I received my lottery results for the London Marathon this week. The memo line said simply "Are You In," which reminded me of an old joke about sex but also got my heart beating fast. It sounded so promising. As I opened the message I truly believed I had beaten the odds and scored a coveted bib for the 2027 race.
Apparently, I like people.
I went to the Angel-Red Sox game Friday evening with longtime pal, John Burns. Great seats. Violated my pledge to not attend another Angels' game until Artie Moreno sells the team. Those seats were just too good to quibble about. Took solace in the bare-chested fan group shouting "Sell the team!” from the upper decks. I hear you, brothers.
I left my phone in John's car. Another casualty of grief is forgetfulness, I am told (I've been researching. It's a real thing).
Got back from Poland on Tuesday. The flight was almost twelve hours and my lie-flat seat wouldn't recline but I made my best of the time by re-reading The Norwegian Method. It's a science-based approach to training distance runners. If you read my Substack yesterday, you'll know how much I cherish data-driven training. This fact surprises me more than anyone I know because I'm normally an impulsive make-it-up-as-you-go individual.
I cannot see the Baltic Sea through the French doors opened up onto my hotel balcony. It is only one hundred yards to my left but there is a small forest between here and the broad sandy beach. I'm near Sopow, the leafy suburb next to industrial and charming Gdansk in northern Poland, where shipbuilding cranes silhouette the horizon like enormous metal storks. There is also a running path between the Hotel Lival and the forest and then the Baltic. It is leafy and well used by walkers and parents pushing strollers, and is most of all, rather lovely….
I went to Disneyland yesterday. A gift from my son. He was working and I would get to see him in action. Got there just as the park opened then dashed to Space Mountain and used the single rider lane to avoid the hour-long line. The guy next to me in our little rocket was very enthusiastic that our journey on an interstellar roller coaster was the best possible way to start a day at the Diz. He was very vocal and chatty, which I did not mind. What struck me was that for the first time in a very long time, the person next to me on Space Mountain was a total stranger. Calene used to scream through every swoop and bank. Scream. I'm glad my new buddy did not do that. "I'm going to do it again," he told me as we jumped off, whereupon he sprinted back to the single rider line.
I ran errands yesterday. These are new to me. It was always Calene's role to run errands. Oh, I made the occasional Lowe's run but I never set foot inside Costco. It's not that I refused to run errands (a visit to Lowe's also means a quick stop at Selma's for a Pliny because they share the same parking lot), it was just part of our division of labor.
But now I know how to pick up prescriptions, every aisle in the grocery store, and the importance of upgrading the Costco membership for purposes of early morning admission….
Track season came to an end yesterday. I followed up my final high school track meet of the season by driving to UCLA and watching a professional meet with my friends from the USA Track and Field Foundation. I even got to hand Parker Valby her big fake check when she won the women's 5,000. That's what she called it. I liked that.
