My Favorite Spots in SF

A trip down memory lane

I had my first panic attack almost five years ago, in August 2018. I was working for an investment bank, as an equity research associate covering chip companies. I thought it was my dream job and on paper it was. I got paid to read and interpret the latest technology news! Could there be a more exciting job? I had regular access to CEOs and CFOs of critical semiconductor companies in Silicon Valley. I was 25 and thought I had figured everything out.

Predictably, there were red flags.

The firm was headquartered in St. Louis, MO, with the majority of analysts in New York. San Francisco was essentially a satellite office. During the interview process, I met my future coworkers, two associates working for an analyst out of the Denver office. Chatting with these two guys was like pulling teeth. I knew we would never be buddies, but I wasn’t taking this job to make friends! My analyst lived in the South Bay and only came into the office on Monday and Thursday due to the long commute. The other associate on my team was based in Orange County, where we had no research presence whatsoever. He had worked with our boss years before at a prior firm, so an exception was made for him.

As members of the research department, we had access to “material, non-public information.” This meant that other departments could not access our portion of the floor. My floor was primarily composed of retail financial advisors that I never spoke to because I was locked away (I used to say “quarantined away” but that no longer has the same ring to it) in a restricted part of the floor.

Me and my coworkers

My boss liked us to “cover the phones” for him. We had to be in the office at all times because he did not give out his work cell phone number. He felt that people wasted his time when they could access him directly, so our job was to screen all calls. No other analyst practiced this policy - the others all answered their own cell phones like NORMAL humans.

The worst part was quarterly earnings season when corporate earnings reports were published as quickly as possible since you were competing against all other sell-side banks to be the first to analyze the results. Each earning season, my colleague in SoCal would fly to SF and we would work through the chaos together. I noticed that he transcribed every call word for word so I started doing the same. There was no time to wait for the transcripts to come out! My hands began to ache all the time but I ignored the pain.

After 10 months, my hands started going numb and I thought it was a neurological problem. I went to my doctor and was told it looked like early-onset carpel tunnel and that I should see an occupational therapist. I had no idea what an occupational therapist was. I could not find a single one that accepted my insurance. They all kept telling me that I needed a workers comp claim. I wasn’t trying to file a workers comp claim, I just needed to know if I had carpel tunnel!

As I attempted to navigate insurance jargon, I battled through a particularly brutal earnings season. I was working 16 hours a day from 6 am to 10 pm. I wasn’t sleeping and my hands were becoming unusable claws. That Friday I was set to shadow the sales team and had to get to work at 4 am instead of 6. I wanted to impress the sales VPs but I was unraveling. At 2 pm, after slogging through the sales day, I started to hyperventilate.

I was the only one in the office on my side of the floor so I slipped out into an Uber to my friend’s place. She worked from home and I knew she had a Xanax prescription. I showed up on her doorstep sobbing. “It feels like I’m dying! Like there is a 200-pound weight on my chest!” She handed me a pill and told me to get in bed and turn on “Friends.” I did just that and felt immensely better the next day.

I was finally able to see a specialist in November who informed me that it was not carpel tunnel - YET! I had a Repetitive strain injury (RSI) called “bilateral epicondylitis” (essentially tennis elbow) or forearm overuse, neuritis. The doctor said I would need to stop “handwritten work” and limit my “mousing,” making it virtually impossible for me to do my job. I ended up having to go on disability for a few months to recover.

Some of my super cute arm braces!

My only solace at the time was walking around my favorite neighborhoods in San Francisco. Whenever I was feeling blue, I would walk the streets of the city and would instantly feel transported away from my troubles. Walking has always been like a meditation to me.

I have never felt more at peace than when walking along Union Street in the early evening. My favorite walking route was from our place in North Beach to the Presidio and back. I'd often clock in at 10 miles round trip. I'd walk up Greenwich through my favorite park in Russian Hill (George Sterling Park, which includes the Alice Marble Tennis Courts). I'd often stop on Polk and get some froyo at Loving Cup - not because Loving Cup was particularly yummy (it was solidly mediocre, especially at its price point), but because I love ice cream/froyo and sitting in a park.

My special spot

I finally make it to the top of Greenwich Street. I’m embarrassingly winded after climbing the steep inclines San Francisco is famous for. I make my way past the tennis courts that sit atop the hill. The views are incredible. We tried to play tennis here once but we had absolutely no idea what we were doing. My hands hurt too much to play for very long. I wince at the thought of the tantrum I threw. I wander to my favorite bench that peaks out over the corner of Larkin and Lombard. Through the trees and shrubbery, I have a clear shot of the Golden Gate. The Marina sparkles below it. It’s dusk. My favorite time of day. The bridge is a deep red and the sky is melting into a gradient of liquid purple and orange. The sun is basking everything in gold. It’s my personal slice of solitude. I breathe deeply and feel the sun on my skin.

I don’t need to think about work. I don’t need to figure out my life. I can let it all go. My hands still ache but for now, the only thing I need to focus on is the dimming light over my city.

From there, I’d either continue on Union to the Lyon Street Steps and walk through the Presidio or I'd turn left on Fillmore then right on Pacific to take in the mansions of PacHeights. Either way, I'd end up at Lover's Lane.

Sometimes I'd take Chestnut back to get a bit of the Marina but Union will always have a special place in my heart. I loved to take in the bustle of the early evening. People had just gotten off work and were beginning to dine and drink at places like Flores, Belga (now Wildseed), Palm House, and The Brixton. The energy was contagious. I couldn't help but feel excited about the night to come. Dusk has always been my favorite time of day. I feel nostalgic for the day that is ending but also eager to see where the night takes me. The lighting makes me feel some type of way. It gets me every time.

I went to a lot of physical therapy at St. Francis Memorial Hospital. The bright spot was that I got to spend a lot of time walking along my favorite street in SF, Hyde Street. It is a magnificent tree-lined street in Russian Hill with the cable car running along it.

Whenever we were craving ice cream (my partner hates froyo), we'd trek up Greenwich to visit Swenson's, at the corner of Hyde and Union, where they served classic, no-frills ice cream. This block is home to some of the best eats, including Za Pizza, Elephant Sushi, and Union Larder (an adorable wine bar).

Every weekend we'd wake up and go for a run to Fort Point. We'd run to Fisherman's Wharf, past Boudin to the Aquatic Park where the crazies would swim in the bay. A highlight of the run was when you'd finish the climb through the Cyprus-lined path through Fort Mason and you got to take in the sweeping views of the Golden Gate.

You'd pass the douchebags showing off at the free fitness court. You'd weave your way through the tourists who have rented bikes even though they have never ridden a bike before. You'd dodge hungover Marina post-college folks, decked out in identical Lululemon, heading to the Philz truck for some much-needed coffee. Little babies of Marina/Cow Hollow yuppies would be playing soccer on the green. Once you got to Crissy Field you could scope out all the adorable pups headed for the beach.

When you made it out to Fort Point, you'd turn around and do it all again on the way home. It was the best run. Every time I did it, I'd think to myself "You will never have a more beautiful running route than this - it doesn't get any better." And it was 100% true.

Ina Coolbrith Park - When I needed a quick change of pace, I'd stroll over to this quiet spot. It has possibly the best view of the city. It feels like not many people know about it because it's always mellow. If you're lucky the parrots will be hanging out in a nearby tree (you can't miss them if they are because they are always arguing LOUDLY).

Alta Plaza Park - This is one of my favorite parks. Continuing my theme of getting ice cream and sitting in a park - I'd love to catch up with friends by going to the Salt and Straw on Fillmore and then enjoying our sweets at Alta Plaza. It has great views and is incredibly serene.

Our rooftop - This is the most special place of all. Perhaps my favorite memories in SF were during Fleet Week. The Blue Angels would fly spectacularly over our apartment as we drank Pliny's from Alimento (the BEST sandwich spot in SF, IMO) on the roof. Whenever I was feeling out of sorts I would head up to the roof and take in the sights. Looking out at the solid, ever-present Alcatraz would put me at ease. The city felt softer from up there. I felt more connected. I felt like I was right where I needed to be. The sunsets were always better on the roof.

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Places we never made it to: House of Prime Rib, Hot Sauce, and Panko To Go

Honorable mentions: Piccolo Forno, Liquid Gold, Trestle

Places that are no more: La Trappe (Greenwich Street), Stone's Throw (Hyde Street), Contraband Coffee (Larkin Street), Belga (Union Street), The House (Grant Avenue)

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Tags: Health, Memories, Work