Long Runs

The morning sky over the ocean looked as if it had been painted with a broad brush in wide strokes and dabs of cloud.

I am still thinking that I might be able to run a half-marathon on March 4, so I thought a long run might be in order, another 10-mile run like the one I completed two weeks ago.  It was clear and windy, but well up in the 40s, and it went better than expected; I felt that these tired old legs might have been able to respond had I asked them for three more miles.  It was a cloudless day, doves winging overhead; I paused for water and a good stretch at Fort Macon where the North Carolina flag was fluttering and the wind was banging the rope against the flagpole, making a musical chiming sound.  I finished back at the condos with a lap around the parking lot.

Sometimes I like to eat a Reuben after a long run, so Martha called in an order to the Resort Grill downstairs (grilled shrimp burger for her); this had been the venue for a Trump/Pence party on Inauguration Day, as mentioned in an earlier post.  There was a sign on the door saying they would be closed for a minimum of three weeks in February because Deb (the chef) will be having knee-replacement surgery.  Cindy, the waitress, had our order ready.  "Lord, sweetie!" she said.  "It's nice to see you sit down for awhile.  It makes me tired to see you every morning!"

I smiled and said, "Well, I think I'm just going to sit down the rest of the day.  Thanks!"

It's almost as alarming to know that I have been carefully observed out the big tinted window every time I run as it is to be called "Sweetie."

Long runs are very satisfying, that deep satisfaction that comes from knowing you have put a significant number of miles under one's feet.  Even though they were so slow that I felt this sign had been posted especially for me.

I did, indeed, sit most of the day, first in the Atlantic Beach Cinema (where we watched La La Land) and then stretched out on the sofa engrossed in my new book, the fifth since we have been here.  The book is Tana French's In the Woods and it is very, very good!  I read late into the evening until I was too tired to read anymore.  I had learned about Tana French and her intriguing Dublin Murder Squad mysteries from an article in The New Yorker last fall and the first in the series was simply wonderful.

We've been reading so many British mysteries that I have begun to refer to taking the "lift" instead of the elevator.  And perhaps I am a little "mental" as well.