When I decided I wanted to come back from the Camino and “hit the ground running” I guess I was way underestimating how fast I would need to run…and what distance.
On Sunday I decided I would go to mass and then leave on an intense bike ride and go hiking and be outside and read a novel and write a play and ponder the meaning of life and eat some local noms and explore some neighboring cities etc. etc.
Instead I left mass, eyed my bike, and decided I couldn’t mount that thing because I was too tired. Like, I rode it to mass but I couldn’t ride it home because I was too tired.
So instead I meandered our downtown, chatted with a woman covered in tattoos (spiderweb across her clavicles!), smelled some candles (the tobacco one was my favorite…so weird!), browsed some antiques (I don’t understand them), and eventually stopped at a park bench when I realized my walk had slowed to the pace of an old, old woman.
Then I ate my peach/ cheese/ hard-boiled egg and wondered how I would make it home if I was so tired.
Stooped, walking assisted.
But she had red nails–red of an era long ago.
And I loved it. So I snapped her photo, her with the red nails. And I told her that I thought they were great.
To which she responded, “Oh! I usually paint them a neutral pink, but my girlfriend did these. I think they’re too wild.”
We both laughed and I assured her that she pulled off the red.
Then she informed me that she is the house poet at a local tea room, she performs every Friday (is this not awesome?) and that “sometimes I do Lady Gaga and the young folks love it.”
Every part of this story is fantastic.
Then she scooted away and I realized that I had no excuses.
So I got up and rose my bike home.
I’m still kind of exhausted, though.