This was not my first and probably won’t be my last. My husband, myself, and a friend, walked out, when one of the commissioners touted his insights on the situation. He was more than I could bear.
The lights bounced of his bald head, as he sniveled and whined his opinions. His mannerisms were authoritative and condescending. His name is Chapman. His words were so disruptive to my inner universe that he transformed into a movie character; one that you know is going to have something bad happen to him, before the film ends. And when it does, the audience will feel grateful. It’s appropriate karma.
I needed air.
Unfortunately, the air on the island is polluted; scorched by a fire breathing dragon, of a paper mill that lies a stones throw from another paper mill, that sleeps down the road.
The entire island is polluted. But I guess it’s less than up north. So much so, that it looks like paradise to the soot cover citizens, above the Mason Dixon line. They take one look at our “lifestyle” and abandon their roots to come plant themselves here. It’s one upheaval after the next.
These days, when I surf here, I feel the buoyancy of the water, but it appears as if I’m sitting in dirt.
Run, Cheri, Run!
Outside the building, where I had sought refuge, I was bullied by a small, loud, obnoxious, woman from Ohio.
She was one of those, that believes the louder she gets, the more right she is.
She wanted to school me on the presence, and the attitude of the island in 1995.
She doesn’t know what I know.
Yankees have been coming here from the beginning. Our local cemetery is full of them.
Like I said, this is not new for me.
Gone are the free wheeling days of island bliss. The clean air and clear water will never be again.
I am forever adapting and adjusting for what the development brings. I am a master of change. Those that adapt, survive.
My latest venture has been riding my bike, in the night.
The streets are empty. With the exception of the mill, the town is quiet. No one is hurrying from red light to red light. I can pedal in the middle of the road. I enjoy the trees and moss. On these treks, I feel at home.
And most of all, I know that CROSSFIT will be there for me, in the morning.
Bear crawls, crab walks, inch worms, pull ups, burpees, box jumps.
The things that matter most.
Chapman and that snooty invader can do what they do, and I’ll do what I do.
I know I have no worries of them trespassing into my life, at the box.
There I am safe.
Some people think Crossfit is dangerous. But it is a haven for me. It is the root of my existence. It’s fun. And it’s what makes my life here on the island bearable.
It’s my wholesome way to “fight the establishment”.
And look good while I’m doing it!