As It Was
This weekend was about as close as it’s come to feeling normal again. Saturday morning I threw on some shorts and a T-shirt and drove down to Coronado to help with the track club group training for the AFC Half Marathon. Any thoughts of running it are gone: It’s sold out. But it gave me time to chat with some friends, take a few photos during the downtime and start to feel like part of a group again.
The rest of the day was filled with dance. It was the final recital I’ll ever have to attend, and after almost 20 years of tutus and tuitions, it was as bittersweet as you can imagine.
Sunday morning came way too quickly, with each of us up at various times beset by intestinal troubles. Watermelon appeared the apparent source since it’s the only food we had in common. Still, there I was at 6:30 on the nose in the Lake Miramar parking lot, waiting as I used to for my training partner Tara, who arrived just after me. After almost six years, the lakeside path is open for a full 5-mile loop again. Officials erected a chain-link fence shortly after Sept. 11, 2001 to protect the city’s water supply. Once paranoia wore off, lake regulars held meetings to try and come up with a better solution since the new route of going out four miles and back another four created problems. Attendance dropped dramatically, and the outer reaches and trails became a dangerous area. As we hit the sole water fountain just over 3 miles into it, I realized I hadn’t been this far since a woman was raped at lunchtime in December.
Going over the dam for the first time in two years (it was opened only for the 4th of July 10k since 9/11), I’d forgotten how nice it felt to take in the city below and close in on the full loop. As we headed to Starbucks in our sweaty running clothes to continue the conversation over caffeine, I wished I could bottle this feeling of pure contentment.
As it was, some of that euphoria was already escaping from under the lid. No sooner did I arrive back home, ready to read the paper and then head to the beach, when the phone rang. One of girls had broken down on a busy road just outside La Jolla, requiring a tow to the service station and bad news come tomorrow. This, it would turn out, was no day at the beach. It doesn't help I already have an appointment for another car to be fixed in the morning. Somehow, though, these misfortunes seem normal now too.
The rest of the day was filled with dance. It was the final recital I’ll ever have to attend, and after almost 20 years of tutus and tuitions, it was as bittersweet as you can imagine.
Sunday morning came way too quickly, with each of us up at various times beset by intestinal troubles. Watermelon appeared the apparent source since it’s the only food we had in common. Still, there I was at 6:30 on the nose in the Lake Miramar parking lot, waiting as I used to for my training partner Tara, who arrived just after me. After almost six years, the lakeside path is open for a full 5-mile loop again. Officials erected a chain-link fence shortly after Sept. 11, 2001 to protect the city’s water supply. Once paranoia wore off, lake regulars held meetings to try and come up with a better solution since the new route of going out four miles and back another four created problems. Attendance dropped dramatically, and the outer reaches and trails became a dangerous area. As we hit the sole water fountain just over 3 miles into it, I realized I hadn’t been this far since a woman was raped at lunchtime in December.
Going over the dam for the first time in two years (it was opened only for the 4th of July 10k since 9/11), I’d forgotten how nice it felt to take in the city below and close in on the full loop. As we headed to Starbucks in our sweaty running clothes to continue the conversation over caffeine, I wished I could bottle this feeling of pure contentment.
As it was, some of that euphoria was already escaping from under the lid. No sooner did I arrive back home, ready to read the paper and then head to the beach, when the phone rang. One of girls had broken down on a busy road just outside La Jolla, requiring a tow to the service station and bad news come tomorrow. This, it would turn out, was no day at the beach. It doesn't help I already have an appointment for another car to be fixed in the morning. Somehow, though, these misfortunes seem normal now too.
