Every Racer Has Story
Today was a stunning day: bright sun, cloudless sky, crisp air. I ran the Niketown Run for the Park with my brother, his wife, and 4700 other runner. It was a shorty — 4 miles in 29:29 — but I ran it pretty quickly for me (7:22/mile). And standing at the finish, I was reminded why I love running so much. I love watching people dig that deep for something. Every racer has a story, everyone’s there for their own reasons, fighting their own fight, racing their own race. Myself included.
Back home, I cooked us brunch, we read the Sunday New York Times (the real reason God took Sunday off), and I felt Jen’s tummy as their baby-to-be hiccupped inside, which was amazing. Then I hopped on my bike (a purple Cannondale M900) and rode up to Riverside Park (not far from where they shot the end of “You’ve Got Mail”) where I hung out with my cousin Brian, his wife Roxane, and their 2-year-old Nora, who is just as cute as can be. It was a perfect day in the park: kids everywhere, puppies, smiling couples. I had dinner with my mom and Chris and Jen, took the subway home, read some more paper, and now here I am talkin’ to you.
It was a good weekend, the kind you wait all winter for, the kind Nora Ephron makes movies about. My windows were open, my apartment was clean, I felt pretty healthy, pretty happy. Generally, I can’t complain. Anyway, who would listen?