So Much For The Afterglow

On our flight from San Juan to New York on Saturday, I predicted that the luster of a week off in the Caribbean would fade away by Wednesday.

From 33,000 feet, Monday held the promise of the first day of school. Everything would be fresh again. Everyone would be asking about the trip. Tuesday would hold the minor excitment of our first meeting with potential representation for the Mr. Rogers documentary (which you can read more about here). Wednesday? Hump day, baby.

The week has unfolded vaguely as suspected. We got two one hundred degree days as a bonus. Plus I got stuck on the subway for two hours; that was exciting. Work has been less harried to more overwhleming than I’d remembered. For starters, I’d forgotten just how many projects and corresponding details I’m charged with managing. For another, I’d forgotten just how vacuous many of the projects are in the first place. I’ve sat through some comically shallow meetings, and I’ve had some very substantive conversations to boot. But all in all, it’s been fine.

So far.

Abbi and I met to run in front of Bethesda Fountain this morning at seven o’clock, as we often do. The air was cool and clear, scrubbed clean by a late-night thunderstorm. I told her I was beginning to feel tired again. The run started poorly, both of us wordlessly slogging along. We did our loop, then parted ways on the East Side. I jogged west on 72d Street, then up a grassy hill above Bethesday Terrace. Oddly enough, I found my stride lengthening as I bound over Bow Bridge. I eased into a deeper, stronger pace. And I thought to myself, ‘I think I can do this,’ and sprinted home.

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