Wednesday, May 14, 2014

The Roads Over Which I Run

The only reason for Time is so that
Everything doesn't happen at once.
- Albert Einstein

I took full advantage of the free Summer preview that Mother Nature offered to those of us who reside in the State of Concrete Gardens this past weekend to get in some good, hard-paced roadwork on Saturday afternoon and again on Sunday morning.  "Hard-paced" of course is a relative term and what for me was really cooking was a pace at which my friend Jerry Della Torre could run in combat boots, hopping on one foot and carrying me on his back.  Ah, relativity thou art a fickle bitch.  Be that as it may, it felt good to get out and about in conditions - in terms of both temperature and humidity - that did more than merely hint at what awaits me during the upcoming Summer running season.  Perfect timing too.  The Spring Lake Five is now just ten days away.  

This past weekend was, of course, Mother's Day.  It also marked a year since Margaret and I packed up our home on one side of town and moved across town into the home in which she grew up.  Time being what it is and the experience being what it has been, there have been moments where it has seemed to me as if the year passed by in an eye-blink.  There have also been moments where it has felt something altogether different.  When we moved last May it was hard for me to say goodbye to our home.  The difficulty for me was two-fold.  First, I said goodbye to something that was most assuredly mine.  Margaret and I earned it and paid for every upgrade and modification we had put on it and in it in the thirteen years we were there.  A lot of my life was in that house.  It was not just a house.  It was a home.  More than that, it was my home.  Second, I was saying hello to something that will never feel as if it is completely mine.  That is neither a bad thing nor a good thing.  It is however a true thing.  

Margaret reminds me every now and again that there is a method to all madness, including our not-too-recent move.  Usually she reminds me by showing me a piece of property or a house down the Shore that may well emerge as our next - and perhaps final - landing spot.  And she reminds me that we could not have gone directly from where we were to where we want to be down the road without first being where we are now.  Smart woman my wife.  Her poor taste in lifetime traveling companion notwithstanding. 

On Saturday during my run I did something that I have consciously tried to avoid doing in the year since we moved - I actually ran on the sidewalk at 57 Delaware.  I have - by deliberate design - avoided setting foot on any piece of that which was once mine since we closed the door behind us last year.  Leaving broke my heart more than just a little so once the break was made, it seemed best to ensure it was a clean one.  Plus the guy who bought our house turned out to be such a douche-nozzle that any time I see him around town I want to punch him in the larynx.   He was nowhere to be seen on Saturday afternoon when I ran through my old neighborhood and allowed my feet to contact the sidewalk that I was responsible for shoveling for a decade-plus worth of winters. 

I have to admit that while I was only on my former home turf for five or ten seconds, the whole time I was it felt as if I was someplace I was not supposed to be.  Or perhaps someplace where I no longer belonged.  And you know what?  I no longer belong there.  The past is the past.  Life is a forward-moving exercise.  

Regardless of the pace at which you run through it.  


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