I hate to sound so cynical, but it's the truth. I got through it, though, and I'm glad it's finally fall, which has been my very favorite season ever since The Cosby Show first aired and Dr. Heathcliff Huxtable taught me how much joyous potential was out there just waiting to be tapped wherever fall sweaters were sold. So, I suppose it was fashion that made me love the current season as much as I do. I remember one favorite sweater in particular - a gray mock turtleneck with little colorful nubbles of yarn knitted throughout. I used to count down the September days, just waiting for one cold enough to warrant wearing it...
But I digress. And in an odd way, too.
Anyway, I spent much of the summer in my hometown, where I had hoped to work through the descending/exploding emotional crud via frequent jogs around the old neighborhood. Something about running past all those childhood/young adulthood ghosts waiting to greet me sounded like just the ticket to help me get through what I have come to think of as the "tunnel of fire."
Unfortunately, there were signs like this one posted all over the place:
Nice. And here I thought a remote Arizona prairie was a potentially dangerous place to run because of all the "kitties" (as an old hunting acquaintance used to call them). Turns out the 'burbs are apparently much more treacherous.
So, I ended up running the track at my old high school instead, which was inevitably bittersweet (and only partly in the if-I-knew-then-what-I-know-now sense). I ran and ran, circling the Latino soccer teams that frequently practiced there and sometimes bringing a kid or two along to keep me company. (Side note: I'm fairly certain my son is destined to be a track star. The kid has seemingly endless energy, plus the perfect lanky/colt-like runner's frame).
Sometimes, when I walked, I listened to this.
And, sometimes, when I ran, I listened to this.
I still have lots of listening left to do.
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