Running with the Devil
A nearly optimal-for-running 40 degrees greeted my sorry ass, and I ran to Rounder and back, sucking in the salty dust from the road the whole way. Sped along by early Van Halen, I felt strong and stony. I was distressed by the image of my heaving frame in the closed shop-windows. But the synth overload of "I'll Wait" carried me along.
As I crossed Route 16, it started to rain harder, but the cool drops felt good. Dylan's "Things Have Changed," that paean to middle-aged learned helplessness, provided the right loping beat to match my slowing pace.
How did I run the frigging Marathon? - it was only 5 years ago, but Liz and I look in the photos like little girls, shocked that we lived to tell the tale of our travels from Hopkinton to the Prudential Center that April morning. Big crocodile tears stain our smiles as the man takes down the 6:00:00 sign above us. On the bus ride home, the passengers smiled at me shyly as the mylar blanket I clutched around me made crinkling noises.
Paul Simon's "Rhythm of the Saints" takes me home, as the "Graceland" record did all those times before, from Brighton Center to Kenmore, to Cambridge and back. Can I do it again, with nothing to prove?