I'm supposed to run eight miles today, but, oh darn, it's raining.
Actually I do feel "oh darn" about this, as running has oddly become one of the most consistent and simple pleasures of my life: shorts and a tank, Asics on, earphones in, and then an hour of blessed movement in the park, with the good people of Brooklyn and the music all around me. When I don't run on Sundays now, I feel the same way I feel when I miss church; my life is less rich because I haven't gotten outside it.
It's been a weekend marked by rain, and especially planning for and around it. On Friday a date and I decided to skip the Brooklyn Cyclones game for the Met because of the rainy forecast; we visited my beloved Tiffany room and the roof deck, where we saw "Move Along, Nothing to See Here, a pair of life-size replicas of crocodiles cast in resin, pierced with scissors and knives confiscated at airport security checkpoints." Only in New York, kids. And thanks to the damp conditions Saturday morning, Ben and I waited a mere three hours for tickets to "Mother Courage" at Shakespeare in the Park. I took a jacket, a plastic poncho, and an umbrella to the theatre last night, and thankfully needed none of them: Meryl snorted, kvetched and cavorted, and carried the show and her wagon, untouched by rain.
Actually I do feel "oh darn" about this, as running has oddly become one of the most consistent and simple pleasures of my life: shorts and a tank, Asics on, earphones in, and then an hour of blessed movement in the park, with the good people of Brooklyn and the music all around me. When I don't run on Sundays now, I feel the same way I feel when I miss church; my life is less rich because I haven't gotten outside it.
It's been a weekend marked by rain, and especially planning for and around it. On Friday a date and I decided to skip the Brooklyn Cyclones game for the Met because of the rainy forecast; we visited my beloved Tiffany room and the roof deck, where we saw "Move Along, Nothing to See Here, a pair of life-size replicas of crocodiles cast in resin, pierced with scissors and knives confiscated at airport security checkpoints." Only in New York, kids. And thanks to the damp conditions Saturday morning, Ben and I waited a mere three hours for tickets to "Mother Courage" at Shakespeare in the Park. I took a jacket, a plastic poncho, and an umbrella to the theatre last night, and thankfully needed none of them: Meryl snorted, kvetched and cavorted, and carried the show and her wagon, untouched by rain.