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.
"Not This Time," greeted me in bold letters below a scene of runners coming off the Tower Bridge and passing a Tower of London aid station. It was such a well-timed rejection that I had to laugh out loud. A few more emails followed, one telling me how I could get in through a charity team. Another offered to sell me a travel package and a bib. Included in the cost would be "4 or 5 star hotels.”
By then, I'd already moved on. There was something in that picture of weary runners pouring over the bridge just before the halfway mark that reminded me of how much I love London. I've walked and run over that spot dozens of times. Why spoil a good walk through history with a marathon?
I should also add that when I walked that route all those times, it was with Calene at my side. We even climbed to the top of the bridge on our last trip and walked the glass floor high above the Thames and traffic. It's a little trippy to take that first step from a solid floor to the perceived nothingness of clear plexiglass.
"Time to move on. Time to get going," sings Tom Petty. And I'm trying. But the memories are everywhere. I paid a nostalgic visit to Annapolis this week, where we visited so many times while our oldest attended the Academy, then continued in the years since. He and his wife were using it as their last stop before stepping off for a long assignment overseas. So it was nice to walk the Yard, spend time in the museum (a must if you ever visit Annapolis), and run the same streets around the harbor. There was karaoke (huzzah!), which I found to be far more fun than I ever could have believed. But I also gravitated to the places with memories — the sushi place where we watched Des Linden win the Boston Marathon, the Fed House, Galway Bay — which no longer sells the fried oysters that made it our first stop on every visit to Annapolis over the last 20 years.
Just last night I had to stop myself from booking a cheap trip for Honolulu, where we spent so many nights at Turtle Bay. This would have been a solo adventure, just me running the trails and dunking into the lagoon to cool off. Dinner at the bar at Roy's, where the roof is supported by preserved tree trunks, a design we borrowed for our own backyard.
The day-to-day reality is that Calene is being replaced by memories. As it should be. The "time to move on" factor is taking care of itself. I was using the training for London as a means of vaulting into the future but it could be anything. I must have been hitting the Camino queries pretty hard because I'm suddenly getting way too many Instagram stories about how to prepare for the long walk through Spain. I might do it, though at this point it would be for the wrong reasons. I have visions of squeezing as many miles into each day as possible, making the focus on speed instead of contemplation.
To tell you the truth, I'm a little sick of contemplation right now. Journaling, devotionals, reading, sitting out back with just myself and the doggies. Yesterday, I attended a function in Fullerton known as Runners Reunited. It was the opposite of contemplation. The cost of admission was a photo of yourself running in high school or college and your best high school times, all of which were imprinted on your name badge. If you ever want to end the debate about what defines a real runner, look not further than that room. The faces are older but many are legendary. Olympians, national record holders, people who ran before running was cool. Many were men and women I'd revered as a young runner. I thought I would stay for an hour but I stayed four — long enough for the England-Norway game to play out in its entirety. These were my people. Nothing but acceptance in the room.
I didn't think of Calene once in that entire time. She was a pragmatic woman, so I know she would have liked that. Then, of course, I went home and almost booked a trip to Turtle Bay. Baby steps. Baby steps.