Where the sidewalk ends

This Saturday’s run was like none other. That’s partly because it took place 655 miles from home.

It began and ended in Rohnert Park, a small city in the Napa Valley that also happens to be home to Sonoma State University, which this weekend held nightly performances by the school’s dance team. Nestled in a corner of a community located between Petaluma and Santa Rosa, the SSU campus reflects its host city: well-maintained buildings; impeccably groomed grounds; and plenty of park benches to suggest everyone take it easy.

Anyone that’s trained for an endurance race such as a marathon knows what the final month is like. It can get pretty intense, especially if you’re a slave to schedules. But I decided long before we left San Diego very early Friday morning that for the weekend to truly feel like a vacation, I needed to ditch the daily obsessions. So, rather than follow carefully choreographed days, I just let everything run its own course.


That meant waking Saturday when I wanted to and then intentionally leaving behind the stopwatch once I ventured outside for a run. I wondered if members of my training group doing their 20-miler had similar, ideal conditions that morning: cool temps, cloudy skies and crisp air. After a 10-minute warm-up around the motel parking lot, I headed up a sidewalk that paralleled the Rohnert Park Expressway. I decided to see where the sidewalk took me, rather than follow my mental map.

Fortified by a delirious dose of parental pride, I reflected on what had already transpired on this trip: the 10-hour drive that felt more like 15; greeting Elise in the exact same spot where we’d last given our good-byes; and then watching her whirl and twirl onstage that evening. The crowd loved her. I loved her. Later that night, her father and I talked of little else but the student performances and our daughter's newfound maturity while we ate Wendy’s singles and a Frosty in bed.


By a few miles into it, I was rambling through some nice residential areas and started to feel movement in my lower intestines. Right on cue, I came upon a park with grassy knolls and, much to my delight, a women’s restroom that was wide open. I ran about 15 minutes’ worth of laps in the park before moving on and heading up towards a golf course. There, the sidewalk ended, so without missing a beat my body instinctively turned toward a small shopping center with a Starbucks. Perfect timing again, for I needed another potty break. I came out of the restroom just as some local policemen were pulling a pretty good prank on one of their own. The whole place erupted in laughter, which turned out to be infectious. I, too, laughed as I left and remember thinking: How perfect, this moment and this morning.

I effortlessly glided through more residential areas and about an hour in came upon another woodsy park, this one with a ballpark that meant working water fountains. After hydrating, I discovered an asphalt pathway on the park’s backside. It ran alongside a stream and, I’d later learn, was one of several such trails throughout the town. Though void of any other humans, the trail bordered many backyards and must be why I felt safe despite not knowing its direction. It turns out I was moving towards the outskirts, where downy wild grass graced the valley floor and hillsides. The rural setting reminded me of Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley, where I began my career and my marriage.

Heading back, I noticed the city now was awake. Cars carrying tourists to the wineries streamed by. Softball games were underway. Closer to our motel, the local diner parking lot was packed. It’s hard to say just how far I went. Maybe 8 miles, possibly 10. [I made up the 20-miler this morning, by the way.] That run would bode well for the rest of the weekend. But that’s a blog post for another day.