A Week in the Life: Margaritaville, And Other Stories

I ran a half-marathon in Middletown, CT on Sunday.  It was crisp, and clear, and a mile or so into my race, a grizzled, Forrest Gump-like runner fell into step with me and ran with me for nine miles.  His name was Carl, and he had a profound beard, and was…nuts.

One thing I love about running is that wherever you go in the world, it’s a community.

I was using the race as the springboard for my Last Long Run before the Big Sur Marathon, so I ran a few miles before and a few miles afterward to reach the Magical 20.

I keep saying that Big Sur is likely to be my last marathon, and I’m not sure why.  Like Forrest Gump, there was a point in my life where I felt like I had to run, and now I’m reaching the point where I don’t have that feeling any more, and I feel like I should stop.  As to why Big Sur, well, I trained for my first marathon in that part of the country, and I tend to run to that part of the world to clear my head.  There’s something special and sacred about the craggy coast.

So I ran on Sunday in CT.

Then I drove back to Norwalk to spend some time with Katka and Matthew, before heading back into the City.  Made dinner plans on the Westside with Rebex.

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And I walked to dinner along Fifth Avenue, so grateful for the day, and the sunshine, and good friends, and the promise of spring.

I was running a few minutes late to dinner and so Rebex texted me and said, Do you want me to order you a drink?

Sure. What are you having?

Coconut margi, blended, no salt.

Perfect.

And I arrived in Midtown West as the sun was setting over the Hudson, to a coconut margarita and a good friend, and I thought: Does it get any better than this?

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