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The worst/best Valentine's Day I ever had was in 1997. The person I thought I was to marry had moved away for school the previous fall, and I was hoping he would do something extra special for Valentine's Day to make up for the distance. We'd been dating for 4+ years at this point, so I was waiting with less and less patience for that engagement ring. Instead of the ring, he broke up with me on the night of the 13th of February. Bereft, I spent Valentine's eve the best way a girl can possibly do it -- I went to a gay bar in San Francisco's Castro district and got good and drunk, with lots of pretty boys buying me drinks and reminding me that men are scum.

The next morning the phone rang early. It was pouring rain, my head hurt and I was still groggy from the night before, but I stupidly answered it. It was one an acquaintance from work, asking me if I wanted to go cycling. I broke down on the phone, telling him that I had just been dumped, and he convinced me that going for a bike ride would be the best medicine possible. So I suited up and met them for a ride in the miserable February rain.

We rode up into the east bay hills -- a challenging ride even on a sunny day. That day was pouring rain and fairly terrible. My friend and his partner took the lead. I should mention that both of my riding buddies that day were gay men living with AIDS, and they were riding because that was part of what kept them alive. We climbed and climbed further and further up the hills. At first we were chatty, but as the ride grew progressively more difficult we each became more silent, caught in the rhythm of our breathing, the bicycles and the rain. I thought about my ended relationship and how heartbroken I was. As I worked my way up that mountain I began to see how my life was transitioning, how I had been set free from a bad relationship and a destructive lifestyle. My legs pumped the pedals, my heart pounded in my chest, tears mixed with rain, and I kept cycling.

We reached the peak and a clearing in the hills where one can typically see an incredible view of the bay area. On this particular Valentine's Day, the view was completely obscured by pouring rain. My friend Miguel sat up in his saddle and started hooting and crying out "What a WONDERFUL DAY! IT IS SO BE-OOOOOTIFUUUUL!" We laughed hysterically and I realized that my problems and heartache were silly. If this man, struggling on a day to day level to simply survive, could embrace the absolute worst day of bay area history by celebrating the rain and the hills and the triumph of hard work accomplished, then perhaps my own simple problems weren't so bad after all.

The descent was fast and slippery and dangerous and entirely exhilarating. I returned to my sad little home and started cleaning out the ex's stuff. The rain had cleansed my spirit and the only thing left for me to do was to start over. 
-- emmalola

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