked and hiding behind my lower gears like they were my momma’s apron when I was a child. I was defeated before I had gone 2 miles.
I hate riding in the wind. Hate. New York Yankee hate. Dallas Cowboys hate. Adolph Hitler hate. Albertson’s grocery store kind of hate.
A quick right turn and I was headed home, beaten and demoralized before I got out of town. I would return to my fitness studio and spend an hour or so on my stationary bike to undo the shame. I pushed it up to the window where I would peddle and watch the wind blow the eucalyptus and palm trees like they were weeds in the distance, but even with the windows and door open it wasn’t the same.
No sense of freedom. No immersion into nature. Just mechanical cardio to clear my head.
Despite that I exercised – that I did do more than most people do on a given day, I couldn’t shake that I am quitter, a loser, and that I suck as a human being for tucking tail and heading home, beaten by the wind.
But unless it’s accompanying the natural disasters which so amuse and entertain me, the wind can just go fuck itself. It just can… Jhciacb
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