Back Like That

So the year is ending on a high note.

Yesterday was the day of exceeded expectations and unanticipated highs. I went running. By myself. Outside. At night. In Brooklyn.

Before leaving work I agonised about what to do. I had planned on going to Nick's 6pm Bikram class at Flatiron but then realized I wouldn't be out of yoga until 7:30 and wouldn't be back in Brooklyn until 8:00 and would want to drop my shit off at home and my sister wanted everyone at the bar for her birthday at 8:00-ish and I didn't want to be late for her birthday. I reluctantly came straight home instead, kind of disappointed in myself for not going to yoga the way I've been eating lately knowing I am wearing a very short dress New Year's Eve, also knowing that the prospects of me going to the gym instead were slim. I told myself it was okay not to work out for the second day in a row then I told myself it wasn't okay at all, that I was being too easy on myself.

Then I got the feeling.

It completely overpowered and overwhelmed me. I was a woman possessed. I unlocked my door, ransacked through my unpacked bag of clean laundry while kicking off my boots and wriggling out of my coat. I found a sports bra, took off my sweater and bra, pulled off my tights and skirt and threw on running tights and a short sleeved dry-fit running top, got out my running headphones, clipped them into the I-Pod and was out the door. It was a transcendant otherworldy experience. The night air felt cool and refreshing on my face as I ran. As I ran. As I ran. As I ran. I listened to my Runner's High mix and every song made me smile. I blasted the music. As I ran. As I ran. As I ran. I couldn't stop smiling. The warrior princess was back for one more run. I could run forever. I could have run all night. I was strong and confident and light and thrilled, absolutely ecstatically thrilled. The run was like a long lost lover that went off to war who I feared I'd never see again who I dreamt about and the dreams felt so real yet I'd wake up alone. But this time, he surprised me; he came back to me for real, not in my dreams. Even if it was for one night, I got to savor him, relish him, ravage him, love him, be embraced by him be surrounded by him be saved by him. Things you appreciate when you fear you'll never have them again. Things you appreciate when you haven't had them in so long.

So the run that was supposed to be a 30-minute special turned into me running from my house on Pacific Street past the post office, past the Eastern District, under the overpass entrance to the Brooklyn Bridge through DUMBO to Greenwich Avenue and back on Water Street past Patsy's and on to Furman Street. I hit a dilemma when I reached Atlantic Avenue. Do I keep running once Furman becomes Columbia Street or do I turn down Atlantic and run home. At that point I had been running for over 30 minutes. I kept going. I hadn't been to Columbia Street since I lived there. I ran past the old haunts. I was strong. I ran. And I ran. And I ran. I ran past all three of my old apartments. I ran past the bar where I met Illinois. I ran past the bar where I met Mrs. Illinois. I ran past the bar where AC and I watched the Fourth of July fireworks where I then made some of my own that night with 31. Then I ran home. Lungs, legs, music, head, heart all synchronised. Lungs, legs, music, head, heart all combining to make me high so high; the runner's high that I haven't had in so many months. The runner's high that is so healing. The runner's high that is so therapeutic. The runner's high that always makes me feel strong and healthy and beautiful. You can't be negative or feel weak when you're running. If you let those thoughts in; you will immediately stop running. That is one of the million reasons I love running.

With that as my foundation, I showered and got dressed and went to meet my sister and friends at the bar for her 27th birthday shindig. 31 and I had been in contact about meeting up that night. I am not sure what I did differently this time or whether it was just timing but I emailed the day before, "why don't you come to floyd's tomorrow night. i think it's time for us to hang out. been long enough, don't you think?" He responded, "I can probably work Floyd's into the equation. What's tomorrow anyway? Friday?" And the deal was struck. Of course the rest of the conversation degenerated into talks about our elusive threesome.

I got to the bar. A. was there. V. was there. My cousin is in town and she was there. My brother brought some of his friends. All of my sister's friends showed up, some of whom I hadn't seen in years. It was a blast. And I was on my high. I was also on the day before the day before the last day of being completely sinful; eating, drinking, shopping, smoking, use your imagination, all of the above, and would have had fun even if the night hadn't been set up so perfectly.

31 got there around 10:00-ish. He arrived in a cab when A. and I and some other people were outside smoking. It was nice to see him. It was nice to finally fucking see him. Anyway, somewhere in the 2's everyone filtered out leaving just us there. He said something about wanting to get out of there. I agreed. I asked him where he wanted to go what he wanted to do. He infuriatingly answered my question with a question, the same question that I had asked him. I answered honestly, "I want to take you home with me but not if you're going to avoid me for five months." He said, "how's two days?" I said, "fine, let's get out of here." And we did. We got to my house. He sat on the couch. I sat down next to him. I was chit chattering away; we had a lot to catch up on, it's been forever and he shut me up by kissing me, punctuating it with, "I've been waiting to do that all night;" words that were the cherry on the sundae of my day of exceeded expectations and unexpected highs.