Turkey Strut Again

We know we are pushing it - well, maybe not Martha, but I am pushing it - running three races in less than two weeks.  But Old Salem always calls to us at Holiday time, and Martha learned about a Thanksgiving Day race in Winston-Salem, another Turkey Strut.  Old Salem is only four hours away, and we arrived in plenty of time to pick up our race packets and check in to the Historic Brookstown Inn, where we have stayed many times in the past.  The big, rambling building is on the National Register and was once a cotton mill; its huge beams and columns and high ceilings are truly remarkable.

 

Pasta loading took place in the small Italian restaurant directly across the street, Di Lisio – delicious!  The only disappointment was deciding with some reluctance to forego the special of the evening, Risotto with scallops and tiger shrimp, in favor of the traditional angel hair and marinara, but the latter was so delicious we did not regret it at all.

The race start was only ten minutes away, at the Winston-Salem Fairgrounds - ample parking and well-organized facilities.  But what a difference between last Saturday's Strut and today's Strut.  Instead of 108 runners stumbling on gravel paths around the Kituwah Indian Mound, we found ourselves in a group of nearly 1900 runners:  men, women, children, strollers, and dogs all packed into the starting area.  As soon as the National Anthem had been sung and the gun had gone off, I realized I was poorly positioned; I think I walked for a minute before I got to one of the two big starting line arches.  My main objective for the first half-mile was to avoid tripping on the many dogs, strollers, children, and walkers strolling blissfully with cups of coffee up toward the front (or, at least, in front of me).  I don't think the traffic truly thinned out until the final mile.  Still, I felt strong and my knee did not hurt at all.

Martha was waiting at the finish, and we went over to view the results already scrolling on a big computer screen under a red tent.  We did not expect to place at all - there were 31 women in Martha's age group - and had already returned to the car, when Martha said she would go back and see if she could find her results.  I followed, and found her smiling with a third-place trophy in hand.

My own finish time was slower than the past two races – 35:34 – but Martha had positioned herself close to the starting line and escaped much of the commotion of dogs and strollers and small children (also, she is faster than I); she finished in 28:36. 

So like the rest of the runners, our next goal was celebrating with Thanksgiving Dinner.  We had not been able to get reservations at the few places open today, so we had decided to leave it to Providence.  Providence delivered by means of a short list of ten restaurants provided by the desk clerk at the Brookstown, which included a Chinese restaurant (General Tso Turkey, I wondered?) and the Golden Coral, but also including Hutch and Harris, a tiny place uptown that we had called and been told they might be able to fit in a couple of walk-ins but there would be a long wait.  We walked in and they seated us immediately, and we had one of the nicest Thanksgiving Dinners we have had in awhile.  Martha's Mom, sister, and brothers had been invited to dinner at her nephew's home, so we knew they were well-provisioned, and her Mom had urged us to go off for the Holiday.  And the lack of guilt seemed to make the gravy just a little more savory!

After the lazy dinner, we drove into Old Salem, which we had largely to ourselves because it was closed for the day.  What a wonderful little place, a miniature Williamsburg, in which to wander and marvel at these old buildings lovingly constructed by Moravians in the 19th century or earlier; the Salem Tavern was constructed in 1784 and George Washington stayed there.

We found a quiet bench and sat in the sun and talked about past Thanksgivings we have enjoyed with relatives, many now passed on, and friends and neighbors.  This quintessentially American holiday has transformed itself, for us anyway, into a religious observance; it is harvest time, a good time to look back at what the year has produced, to enjoy and savor and celebrate and look ahead.

We returned to the Brookstown Inn for the evening, relaxing in the parlor and the lobby, enjoying the ambience of the period furnishings and decorations.

The Brookstown hotel cat, Sallie (whom I have written about in the past in this blog), was not happy with all the people staying there, and was not sleeping on her usual sofa in the parlor, although we both saw her tabby tail flicker briefly and disappear around the corner at one point. 

What a gift it is to be living in this beautiful world, with friends and loved ones all around, and to be active and healthy!  My friend Benita posted this poem by Mary Oliver on Facebook on Thanksgiving, and it spoke to me (especially, as a runner, that part about being slow if you must),