The day before I ran the 12km in to work, with my bag, manoevering the cracked streets and avoiding the crowds by doing so in the snow at 7am. I arrived just in time for my boxing class, that no longer leaves my shoulders aching, even though it gets more and more complicated each time. By the end of the day I was definitely thinking that it was time for some yoga to stretch out my tense calves. *makes mental note to keep looking into one of those ball chairs for work* Not that I ever spend much time sitting down, but it seems like such a good idea.
I made it to the class on time, stretched onto my mat with luxurious pleasure, and prepared to watch my thoughts swim past without holding onto them for the next hour and a half. Bliss!
It was advanced, deep twist, head standing, ‘in crowd terminology’ something something yoga practice that night. I stumbled home in the dark, thoroughly stretched, possibly relaxed, but with my muscles throbbing. I hoped that I would be refreshed in the morning, when my run schedule called for a relaxed 10K.
I cycled to work, and schemed all day to walk around as much as possible, finally getting to the end of the day and wrapping myself in winter runners garb. The plan: a relaxed jog to Look Mum no Hands, a soy hot chocolate treat for a cold winter’s evening, and then a second relaxed jog home. I always fly past this place on my bike, and smile at the thought of a group of bike loving Londeners, united in their differences, all gathered under one roof (or sky when it is a beautiful day and they migrate outside).
I stood, trying not to sweat, mentally debating where on earth the queue started and ended. The British part of me just wanted to be able to take my place, wherever that was, the North American in me struck up a conversation with a man holding a wine glass. Also American, he responded, and we ended up chatting about moving continents (he moved from San Francisco – too arrogant, to New York – vibrant, to Amsterdam – AMAZING, and commutes to London – which he loves). I explained my dilemma: I am perfectly open to falling in love with London, have lived in many other places and understand what needs to happen, and I came here of my own volition, but I cannot seem to break in. Just before my chocolate slid across the counter, he said ‘you need to meetup’.
Obviously I need to meetup.
I need to meet people, that would entail meeting up.
I smiled, but on the inside I was thinking ‘talk about stating the obvious dude’, and wandered over to a newly freed up table.
I sipped my chocolate, checked the news, watched the world go by, and opened twitter, thinking I would tweet about the ‘National Voter Registration Day’ light show on the side of Big Ben #NVRD. There were some notifications, some new followers, Live With Purpose Adventurers…that sounded cool. ‘come join us on @meetup for a list of trips and adventures’ @meetup? Oh, THAAAAATTT meetup. I downloaded the app and stood up to see if wineglass guy was still there so that I could apologise for my (entirely silent) thought.
What a great idea! There are some strange groups: ‘awaken the goddess within through dance’…ok, I flick past that one, but there are 101 Awakened Goddesses, and they have met up through this app, and they are awakened, and goddesses, and in good company. I have not played around with it properly yet, but this is but another arrow in my ‘attempting to love London’ quiver, and as I am not a very good shot, I need as many as I can get!