I ran for the first time in seven months last Sunday. Penelope’s dad talked me into it while our families were together out in the Hampton’s (or as the old-guard likes to refer to it, the East End).
Last time for me was a biggie, the New York City Marathon just three days after Hazen died. During that one, I was fueled by Hazen, Suzan, adrenaline, and an i-Pod mix - in that order. This time, unfortunately I had none of that – just John and a new physical landscape. We ran, we talked, we cried. We made it to some beautiful outlying area where we touched the address sign of some wealthy guy's house and turned back.
As we retraced our steps in reverse, I noticed that I was feeling stronger, going faster, and kind of in a groove like a running drum beat - conscious but trance-like that knows no end.
When we both made it back to the house, we grasped hands in kind of a recognition way of what we did. John said we did a little over 5-miles. I showered and felt good inside the rest of the day.
Today, back in Manhattan, I ran by myself along the Hudson River.
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