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Monthly Archives: January 2010

I arrived at Harbin in a jittery haze, still spun out and twisted from the two hour drive north on 101 and the final stretch of sharp switchbacks of Highway 29 over the mountain and down into Middletown.  I hadn’t been to Harbin Hot Springs in probably over 15 years and had only spent the day there, never an overnight trip, but I do remember that stretch of mountain highway being a bitch even though I was a passenger and we drove it in the dark.  Relatively, however, it is a beautiful drive.  Fully accustomed to driving the 101 stretch but instead of heading west to Guerneville I turn right and head east to Calistoga, through its downtown if desired, and over the Mountain.  Fog, drenched in morning light, clings like smoky clouds to tree and vine.  Once over the mountain and passing an Indian Gaming Casino, suddenly one is in Middletown and its just a drive through the backways and past the school to find the dirt road taking one up to the resort.  There is an attendant or two at the 24 hour gate.  I didn’t know what the etiquette was so I just waved and drove past, but the gatekeeper waved me back and gave me instructions on where to check in and how to park.

Went to the office to register and booked a bed in the Men’s Dormitory for $35 a night.  It was my intention to only stay one night but because check in was at 3pm and check out at noon I started to consider spending another night and driving out to work early on Tuesday morning.  The offer of a midweek package of breakfast and a massage at a discounted price made this deal more enticing, but I wanted to give myself some time to get used to the resort before making that commitment.  Because I couldn’t get my key until 3 pm, I drove my car down to the parking lot, sorted and arranged my shit that I would need for the day in an absent minded sort of paranoia.  Then I went on the grounds to look for the restaurant to find breakfast.

It was pretty busy in there, this being the Sunday and the last day of the New Year’s weekend and from observation and eavesdropping surmised that the resort was at capacity.  Various groups, couples and single men and women of most persuasions occupied nearly all of the restaurant’s tables.  Some even took their morning repasts outside along the deck for even if the morning woke up chill the sun shed a promise of warmth and bright.  Scanning the menu, lacto-ovo vegetarian, and the prices (high for what was being offered) finally settled on a breakfast burrito.  I took a seat at a small table against the wall and noted that in all black I was a little bit morbid looking in this group where organically died hemp clothing and Patagonia wear was the stand out norm.  Still, I wish I had my cowboy hat.  Stripped down some of those black layers to regulate my body temperature.  My body was going crazy trying to metabolize all the vodka and the shots and the weed I indulged in over my birthday weekend.

The burrito arrives, unappetizing, but I know it is in my best interest to eat.  Hung over, overheated, uncomfortable in my surroundings and still swerving from the curves in the road I take my shaky time and manage to get most of my ghastly breakfast of bland stir fried veggies and over cooked egg in a flour tortilla down, reading a little bit about the history and the etiquette of Harbin and getting some New Age and much appreciated gardening advice from the quarterly newsletter between small chunky mouthfuls.  Finally I quit and go up to the sundeck to see what I can make of a nap.

There are two wooden sundecks, and I chose the upper.  It overlooks the valley that Harbin is nestled in and faces east.  The sun was coming up and it was surprisingly warm.  People were already sunbathing naked on the deck and that was a good sign.  I dragged a chaise lounge from a corner and positioned it in a way as to take advantage of getting the most sun.  Sitting there in my black track suit I felt warmed up sufficiently to strip it off.  Naked, most of the tension of detoxification eased off of my body.  I was careful to sunscreen up, especially my burns and for further protection wrapped my forearm in a loose grey bandana to prevent the new skin from getting hyper-pigmented from overexposure to the sun’s ultra violet.

I had 4 hours to kill before I could check in.  No problem.  I had Shadow of the Scorpion by Neal Asher, a bottle of water and a couple of cans of cream soda.  I soaked up in the sun glad I got there early to reserve a chaise as soon enough the deck filled up with nude sunbathers who had to make do on their blankets or towels, however they all looked content enough.  More than infrequently I had to get up and put on my Coach boots and hike to take a  piss…detoxification in full effect.

I convinced myself that I liked it here and another day’s rest sounded like a good order.  Eventually the sun started ducking under the south east ridges and shadows stretched long while the crowd thinned out, either going to the baths or to their cars for the drive home.  It was still short of check in time, so I decided to go the Health Services office and explain my condition and get advice regarding a suitable therapist.  David was recommended because he had a deep tissue technique I felt I needed and it was recommended that I avoid the hot baths and drink lots of water with electrolytes because of my 3 days of overindulgence.  I gave them my credit card info to hold my appointment for the next night went to the office to check in and pay for another night’s lodging as well as claim my vouchers for massage and a breakfast.

I was pleased to see that I was the only guest in the men’s dorm so I chose the furthest bed next to the window in the upstairs loft.  There was a single bed in an alcove downstairs next to the half bath (no shower).  Upstairs there were 3 beds in a row and another perpendicular to the far wall.  The window by my bunk had a view of the pools.  It is my custom to always face the window when I’m in bed and I prefer the blinds open because I like to watch the changing light through the night.  I heeded the advice of the Health Office consultant and didn’t do the baths immediately.  Instead I moved my gear from my car to the dorm, got arranged and settled and tried to figure out what I was going to wear to the 5:30 pm yoga class.

I had a little snack before the yoga class at Harbin’s little overpriced organic general store.  I had some time finding something to eat that I felt comfortable paying for.  Eventually I settled on a container of Greek yogurt and hippie bean stew.  I also picked up a few packets of electrolytes with vitamins.  I ate  at a cafe table outside the store and when finished went to my Contour in the parking lot to retrieve my yoga mat from the trunk.

Yoga classes at Harbin, as well as other group activities, are held at the Temple.  The Temple is a domed one floor structure constructed of what seems to be an adobe like concrete material.  There are two bathrooms outside, two entrances and inside it has a wooden floor.  I left my Coach boots outside and entered the Temple.  Class was full but I found a spot to lay out my mat and then I stripped down to just my Nike running shorts, trying to be as naked as possible.  There is actually a reminder on the doors of all  the public enclosed structures to have some clothes on.

The instructor sat at the middle of the circle cross legged behind her harmonium as participants filtered in and laid out mats and props.  She began the class with a long ass chant that went on for awhile and I was laughing at myself both inside and out as I struggled to remember and utter this complex mantra.  The asanas themselves were relatively easy compared to the Naked Yoga for Men class that I normally attend even though this was billed as intermediate level.  It made me feel really good about my practice, although I have been attending to it only erratically.  I never built up any heat yet it remained just warm enough that I never felt I had to put back on my shirt.  Class over, I was happy that I ended December’s hiatus and was eagerly looking forward to my first trail run of the New Year the next morning.

I had no enthusiasm to make my own dinner, even though I did bring food.  I went to the restaraunt and it was rather busy.  I was shocked that they were charging $25 for a salmon fillet with brown rice and steamed vegetables.  The other choices, stir fried, seemed even less appealing.  I settled on a salad and a crimini mushroom soup which, although not creamy, was salty and earthy enough to leave me satisfied.

After dinner I chilled out and caught up with Shadow of the Scorpion a bit more, lauding myself for bringing such an appropriate book with me to the resort.  I love ironies, especially reading a sci fi novel by one of my favorite British authors that is steeped in violence and about galactic terrorism and espionage while I am resorting at a New Age Naked Hippie Hot Spring.  Then I thought to go and do a Sound Healing Class back at the Temple.  Tuning into people’s atonal wailings, I realized I was too sensitive to other people’s pain but was trying to join in in an unrevealing antiphony which told more about me than it should.  Then we grouped off and chanted each other’s names over one another, and I had a vision of myself that was similar to my drive this morning and was somewhat like looking for myself through a misty forest only to split the bamboo to find my eye peering back at me.  I had visions of each of the others too, which we were instructed to share.  In closing we circled and visualized an orb of rose colored light and then we sent it down to Gaia.  I totally felt that.

I think I retired up to the library after that and read a bit, then headed out to the pools.  I could finally take the heat by then and the soak was luxurious even though I could not take the super hot hot bath.  Happy to meet a chatty guy to talk with in there even though we kept getting shushed by some overly serious bathers.  He invited me to his room when he left, but I said I was more likely to fall straight asleep after I got out of the hot pool.

Father Time got up to some shenanigans after the clock struck 12 and the Time Dimension shifted into the New Year, but he was cool up until that.  I found it necessary to erase most traces of him from the internet as best as I could and make amends and apologies on our behalf for practicing wizardry in a public and confined space.  Still, Father Time had the saving grace of leaving the establishment immediately, sensing how much he pissed off the tavern keeper. Supported by the Staff of Time, dismally streaming a silver pennant of a year past, he stumbled down 6th Street.  Stopping for a slice at Chico’s and eating it out of the box on the way home he woke up later that morning  in his flat strewn all over with satins, leathers and a wig and a beard.

New Year’s day was spent in a haze of shame, so I bought a new vacuum cleaner to suck away the dust of past behaviors.  Walking down the street I saw a young man clad only in a pair of black basketball shorts with no shoes sweeping up shards of glass that must have fallen from the broken bay window on the second story above.  He was doing his penance, exposing his body to cold and his naked feet to sharp fragments of fractured window.  I realized that I wasn’t the only person to have a rough transition into 2010  evidenced not only by this barefoot young man sweeping up broken window glass but also by the street litter of used condoms, beer cans, vomit and torn weave hair cluttered in the gutter or tangled in weeds.

Had New Year’s Day Brunch at the House of Fish, consisting of  macaroni and cheese, ham, champagne and confessions.  Came back home and my BGFF convinced both of us that she needed to take me out in the South of Market to await the transition of New Year’s day to my birthday.  A legend in the making, she came complete with a discreet entourage, and because it was a holiday and a Friday, Chaps II was bumping.  I really felt like I was having a party.  At exactly midnite when day 1 of 2010 turned into day 2, and for me 40 years of existence turned into 41, my iPhone froze suggesting to me that it is non Y2Ten compliant even though I must be.  The bartender, Ryan, got us B’day shots and then I reassmembled my clothes to head off with the troop for a leathery loop of bar hopping, stopping off for shots in all the bars in the next square mile: Powerhouse, Hole in the Wall and The Lonestar.

At The Lonestar I ran into the DJ at the club from the night before where Father Time had his impromptu pyrotechnic display pre-empted by the quick handed tavern keeper.  Without even really thinking about it I went up to him and apologized.  “Oh, that was you?” he said, “Joe was so pissed!”  I was abashed.  He returns, “I accept your apology.”  An unexpected reprieve.  I really didn’t know how much of a dangerous cunt I was being last night.  A little bit of the weight from the burden of shame was lifted.

Exiting the Lonestar, by now our inchoate troop was a bit strung out along Harrison Street and around the corner on 9th.  My BGFF in the lead with a cutie in tow, 2 others struggling with cigarettes and me straggling last.  Coming around the corner, I ran into a very old friend who remembered how the day was significant for me and he invited me into his motel room to smoke some weed, smack my nuts and suck my cock.  We’ve known each other for some 16 odd years and our interaction is scripted in dialogue resolving into 2 distinct endings, but the scene, though well rehearsed is never performed the same way twice.  I have to admit that its always a pleasure to reacquaint when I’m available.

My old friend knows that I have a habit of falling asleep immediately after I cum, and I know that he knows that. But I also know (because he makes it clear) that he is in the City to suck as much cock as he can and I’m happy to oblige and leave so he can take a piss and freshen up for the next trick.  Stoned and buzzed the bars are closed cos my old friend and I spent a good amount of time talking story.  Get down to my alley off of Folsom Street and there’s a huge gay party happening at 1015.  I walk past the roll down garage door of the chop shop on my street and there’s a guy cruising in the depressed recess under the gate.  He makes a motion that he wants to suck my dick so I let him go down on me.  He starts looking around, I guess feeling too exposed so we go across the street so he can suck me off behind a parked van.  Some people going to the club have the courtesy to walk around the van instead of walking right into me getting a blow job in the alley.  I’m just looking at this anthropologically right now, not really enjoying the blow job so much as the scene and I’m guessing he probably has sex toys in that plastic shopping bag that he never puts on the ground.  Then he stops and offers me a hit of crystal meth.  That’s when I know that I’m already out of hand, shove my dick in my pants and go up to my flat.

I wake up and it’s still my birthday.  I go Downtown to the Apple Store and they end up replacing the display on my iPhone and it works better than it ever has.  10 months into the warranty the device’s built in obsolescence  revealed itself so I paid to extend the coverage for another two years.  Resisting the urge to go to BVLGARI and see if that watch is still there I head into Chinatown to shop for cheap Feng Shui cures.  Ionass calls me then to wish me well for my birthday and.  He was calling from the bathtub of his hotel room in Vermont after a day of skiing.  He could hear the musician playing the Chinese Violin in my background and I could hear the tiled acoustic resonance of his voice  and the occasional sloshing of bathwater in his.  We talked nearly an hour and his bath must have got cold.  Reluctantly, he let me go and I was glad because I was hungry but I didn’t want the conversation to end.  I was left with the pleasant melancholy of a momentary closeness of my heart’s true love that dwells too far away.  Crossing Grant to lunch at the Far East Cafe I was disappointed that because it wasn’t a weekday they didn’t have the rice plate specials.  I ordered the fried salty cod which in reality turned out to be pretty bland fried battered fish with no chips or tartar sauce.

Just a note here: isn’t it ironic that when you are shopping for something specific in Chinatown you go to every shop and  settle on buying something even though its pricey and not quite right and then the very next shop you go to you find exactly what you were looking for and it is actually less expensive?

Went home and napped and got a call from Jose whom I met  at the Rainbow Cattle Company the day I got back into  Guerneville after going to the beach to retrieve the Staff of Time.  Jose is blind, but he let me beat him twice in pool, so he’s pretty cool and since then we’ve become chatty fb friends.  Knowing that I exhausted all of my birthday shots in the South of Market I had him agree to meet me in the Castro at the Edge.  I took the Muni up there in my toned down leathers and Torturer’s Cape stopping at 440 for a drink before our rendezvous.  I worked the bartender for a shot and ordered my usual vodka soda with lime before heading to the Edge. Ran into Rick outside and he said he’d probably meet me there.  As I was coming into the Edge I saw Berlin for a hot minute, but he was on a mission.  Got to the bar and Jose had already arrived.  He bought me a drink, the bartender bought me a shot, Rick showed up and it got drunk and rowdy.

After a bit Jose was hungry and wanted to go to Marcello’s, but as I am a connoisseur of late night drunken pizza I insisted that we eat at Nizario’s.  #1 rule of late night drunken pizza is always gets what is hot fresh from the oven and not what has been sitting under the lights no matter how much that combo is your favorite.  We chowed down and it was good and before we were just about finished the 33 Stanyan was pulling into the bus stop so I dragged Jose on the bus so we could be closer down to the South of Market.

Getting off at 18th and Folsom I realized that was a bit of a walk and we probably would have been better off taking the Muni underground.  As it were, a taxi cab came by and I hailed it to have it take us to the Powerhouse.  Arriving I knew one more drink for me although conceivable would be a pretty bad decision but Jose was feeling it so he was happy to allow me to leave him there.  I stumble to my flat and wake up hours later and it is still dark outside.  With conviction I know that I need to go to the naked hippie new age hot springs resort to rejuvenate, recover and relax.  It took a few hours to get my gear together but I drove the 2 hours north with the sun coming up and arrived there still somewhat in a fugue.

I was obsessed with personifying Time in the guise of Father Time for New Year’s and the morning following that miserable run to the Armstrong Woods I drove out with LGID to Jenner Beach to acquire the Staff of Time.  I had been gathering all of the Articles of Time but two objects were missing; both the Staff and the Sands of Time.  I knew that I would find the Staff of Time on the beach at Jenner and maybe the sands there would prove to have some magic.  I visualized this so clearly I knew the Staff of Time would manifest itself there.

I parked on a bluff over looking the beach.  The sun was out and it was one of those awesome Northern Californian days in the winter when not only does the surf break but the sun does too.  Surfers were out, notable for their foreign accents, as Mavericks was on the verge of being called.  The trail leading down to the beach was slick, steep and muddy.  Tasty to me, but LGID was discontented to break it.  He stayed up on the bluff by the car not wanting to venture.  Disappointing to me, but confirming my reason for not wanting to be his lover.  I hiked down to this wild beach, intrepid in my Coach boots, thrilled by the sun and the perfection of creation.  Because of the storms and its geographical location at the mouth of the Russian River, Jenner is strewn with driftwood.  All I had to do was divine the Staff of Time as I wandered the beach looking for the appropriate staff to select me.  I found it quite right off.  This crooked and pitted driftwood root came to the height of my face and had a nook a hand’s width from its tip; perfect for notching in an hour glass or festooning it with a banner.  I stuck the staff upright in the sand, letting it weather, seeing if it would reclaim itself as I walked northward along the beach in search of a potential other.  This end was abandoned and the sun was warming me up enough where I could have taken off my shirt, but as it was I just stripped off my Adidas track jacket, tied it around my waist and continued in my thermal.  I passed a beach condo built by a sea comber furnished with a dining room table and stump chairs on its lower floor and a rope swing on its second story deck.  Inspecting the shelter I realized it was semi-permanent and had seen regular use.

Walking down the beach alone charged with the magic of my quest I could only think how awesome it would be to be on this mission with a lover, sharing the fantasy of Time and ducking into one of those shelters to make love or just sit out on the sand near the shore break making out for a portion of eternity.  And of course that lover I imagine is Ionass, not the LGID on the bluff who plays it way too safe and doesn’t share my sense of adventure.  Nor can he ski.  Mind, I am grateful for his companionship and appreciative of how he helped to nurse my burns but really I think he realizes, as I do, that to spend time with me will prevent him from getting what he wants from another man.  Cute as he is, there is no volatility in our chemistry.  We neutralize each other rather than complement one another.

Returning to reclaim the Staff of Time with these thoughts on the periphery and the Pacific Ocean and Jenner’s dramatic coastal outcroppings more proximal I was pleased to see a small songbird perched atop the Staff of Time.  A good portent indeed because, as should be known by all, Father Time is the Consort of Mother Nature.  Hiking back up the slippery muddy slope using the Staff of Time as a walking stick I was gifted with a beautiful view of a surfer’s naked ass as he struggled into his tight fitting black neoprene wet suit.  Beautiful indeed. Quest complete.

As it turned out, those burns I sustained at Wilbur turned out to be pretty severe, 2nd degree in fact.  Connie and I were packing to go back to The City on Tuesday afternoon and as I was loading the Contour I scraped  my forearm, exposing the raw layers of skin underneath the surface char.  Opening that wound cut through the painkillers amplified by wine I had dosed myself with the night before and the adrenaline and endorphins from my 8 mile run that morning.  I bandaged myself up using the first aid kit in the lobby and started to get an inclination of how serious this injury was.  Still made it back home, but when I went to work on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving the pain flared to an intolerable level and I had to go to Kaiser Urgent Care to get treatment.

Stupid cunt of a doctor, Dr. Polanski, said she was concerned about my level of pain and prescribed me Ibuprofen.  I trusted that bitch, went home anointed with Silver Sulfadiazine all good and bandaged by the wound nurse.  I was preparing Thanksgiving dinner with the LGID.  The pain was intolerable so I just kept drinking Vodka cocktails to help manage it and recover from the stress of acquiring what may be life long scars.  Then a wave of pain came over me that was so intense I started freaking out because I couldn’t bear it. LGID got on the phone with Kaiser to see if I can be seen or if they could give me a pain pill prescription.  They said I’d have to go to emergency, but that wasn’t gonna be happening.  Had a turkey to stuff.  Eventually the nurse on the phone said that if I needed stronger pain pills then I should have INSISTED upon it.  I was pissed!  I’m not the doctor so I don’t know what I need.  Then I told them how I had some Tylenol 3’s left over from my last bout with pain and how should I take them.  She wouldn’t say.  Oh was I pissed.  Pain makes me angry, that kind of pain at that level of intensity.

So fortunately I was able to go back to the Urgent Care Clinic at Kaiser and I saw a Registered Nurse this time who was sympathetic and gave me a prescription for Vicodin, some good advice and changed up my bandages.  I was grateful for that but a little more than miffed that I had to twice pay my co-pay to correct Dr. Polanski’s poor treatment.

What I was most mad about with Dr. Polanski was that I would have taken anything and drank alcohol with it to minimize the pain I was feeling.  This kind of cocktailing and drug mixing is what killed Anna Nicole, Heath Ledger and Michael Jackson and her irresponsibility could have left me with some serious complications.  BITCH!

So I spent the Thanksgiving Holiday weekend pretty much drugged up and recovering.  Had to miss some work but my wounds healed progressively well and are looking pretty good today.  I have to give credit to the awesome Urgent Care nurses, but If I ever find myself needing to get urgent treatment, I’m going to insist on an RN.

The LGID took pretty good care of me during my recovery as it was very difficult to wrap bandages with my left arm.  As it turned out he was on board to hang out with me at my favorite resort, The Highlands in Guerneville which was to be my reward for completing the North Face Endurance Challenge Championship.  As I wrote before, I failed to enter before the race sold out and as an alternate I was going to do the Pacific Coast Trail Run hosted Woodside 11 k in Huddart Park.  Add previous setbacks with gear, chafe and now burns I was pretty much, “fuck it” for any racing the rest of that year.

LGID is a grill master.  He’s really great on the Q.  We barbequed and hung out, even sleeping in the same bed, but our relationship now is not romantic.  I’m still in love with Ionnas, that’s pretty much the way its going to be with me.  Hopefully, this work I’m doing on myself will make me available to someone I’m irresistably attracted too and also available to me.  We’ll see.  So LGID’s friend JP came up with his bf.  I was in such a drug haze I couldn’t even remember who was there til’ I just wrote this.  LGID did a bbq, ate that Saturday Night it was all good. There was also a Parade of Lights down Main Street.  We did the BBQ after that.

So I wake up on Sunday morning and I’m all, “I should run.”  LGID asked, “Do you have the stuff to do it?”  Assessing, I said, “Yes.”  I had my Adidas track suit which would keep me warm enough and my Saucony’s, stinky and caked with mud from Wilbur were in the trunk of the Contour.  I even had an empty litre bottle to fill up with water to carry with me on the run.  So I set out from the resort to run to Armstrong Woods and back.

Starting out down the hill feeling pretty strong.  It was cold, crisp and misty with fog.  Persimmon trees, barren of leaves but laden with fruit were saturated in dripping condensation threatening to turn into icicles.  The air felt chill and fresh.  I’m very annoyed having to carry this water bottle and annoyed I don’t have any control over my playlist on my iPhone.  I start running and walking in frustration progressively with longer walk intervals through the run.  I’m realizing that the painkillers are somewhat affecting my activity level and I’m really in no shape to be out here.  I make it to Armstrong woods, persistence paying off.  I see a car wrecked off the side of the road that wasn’t there on my way out and the driver talking to a Highway Patrolman.  Towards the end I’m pretty much all walking, happy at least to get this workout in and check in with where my body was at.  I had hit a real low and I realized there was no point in running at all for the rest of the year of 2009.

  • 6 December 2009, 10:53 am – 12:03 pm
  • 1:09:28
  • 4.58 miles
  • 15:10 avg. pace
  • 270 feet climbed
  • 605 calories burned

My best biological girl friend, Connie Champagne, wanted to celebrate her 50th birthday with me at her favorite resort, Wilbur Hot Springs.  Really happy to go with her, it is one of my favorite places too.  A big 2 story plantation house with a covered porch surrounding it is where guests stay.  Connie and I share the bunk room with other guests instead of staying in a room of our own.  The rooms are very grandma B&B and are perhaps more suited for couples, but usually when we go on my days off, Sundays and Mondays, all the weekend guests have cleared out and we have the biggest room in the house all to ourselves.

We drove up on a Saturday night and had a great time chatting and listening to psychedelic cassette tapes on the way up there.  Got checked in and settled into our bunk room which was actually full but I got my favorite bunk, the one with the view of the fireplace from behind the partition in the room divider. Connie slept in a bunk on the other side of the room.

Monday was Connie’s birthday, so in the morning I made her pancakes and bacon for breakfast then spent the rest of the day preparing her cake.  In between I smoked weed and drank my yellow wine from the box and jammed out on my ‘ukulele down by a bridge then up on a hill chasing the sun until it sank behind the valley.  After the sun set I finished decorating the cake and Connie marinated the New York steak using her grandpa’s teriyaki sauce based recipe.  I have this notoriously good way of french frying a steak in olive oil and butter in a super hot skillet and then throwing it in the oven full blast to finish it off.  At Wilbur the gas range and oven are professional quality and I got that oil and butter a bit way hotter than I could ever get at home.  When I laid the first steak dripping in Grandpa Ernie’s marinade down in that cast iron skillet all the hot grease splashed up at me like a volcano.  All I could really do was run my burned arm under the tap in the kitchen and mind the steaks which came out so tender and perfectly medium rare that the meat at the bone was warm and flaked off like sushi grade ahi.

There was enough cake for everybody at the resort who wanted some, enough for people who really loved it to have seconds.  After we cleaned up for dinner Connie and I went back up to the now vacated bunk room and sat up by the fireplace.  Connie reminisced about her birthdays in the past while I drank my yellow wine from the box and dosed myself with Tylenol 3’s until I felt no more pain.

So on Tuesday morning I woke up early to do a long run on the property following the trail through a meadow and valley that wends along Sulphur Creek.  Still hadn’t solved the problem of the rotted bladder of my CamelBak so I stowed a half frozen litre of water in a compartment of it and carried another by hand.  I had started my run and saw that the geyser on the property was spouting.  I stopped and shot pictures of it and enjoyed the gushing until it stopped.  Ran out and down through the meadow and got really irritated by the weight and balance of the spare iced liter bottle of water in the CamelBak so I stashed it on an electricity grate below an Oak. Continuing my run along Sulphur Creek and really enjoying it because I had ran it before and was looking for familiar landmarks like the crik crossings and the abandoned tractor.  I forgot if I ran a portion of this trail naked or without a shirt, but knowing me I probably tried for awhile, in fact I think I probably did because then I was still recovering from the Hawaiian Chafe and clothes are a factor in aggravating that.  I was hitting the trail pretty good, but still annoyed with the weight distribution of my ghetto solution hydration unit.

About 3.5 miles out on the Sulphur Creek Trail I had to cross the creek and there was pretty much no way to avoid getting my feet wet.  Noticed my Saucony’s are really not the best trail shoe for wet courses.  They became quite heavy and annoyingly clammy as I finished up at the end of the trail and on the return.  Sloshing again through those same crossings and my Saucony’s were getting heavier and heavier.  At around mile 6 I must have been getting tired because I slipped and recovered in a huge sulfurous mud rut and now my heavy shoes were even heavier caked in this clay.  Still I felt kind of strong and because of the beauty of the property and the perfect running conditions.  I was so in my own zone I wasn’t aware of distance or time.  As it turns out, my pace was pretty good around 11 minute miles.  Retrieved my stashed icy bottle of water which was a good thing because I had ran out of water on the run and made my way back to the resort and soaked my pleasantly fatigued ass and burnt arm in the miraculous healing waters of Wilbur.

  • 24 November 2009.  9:26-11:24 am
  • 1:44:37
  • 13:05 avg. pace
  • 819 ft. climbed
  • 1,115 calories burned

Naked Yoga time and I went to tonight’s class looking forward to a great yoga work out with Darren Main.  Unfortunately, when I got there, the class was being subbed by his assistant and I felt a little baited and switched cos had I known I would have stayed home and played another online poker tournament.  Still, since I was there I decided to make the best of it.  Arriving just before class there was no spot but right up in front and I tried to settle in the best I could kind of amused at myself at how I can actually have a bad attitude in a yoga class.  4 mats wide and 5 men deep and all I can say is that I am grateful for the guys who bother to take a shower before yoga class. Wouldn’t you?