I spent the afternoon cleaning the algae from my backyard fountain. Bought a Shop-Vac for a criminally low price, drained the water, scrubbed the green stuff that has been building since the heat wave began a month ago. Planted two sunflowers in the front raised bed. Their height gives the garden a look more in keeping with the elevated location. Watched Wimbledon yesterday and today. Did a Matt Wilpers ride on Peloton. Walked Sadie. Went to church. Took Calene for dinner down at Nick's in San Clemente, a town I love and spent many a summer in my youth which now can't decide whether they want to be Newport Beach or Huntington. The dining room was so fraught with politics I made plans on how to behave if a fight broke out. Watched the Tour de France every day since it began, finished The Bear in three nights, almost done with Quarterbacks, sent funny reels to my wife, sister, and Sean Zeitler because they all like to laugh.
In short, I finished The Long Run.
Oh, I did the usual post-book thing yesterday, going back for another look at the text though I can't change a thing. Found out that the Peachtree 10k was the first to give out t-shirts back in 1971. Tucked that one away for the edit. Otherwise, I've been true to my word and using the down time to get my head right.
It's my habit to wake up at 3 am and ruminate. Been doing it since I was a child. There's always something to tickle the subconscious. This week I've been calming the beast with the simple reminder that I did it. I wrote a book that looked impossible from the jump. I really don't want to think about writing another history book right now. My interests are too diverse for me to become a specialist in any one thing. So I don't really know what's next. I'm thrilled that Taking Midway is already in its third printing but it might be a few years until the Taking series adds another title. For those of you wondering, if you haven't already figured out, I won't be part of any Killing or Confronting books, either. I'm only 64, but how many more books do I want to write?
Anyway, here we are. The impossible book is written. I will finally admit right now that I had doubts I could pull of the big bold story I wanted to tell. But I did. I'm sure of it.
Way back in 1996, moments before starting my first Raid Gauloises two-week adventure race, I sat alone in a quiet room to ponder what I was getting myself into. I told myself that when it was all over, for better or worse, I just wanted to be a runner again. That's where I am now. I just want to run. For as long as I can remember, that's always how I find myself.