Adventures in Burning (or) The Sun is a Harsh Mistress

I had a very difficult time climbing the (multiple) staircases on my trek to work this morning.

Why?

1. My butt and thighs are sore to the point of wincing with each and every movement. All this from a mere hour of handstands.

2. The backs of my legs are incredibly burnt (we're talking lobster grade) making bending at the knees a painful challenge.

The soreness is unpleasant, but welcome. It indicates to me that I succeeded in working muscles I evidently ignore on a regular basis, and that is an accomplishment in my book. The burn, however, is a throbbing testament to my stupidity.

I got cocky. That's the plain and simple truth. I wore SPF 15, applied only once, and expected the slight increase in melanin that I have accumulated over the past few years to handle the rest of the excess UVA and UVB rays. Apparently this increase is not sufficient to justify 4 hours in direct sunlight without taking necessary, precautionary measures.

Moral of the story: Wear sunscreen! Just do it. I don't care if you "don't burn." Excessive sun exposure ages you and will give you cancer. Sure, go out for the occasional 15-minute, sunscreen-free jaunt to replenish your vitamin D stores, but that is the limit. Take it from me, your crimson authorette. I am returning to SPF 50; friends and family will simply have to learn to cope with my blinding white legs and tactfully wait until I am out of the room before mocking them.

Other aspects of my beachy Sunday that are not sun related:

I went to Stephanie's Bakery in Ocean Beach (highly recommended, by the way) and got a much anticipated vegan pizza. I was slightly grumpy that I was having to order an entire pie to sit and eat by myself, but I was pleasantly surprised to find that they had a 10" option, so single diners need not look quite so gluttonous. Plus, I have lunch for today, so that's good news.
(Next time I go, I'll take pictures: This blog is severely lacking in the food porn department, thus far).

I got a lot of reading done. I am thoroughly immersed in Mark Danielewski's House of Leaves, (I'll tell all about it when I have finally finished it) and it is taking me for-e-ver. So I sat at Peet's all morning, then at Stephanie's and the beach all afternoon, reading. I am closing in on the end. Yay!

I found my profound lack of desire to have children further solidified with every sand-kicking, water-dripping, boogie board-dragging tot that went flying by (or over) my towel. In order to raise civilized, mannered children who respect the space of fellow humans, you need to be the killer of fun. "No, no son, please have a little less childlike joy and walk in a controlled manner to the ocean's edge. And your squeals of excitement? Perhaps they are disturbing our fellow beach goers who are attempting to relax in their sun comas." I don't know. That just doesn't sound like fun to me. And if doesn't sound like something I'd want to do, I should certainly not add myself to the excessive list of unfit parents in this world.

And finally, I realized how much I have changed in the way I fuel my body over the past couple years. There was a time when my diet very strongly echoed that of the average American (much as I hate to admit it) and now, there is little to no resemblance. The starkest contrast is my desire to have the food I eat be as close to its natural state as possible (i.e. whole foods). The difference here being that much of what the average person consumes never had a "natural state." This was exemplified yesterday by the conversation I overheard drifting on the ocean breeze from the family next to me.
"What do you want to drink?"
"Juice."
"Ok, I have Gatorade. Do you want red, orange or yellow?"
"Red. And chips!"
"Ok, do you want red or blue Doritos?"
Since when are red, blue, and yellow flavors? Many people have given up pretending that anything they eat even comes from the earth. They have embraced the chemical status quo.
Gross.

Yesterday was kind of a strange day.