“‘The air was soft, the stars so fine, the promise of every cobbled alley so great, that I thought I was in a dream” – Jack Kerouac
There’s something about the recovery process from a bad cold or illness that awakens the spirit. I’ve spent the last couple of weeks dealing with the worst cough I think I’ve ever had, so bad that I dry-heaved at one point from the constant, acute contraction of my stomach muscles in addition to coughing blood at its worst. It was demoralizing. As a consequence I walked around for a good portion of January like a Roomba with a crappy attitude – my body was capable of day-to-day tasks but my mind was incapable of higher functions. Sure, I avoided running into walls for the most part, but my soul was asleep.
But now that I’ve turned the corner I feel alive again, much like the parched earth of southern California that is beginning to show signs of life. The little bit of rain we’ve received this “winter” has been sucked up by the land and coughed back out in the hopeful kaleidoscope that is Spring. I hope it doesn’t cough blood.
Last night I rode after work for the first time in many weeks. With the lengthening of the day I was able to ride through the sunset and watch the moon rise over the rim of the valley as coyotes called from all corners. I can only guess that they were calling out to me and asking where I’d been. Though my conditioning may be total crap right now, that’s OK. Getting back into shape is the fun part, right? There is color again in the hills and the climb out from the fog of the valley is illuminated as bright as day.