Every couple of years the family goes to Chincoteague Island. Much to my dismay, it was revealed to me that Chincoteague is actually in Virginia of all places. My distaste for Virginia stems from the fact that I’m a Marylander. Worse, I live in the amazing and gorgeous and happy and clean and super duper awesome Montgomery County. We live a happily sheltered world where 1) everyone we know is super and 2) where there really isn’t a world outside of our County. Well, we know that there is a world outside of MoCo, but somehow it doesn’t really count. Especially the other counties in Maryland. It’s not a superiority thing, it’s more of a naive assumption that no one would ever choose to not live in MoCo. The majority of us commute into DC for work and then happily return back to our lovely homes with all the other awesome and super duper Marylanders. However, on the other side of DC lies Virginia. While Virginia and Maryland are, I swear, about 20 minutes away from each other, it really is like an entirely different planet. Indoor smoking is allowed in Virginia, they have different license plates, their parking laws are freaky, and they like to toll roads like there’s no tomorrow. And the Virginians simply don’t know what to do with our super duper awesomeness and our happiness and our choice not to toll every road we build. In addition, we have sensible parking laws. (I’m looking at you, Alexandria.)
And since driving is out of the question, we’re left to rely the lovely Metro to ferry us from one place to another. Now the problem that this poses is we from the DC-area are very pattern-oriented. We’re policy wonks, lobbyists, lawyers, engineers, ambassadors, and doctors. We don’t like surprises and we like being safe. I swear to god, going into VA via metro is the equivalent of taking the train to St. Petersburg, Russia. You step outside and the sun shines differently, the trees try to eat you, the people speak in a foreign language, and the architecture is completely alien. To add insult to injury and to further keep our peoples apart for all time, the metro decides to close its doors on weekdays at midnight and on weekends at 3am. There are few things worse than venturing out into the alien wilderness of Virginia and either missing the train back home or being stuck on the train for an hour due to delays and other crappiness while either fighting off nausea from drinking too much or trying to stay awake from drinking too much. Worse, being perfectly sober since you had to leave the Wednesday night party at 11 or 10:30pm due to the hour-long delays you’ll inevitably face.
Wow that was a much longer explanation than was really required. This is my blog though, so I’ll just say that VA sucks, the metro’s hours suck, and that we all just meet in DC to drink because it’s neutral territory and we know what to expect. DC is the Switzerland to our Cold war era metaphor…Except with a lot more alcohol and minorities.
What the hell does this have to do with the family beach trip? Nothing. Chincoteague was good times. Though once again, while my two younger brothers end up looking like two bronzed gods, I end up with patches of red where I misapplied sunscreen and otherwise whiter than I began. Fuck. Also, what tourist destination closes everything at 8:30pm? Chincoteague. I got a good 5 mile run in early Saturday morning, though. I’ve now resolved to myself to keep in good enough shape that anywhere I am, I can go for a five mile run around there. It’s eye opening, peaceful, and happy.
I think that the thing I love best about running is the sensation that while I’m running by myself, I feel more a part of the universe and everything around me than I typically ever do. I’m usually so busy with my own things and worries and distractions that I focus just on myself but at the cost of the world around me. And that’s natural, I think. But when I’m running…sure, I focus on my breathing and my pace, but somewhere in between the breathing and the sound of my shoes against the pavement, I realize the birds, the people near me, the connections that we all share. When I run alone, I feel more a part of everything around me. And being reminded of that on a daily basis is pretty damn wonderful.
Re-reading Cat’s Cradle by the great Kurt Vonnegut for my book club. I’m a huge Vonnegut fan ever since high school when we had to read Slaughterhouse Five. Ever since then I’ve loved the man. Came across this gem on my read:
In the beginning, God created the earth, and he looked upon it in his cosmic loneliness. And God said, “Let Us make living creatures out of mud, so the mud can see what We have done.” And God created every living creature that now moveth, and one was man. Mud as man alone could speak. God leaned close to mud as man sat, looked around, and spoke. “What is the purpose of all this?” he asked politely. “Everything must have a purpose?” asked God. “Certainly,” said man. “Then I leave it to you to think of one for all this,” said God. And He went away.
Back at school. I need blueberries and strawberries. I brought up a TV. Not entirely convinced that I need one when I have a computer and mininova.
Next summer the family is going to the south of France. I really want to do this right after graduation. I want to spend a summer in the south of France and study for the bar exam and run long daily runs. I shall eat delicious bread, good cheese, and tasty wine. I will work on my French and write my novel about ninjas and lawyers. (Current tentative title: Ninjas and Lawyers: A love story in two acts.)
“Do you know why Indian rain dances always worked? Because the Indians would keep dancing until it rained.”
This quote keeps on running through my head. I watched Saturday’s women’s marathon and I’m in so much awe of Romania’s 38 year-old Tomescu. For ten miles she broke from the pack and led the entire race running a 5:15/mile pace. At my best shape, I could run a mile in 5:49. Now that’s just one mile. As much as I’d love to tell myself otherwise, there’s no possible way that I’d ever be able to keep up that pace for anywhere more than two miles. The image of Tomescu running by herself (she was that far ahead that no one else could be seen behind her) at the twenty mile marker was such an inspiring and touching sight for me. The last time she tried to do this, she wasn’t able to finish. Why did it work this time? Was a difference in training? In faith in herself? The image below is such a great one of exhaustive joy. I love it. I loved watching that marathon.
