Monday, October 05, 2009

October 2 - 5

Have you ever been anticipating one single weekend for months? Maybe you'll be visiting a new city. Maybe you're planning a grand reunion with old friends. Maybe it's finally!!! time to run that race you have been working towards for the past 18 weeks. Or, maybe it's all of the above.

So the weekend comes. Naturally, your camera comes along with you. After all, this weekend has been in the making for months and months and everyone in your life knows it. You've got to have something to show for it when you get back.

You arrive. It is everything you hoped it would be and more. There is cooking. There is eating. There is sitting around the table reminiscing about this and that until who knows when. There is wine. You try to show of your France skillz by volunteering to open said wine, then embarrassedly realize several minutes later it's a twist-off bottle. Everyone laughs. Because you haven't changed. Even after what seems like ages, after your lives have veered in different directions since the last time you were together, everyone is still the same.

Then there's the big race. That 26.2 miles you have been thinking a lot about lately. You run it. It's hard. It's really much harder than any of these you've done before. Somewhere between miles 19 and 26, you wonder what you are trying to prove and who you are trying to prove it to. You think this is a very stupid thing you're doing. You think it would be nice to slow down your pace a notch or two or ten. But you know that would also a stupid thing, because that would be too easy. So you keep going and cross the finish line with your fastest time ever, and that makes it worth it.

Later, there is dinner with another old friend. More reminiscing. More laughing about the past, present, and future. And afterwards, beer. You have a Blue Moon, your first since returning to America. You leave the orange slice until the end, just like always. It tastes better that way.

Too soon, you are catching your $1* Megabus back to Chicago. You feel very sore and very content. And you realize you forgot to take pictures. No snapshots of the dinner making or of old friends or of sightseeing in the new city. No marathon-related photos. The problem is that you were having too much fun over the course of the weekend to feel obligated to document it. Your memories will have to suffice. And that is just fine. You don't mind one bit. You'll take living life over taking pictures of it any day.

*plus 50¢ reservation fee.


sallie.hickle said...

The undocumented days are the absolute best.

Anna Vitale said...

YAY! Good for you, Betsy! You are my hero. And I'm so glad someone has validated my terrible track record of picture taking. :)