Run Date: 4/26/06
Wash Park Laps: 2-ish
Gnats: 80 billion
I didn’t run the whole way, if that’s what you’re wondering. That's what the "2-ish" is supposed to convey. I felt like I could fall asleep after the first lap. The second onetook forever, in part because I walked. Twice. I never walk when I run. It’s too against-the-whole-purpose. Anyway, I was out there for hours, I think. Want to know how long? I will tell you.
During the growing daylight hours between the time work gets out and the park lights come on, Wash Park hosts plenty of beer-league volleyball. It’s just like what you see all summer long along Chicago’s North Beach, only without water or sand, and with twice as many hippies: rows upon rows of fluorescent pink- and orange-rimmed nets, young people milling about, games in regular rotation, kids tearing around the adjacent playground, etc. The first time I passed it, the makeshift courts were all in use and the party was in full swing. As I began my second lap, I could still see the revelry from the other side of the park. A few people trickled out, maybe, but the party was more or less intact. But something creepy happened in the (very long) time it took me to pass Volleyballland on lap two: everyone disappeared. All the nets had been disassembled and loaded into trucks. The yuppie athletes had evacuated their overpriced, oversized foreign road hogs. The hippies had wandered off somewhere in search of Frisbee-based fun. There were still kids on the playground, but I’m pretty sure they live there, so that didn’t concern me. Oh, and all of a sudden it was dark. I was reminded of this dream I had when I was a kid, where I fell out of the car while it was driving (I had this dream a lot. Whatever the dream said about my Freudian side, it was screaming it), rolled down a hill, and came to a stop outside of a tavern crowded with people, both inside and out. I was probably seven when I had this dream, so who knows what I was doing outside a tavern. Anyway, I went in to the noisy, crowded tavern to get help, but I got nowhere with those yahoos. I gave up and went back outside—where it was suddenly dark out—but no one was there. Everyone had evaporated. Back inside—same deal. Sounds like abandonment issues, doesn’t it? I wonder if my parents accidentally left me places when I was little. I doubt it. You would not believe how cute I was as a kid.
Brandon
Wash Park Laps: 2-ish
Gnats: 80 billion
I didn’t run the whole way, if that’s what you’re wondering. That's what the "2-ish" is supposed to convey. I felt like I could fall asleep after the first lap. The second onetook forever, in part because I walked. Twice. I never walk when I run. It’s too against-the-whole-purpose. Anyway, I was out there for hours, I think. Want to know how long? I will tell you.
During the growing daylight hours between the time work gets out and the park lights come on, Wash Park hosts plenty of beer-league volleyball. It’s just like what you see all summer long along Chicago’s North Beach, only without water or sand, and with twice as many hippies: rows upon rows of fluorescent pink- and orange-rimmed nets, young people milling about, games in regular rotation, kids tearing around the adjacent playground, etc. The first time I passed it, the makeshift courts were all in use and the party was in full swing. As I began my second lap, I could still see the revelry from the other side of the park. A few people trickled out, maybe, but the party was more or less intact. But something creepy happened in the (very long) time it took me to pass Volleyballland on lap two: everyone disappeared. All the nets had been disassembled and loaded into trucks. The yuppie athletes had evacuated their overpriced, oversized foreign road hogs. The hippies had wandered off somewhere in search of Frisbee-based fun. There were still kids on the playground, but I’m pretty sure they live there, so that didn’t concern me. Oh, and all of a sudden it was dark. I was reminded of this dream I had when I was a kid, where I fell out of the car while it was driving (I had this dream a lot. Whatever the dream said about my Freudian side, it was screaming it), rolled down a hill, and came to a stop outside of a tavern crowded with people, both inside and out. I was probably seven when I had this dream, so who knows what I was doing outside a tavern. Anyway, I went in to the noisy, crowded tavern to get help, but I got nowhere with those yahoos. I gave up and went back outside—where it was suddenly dark out—but no one was there. Everyone had evaporated. Back inside—same deal. Sounds like abandonment issues, doesn’t it? I wonder if my parents accidentally left me places when I was little. I doubt it. You would not believe how cute I was as a kid.
Brandon
posted by Brandon at 10:19 PM
1 Comments:
Dude, you are going to kick ass on this half marathon. As long as it does not involve swings, anyway. And typically they don't. I say 'typically' like I run half marathons all the time. The truth is, I do not. But I'm pretty sure it is atypical to involve swings. Please accept my apologies if I am wrong.
Brandon
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