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Purgatory - Sunday, Feb. 10, 2019
Tuesday, Jul. 14, 2015 @ 8:51 pm
The most perfect of evenings, the air warm with a touch of autumn crisp, the water in the harbour glassy, and the sun at just the angle where all of the colours become super saturated.
Straight from work to hot yoga. To purge the office from my body. Stress into sweat, and it flows down my legs and drips off my knees. In the poses I feel stronger, and I move into them more deeply. I see the others around me and realize how far I've come - my movements becoming more stable and controlled. Powerful.
I shower and change, but my skin is still damp and my blood is close to the surface. I start to ride my bike home, taking the long way through Chinatown. I stop at the library and wander the stacks, stare up into the lofty architecture of the faux coliseum. Riding again, past the cathedral, and the bell tower is clanging out for eight o'clock. The bells echo around in the skyscrapers, highlighting how the city's grown up around the old church.
I coast down through the gates of Chinatown. The smells and sounds so different from the rest of the city, and the mentally ill lurching around chaotically.
As I turn in towards False Creek, I realize that I'm in one of those moments of pure un-self. Of being free from my inner bullies. Where I feel extroverted and happy and alive, and everything is beautiful. I want it to last forever, that feeling, my skin so sensitive, the colours so rich. Every tree is an emerald; every window a sapphire.
I ride up the hill and my legs are strong, and my heart is strong, and I kind of just want to keep riding forever to prolong the moment, to maintain the high.
I step on the scale and watch the display blink one hundred and thirty point zero over and over and over.
I stand in a change room and cast aside a size six because it's too large.
Is this where I stop?