There are times when I love the fog in San Francisco. But the summer is not one of them. The summer is for wearing as little clothes as possible and getting a tan – not updating your scarf and sweater collection.
I am told that the fog rolls in like clockwork over Fourth of July weekend, hovers for a few months before moving on in the fall. This past Fourth we stood on Emily’s rooftop in Russian Hill toasting with champagne while waiting for the fireworks to begin. Our mistake. As relative newbies to SF, we now know that you do not watch the fireworks in San Francisco. You listen to them.
The only bright lights we saw were from the firetrucks racing to their next call and a handful of firecrackers set off across the street before the police came and confiscated the rest. In the end the most exciting part of the night was when Em’s neighbor accidentally locked us on the roof and she had to scale down the side of her building to get back into the apartment. Awesome.
However, the fog does have its perks. I like it when I am running and want to disappear for awhile or need a good excuse to stay indoors and hibernate. But after a few weeks, the fog begins to feel like a house guest that keeps forgetting to change the toilet paper roll and peeing on the seat. Harmless, but annoying.
Anyhow yesterday, Em, Allison and I had enough. We took a drive across the bridge under false promises of sun and temperatures above 80 at the beach. Foiled by weather.com (again) we ended up driving to Stinson Beach only to stop at the local market where we refueled with ginger ale and saltines (to cure the car sickness caused by either those winding roads or Em’s driving) before driving back.
The fog seemed to surround us on all sides. It was camped out over San Francisco to the south. It dispatched clouds to the west and north. It almost had us. But we chased the sun and finally caught up with it in Tiberon.
We pulled over, unloaded our beach gear and plunked down on the grass near downtown. We stripped down to our bikinis and fell asleep. I am sure the locals just loved us. Especially when we practiced our handstands and headstands on the lawn piquing the interest of the local children and old men about town. One little girl came and showed us how to do them properly.
“You need to give it more oomph,” she said.
“More … oomph?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said emphatically.
It’s hard explaining to a 7-year-old that you are too old to give it your all anymore. You might get injured. When you are old and you fall, you hit the ground a lot harder. And it can take a lot longer to recover from the wounds. Nevertheless, Marina insisted, giving us all a valuable lesson about fear and falling and getting back up again.
So I tried it. And I didn’t get that hurt. I am just feeling a little sore today. (Read: I ache and could use an ice pack.) Maybe I am too old to be regressing without stretching first.
Anyhow, point taken. Thanks Marina.