I think most of you know that I used to live in San Francisco. I was 21 then, with absolutely no responsibilities other than paying my rent and half a phone bill. And knowing about 3 people on the planet at that time, the phone bill never really amounted to much.
I absolutely loved it there. I’d spend most weekends walking the 1000 hills (and complete sidebar, “Seven Hills of San Francisco” is just completely wrong) and taking in the breath taking views. It was easy then. I was young. I was thin, and stayed thin with all these walks. I was convinced that San Francisco is what heaven looked like on a foggy day.
I lived there for one year and then moved to Boston in order to be closer to family. Although I missed living in what I considered paradise, my move East enabled me to meet Wil which then caused my kids, Olivia and Ben, to exist, so I ended up with a new definition of heaven, this time with no fog.
The problem, though, is that I got comfortable, which is a fancy way of saying “fat”. Over the years I went up and down with my weight, and I think this time I’ve finally stepped off the trampoline and have my weight at a permanently thin number.
This weekend I had the opportunity of a lifetime. My company was sending me to San Francisco for a conference. I arrived one day early, and had my first day to myself in the almost 15 years I’ve been a wife, and the over 7 years I’ve been a mom. I was going to have an entire 24 hours in my favorite place in the world, and wasn’t going to have to spend a single minute of it wondering if anyone else was hungry, tired, or had to pee.
Flying to San Francisco, I was nervous. Nope, it wasn’t about the whole “how on Earth does something as heavy as an airplane defy gravity” concept. I was headed back to a world where I had been thin, then left it and gotten fat. Was that going to happen again? Was I going to spend 3 days in San Francisco and then gain back my 70 pounds on the plane ride home?
The old Alison, “Fat Girl”, would have passed on that extra day just to avoid the challenge and fear of it. But I’m not “Fat Girl” anymore. I’m “Fit Girl”. I work through challenges: doing triathlons up mountains, training for marathons with an injured foot, teaching myself to train harder with no coach. I’m ready for this. I got this.
I checked into my hotel, and before the door could close I was back outside. I didn’t set up an agenda to go see specific sites and check out my favorite things from over 20 years ago. I wanted to walk, to soak in the city, to let my feet choose my path and destination. And that’s just what I did. Olivia was curious about what San Francisco, so I walked to things she might find interesting and took pictures of them: a cable car, the “crookedest” street, a purple apartment building. I was back in my former definition of heaven.
The next morning I woke up at 4AM. I have to admit, it was easier than waking up that early in New York, thanks to the 3 hour time change. I know, I was on vacation. Why was I getting up so early? Well, in a few hours I was going to meet some colleagues so we could get started on this conference. Once that happened, my schedule was no longer going to be my own, and I didn’t know what kind of workouts I was going to get in. So, I wanted at least one nice long run. I got out of bed, did my resistance bands in my room, and then stepped outside. I giggled at the thought that in February, 5 AM in San Francisco was a good 30 degrees warmer than it was in New York. I put on my iPod and set off on my run.
With the absolutely horrible sense of direction that I have (my nickname is “Wrong Way Bob”), I had pre-charted a run with as few turns as possible so that I wouldn’t accidentally end up in Idaho. My plan was to run towards the water, then turn left and run right along the water’s edge towards the Golden Gate Bridge. The run was tricky. It was dark, and even with just one turn, I still managed to get a little lost. But, it was absolutely beautiful. I ran through the Marina district, which is the San Francisco way of saying “the area where the very richest people in San Francisco live”. I ran past multi-million dollar homes, cars that cost more than my house. I soaked in the smells of the water and manicured lawns.
Most importantly, though, I realized what a different person I am then when I had lived here over 20 years ago. When I lived in San Francisco in the early 1990s, I never ran. I barely exercised, and spent most nights with my two favorite men, Ben and Jerry. I had a 24 hour vacation in San Francisco, and I planned the entire thing around walking, running, and exercising in general. Nothing had to do with food and sitting. As I ran, I realized that I wasn’t going to leave San Francisco and gain back my 70 pounds. I wasn’t going to gain anything. I was a new person, with knowledge, confidence and self-esteem. I may still get lost on my runs, but I was always going to keep running :-).
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