I've been "a mess." So I've said. But something great and strange happened yesterday afternoon after I had spent more than half of another beautiful day--one on which I had planned to get out early and do some chores--sitting alone and silent in front of a computer screen. It was getting near time for my daily visit with my mother. I needed to take a walk at least, so I changed and headed out into the world. My knee hurt, but, I thought, after half a mile or so, it would begin to feel better. Maybe it just begins not to feel at all, though. Maybe it just goes numb with pain. So I limped down my street and made the downhill turn to the lake. As I walked the sidewalk around he lakeshore, I imagined that I was feeling better. The sun was shining and the air was no more than warm and a breeze was ticking up off the lake. I crossed over to the Country Club College campus passing through some sort of outdoor tent market where kids were milling about, then across the four lane road and onto the sidewalk that I would stay on for the next three and a half miles. This was my long walking day, but I could feel "time's winged chariot" drawing near. I decided that I would run a tiny bit. Just a bit, maybe from telephone pole to telephone pole.
When I began, I almost toppled forward. Embarrassingly. My stride was short and wobbly, my ankles weak. This was no good for I was in a neighborhood just off the Boulevard on a street that many people use. I would know a good number of them. I walked. Then I began to run again. Run? I don't know what to call it--an old man's stumbly shuffle, I guess, feet barely leaving the sidewalk then smacking loudly down back on the pavement. No. . . no. . . this was not good.
I walked.
Then I began again. Fuck it, I thought, you can't live in the shadows. This was one of the routes I ran for ages. I used to live in a house next to the college and each day, I would run shirtless on this same route. Back then, I was proud. I felt I looked like Tarzan, and when I'd run, sometimes, girls would giggle and wave. Sometimes, too, cars would pull over and girls would give me their phone numbers. I'm bragging and you are sickened--but it is true. No worries, though. Now I would look like Brendan Fraser in "The Whale." People would still stare, but they would laugh in horror if I ran shirtless. So. . . don't be a hater. Bad things come to those who wait.
I ran. "Clip, clop, clip, clop." Then I heard a voice calling to me. I looked across the street to the sidewalk on the other side, and there was a young, attractive girl smiling and waving. It was the pretty Sunday girl from the Cafe Strange who serves me mimosas. Holy shit! What must she think? I stopped "running and called back to her. Good God. . . was she laughing or smiling? Was that horror or happiness lighting her eyes? We chatted for a mere moment. She was very sweet. Funny, really. . . did she call out to all the weirdos she sees from the cafe?
Maybe she didn't notice.
I walked. I ran past the churches. I walked by the tree trimmers stopping traffic. I ran past the golf course. I walked. I ran. I was turning onto a busy street. It shouldn't be a busy street and didn't used to be, but while 1,000 people/week move into the area, there is no more infrastructure than there was in the 1950s. There is no other way for people to go.
"Don't run here," I said to myself. "People you know will see you."
But then, I thought, "Don't live in the shadows." I am actually proud of myself. I am my own hero. I could have and maybe should have given up long ago when I was run over almost to death. I am reminded of it with every breath. No. . . I thought, I'm not going to be ashamed.
I ran. And then a horn blared loudly just behind me and continued as it passed. A big white pickup. Oh, fuck. . . it was Tennessee. He, who runs ultramarathons just saw me stumbling. Great.
I walked. I ran. Another horn and a hand out the window waving. I walked. Another horn. These were people I knew from the Club Y toward which I was "running." I reached the small bridge over the canal, the halfway point. I gazed down into the water for a moment, then turned to run back up the hill. I walked. I ran. I tried to lengthen my stride. Back past the golf course, past the tree trimmers and the churches. Two more stretches where I would run. My legs were shaky when I reached the four lane road and waited to cross. But I felt good. Really good.
I crossed the street with the light. A horn honked and I heard my name. I looked at a truck with a small waving hand. I put my hand to my brow to sign I couldn't see who it was.
"It's Daniella!" a small voice shouted. Daniella. She's been out with the gymroid group on a drinking night. I call her Circus Girl. She trains like a trapeze artist, I think. I never believed she really liked me, or more likely never gave me a thought. Nice.
As I walked across campus, all the kids were out, it seemed. And I felt fine. Better than fine. As I limped along, people would catch my eye and smile. That's what happens when you feel good, I thought. I felt good.
I found a tennis ball lying in the grass as I left campus. I was walking the last half mile home. I bounced the ball with one hand and caught it with the other. I'd bounce it hard, and if it hit some funk in the sidewalk, it would bounce so that I had to stretch and step to get it. Ouch. No. . . this was good. Now that I am not playing ball, my eyes never need to focus this quickly, my hands needn't reach reflexively. I was feeling like a kid. I threw the ball high into the air. Quick step, catching it below my waist.
"Hey, kid. . . stay off my goddamned lawn."
Kidding.
When I got home, I had a text from Tennessee. He wanted to get dinner at the good sushi place. This was fine. I didn't want to sit home now. A visit with ma, then off to the restaurant. We would meet for an early dinner at 5:30.
But traffic was terrible. I was three cars back from a car that wouldn't make the lefthand turn onto a busy street. Two cars. One car. Shit. My turn. The traffic was stop and go. I was going to be late. As I sat in still in the unmoving line, the sun was shining brilliantly on a church with a giant cross. I snapped a pic with my phone and sent it to Tennessee so he'd guess why I was late. Slow and go, I got there and parked on the street. The phone rang. It was T.
"This fucking traffic isn't moving."
He was just beyond the church where I had taken the photo. The brilliant late afternoon light was still shining.
I stood on the pleasant sidewalk in the perfect air. I looked up and saw the light. I took another picture and texted it to him.
"O.K. I'll get us seats at the bar."
T is on some kind of doctor's cleanse. He didn't like some of his bloodwork results. He hadn't been drinking, so I ordered us a pot of green tea. They have the best green tea at this sushi restaurant. T arrived. We ate a light, early meal, bullshitted, then went out into the early evening to stand on the sidewalk overlooking the big lake around which T often runs.
"What did you tell me it was around the lake. . . four miles?"
"Just over two," he said.
I looked out. From where we stood on a hill above the lake, you could see the circumference. It looked longer than four miles.
"What?! That's not two miles."
"Yes it is. When I run two laps it is just under five miles."
"No way."
There is a sidewalk around the lake, but it is a wild trail with possums and snakes and coyotes living in the tall grass that borders it.
"I think I'll start coming up here to do my limpy walk run," I said.
"Park at the dog park. That's where all the hot women park."
We strolled slowly back toward the cars.
"What's this?" T had spotted a new restaurant. Camille's. It had a Michelin plaque beneath which was a scan code. T pointed his phone and pulled up the info. It was one of those places that serves a prix fixe meal once a day for about $400 a plate. There were little videos of the chef talking about the food he was preparing.
Camille offers an intimate dining experience with an 8-seat chef’s counter, four cozy booths, and an exclusive private dining room. The concept features a seasonal, multi-course menu that offers a contemporary twist on Vietnamese cuisine with French influences. Set in the picturesque village on the lake, the restaurant combines elegance with a unique culinary perspective.
T noticed that a lot of people he knew "followed" the restaurant.
"Yea. . . I won't be going. Four hundred dollars to sit with eight people eating plum quinoa and scorched quail eggs on flambé salmon."
I felt, though, that T would be there sooner or later with his buddies.
And so we strolled back to the cars, lingered in the night air watching the passersby, and said so long.
I poured a scotch. I thought not to. I was feeling fine. I'd drunk more water since running than I had drunk in the three days before. Water and green tea. I didn't need the scotch, but need had nothing to do with it. It was good. But just one. I switched to the AA cocktail of cranberry and soda after that. I'd lose weight, I thought. I'd eat light meals and drink very moderately, and I'd run and go to the gym and. . . and. . . Christ, my knee hurt.
I put on t.v. I watched some more Joan Chamorro videos. Listened. I have looked him up. He is quite amazing, really, a Spaniard jazz musician who "invented" a new way of teaching music to students. So they say. He had hundreds of videos online of performances in his home, with students in auditoriums, on streets, and in clubs. There seems to be an endless supply. Ask Q about the live recording quality. It is exceptional. But sometimes the video can be lacking. Here is one from what I take to be a room in his house. Crazy, but crazy good.
A run. Green tea. A light meal. One scotch. It was the best I have felt in a pretty long time. Here's to hoping I can keep it up.
This morning, before writing, I read this article in the Times.
Running is one of the most popular forms of exercise in America. It may also be one of the healthiest.
Numerous long-term studies — some involving thousands of participants — have shown that running benefits people physically has also found that runners tend to live longer and have a lower risk for cardiovascular disease and cancer than nonrunners.
One might assume that in order to reap the biggest rewards, you need to regularly run long distances, but there’s strong evidence linking even very short, occasional runs to significant health benefits, particularly when it comes to longevity and mental well-being.
Short. Occasional. Nice.
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