Success isn’t how far you got, but the distance you traveled from where you started. – Steve Prefontaine
(0330 Thursday 5/21- 0100 Tuesday 6/02)
Returned home from my visit to Portland and Eugene.
Spent some time with some glorious old friends and more than a couple of new ones,
pretty glorious themselves. Managed to get sick, not once, but twice.
Still sick. I lost eight pounds and I was slim when I left.
My wife says I look gaunt.
That’s so sweet.
***
Managed an hour on the spinbike yesterday and today both.
Cough is almost gone.
Next race is July 11th, Saturday after that, the library reading/signing.
Maybe work on my extemporaneous speaking skills.
There’s a scary thought.
***
Trip cost a crapload of money. Maybe worth every penny.
Flew First Class – notice how’s it’s always capitalized.
The glasses were actually real glass.
Heated mixed nuts with extra cashews. You can get seconds.
And free champagne.
Suddenly, I find myself sitting in my big leather roomy recliner
wishing my wife would show up with a warm, moist towel on silver tongs.
Actually, I first typed “thongs.”
That’s a completely different fantasy.
Flew First Class, because I am too long and hard to be cramped into Coach.
Can’t imagine why ‘coach’ is capitalized?
***
If you must know the reason… I have a Temporary Use Exemption (TUE) for blood clots.
Need my space.
And for an extra 80% of a coach ticket, you get free movies and free meals.
That pissed me off.
There’s like twelve seats in First Class. Hear the stewardess read the menu
to the first row.
“Today, we have the Duck ala Orange or grilled salmon with carmelized greens or organic imitation tofu burgers.”
***
Am busy trying to decide between the fowl and the fish, when she startles me with,
“How do you want your burger, sir?”
Really? This again?
Really? This again?
How can I be tenth in line and they run out of all the good shit?
Stunningly… freakin’ stupid… feel like I am being pranked.
Flight home delayed two hours, so they generously gave everybody on the flight free movies.
Friendly skies, my ass.
***
Portland? In a sentence??
The homeless here have better sleeping bags than I do.
Later I see a panhandler setting up shop outside Ben & Jerry’s ,
writing a new clever sign about why he needs your money.
Notice he has a better Magic Marker than I do.
Town has changed. My old liquor store is now an
Animal Health Care Center.
***
Stayed at the conveniently-located Crystal Hotel.
Across the street from Jake’s, two blocks from Powell’s bookstore and easily within walking distance of a dozen breweries.
Paid extra for a private bath.
Next time I think I’ll stay somewhere with a closet or a bureau.
And a television. Maybe even a refrigerator and enough lighting to read.
Maybe even a hair dryer. A clothes iron would be sweet.
There is a salt water pool in the basement. As well as Al’s Bar.
And the excellent Zeus Cafe on premises.
Try the charcuterie ($14).
Spanish chorizo, tasso ham, 12-year-old cheddar, pickled leeks, kool-aid cucumbers and Ken’s Artisan Bakery Ciabatta.
Which you will need to cut down on the spicy stuff.
Sunday brunch menu lists “seasonal bellini with bubbles.”
Sounds like a Jersey guy cheating on his wife.
So I ordered an artisan Bloody Mary with
more vegetables than a cornucopia.
And an artisan omelet.
It’s Portland. It’s all artisan,
even the marijuana.
Eugene.
Perhaps spent too much time at the Wild Duck. Maybe not enough.
Whichever.
Guess I have to place the blame squirrelly on the shoulders of Joe Henderson. To coin a phrase.
Met there for lunch.
Joe purchased my first feature article. Runner’s World. 1975.
Co-written with Dr. E.C. “Ned” Frederick, so I had to split the $40 check.
Worth $175.91 today.
But… I returned to the Wild Duck that same night, because, well,
I know where it is and they have beer.
That’s a laugh. Not really.
Turns out Thursday is open mike night.
Aspiring comedians in a college town.
Which sounds like a B-movie at a drive-in.
In a bar owned by one of the Carradines.
Who could easily play Buck Knight, by the way.
The kids seem to talk a awful lot about penises and vaginas.
And boobs. Then you remember you are old
and weren’t always.
***
A buddy had rented this 10-bedroom psuedo-mansion
with two laundries and a second fridge for my beer.
Last asking price rumored to be close to two million.
Walking distance to Hayward Field. And the Wild Duck.
One morning, looked out front to see
a huge deer eating expensive landscaping.
Started feeling slightly inadequate in a room full of friends
when I realized I was the only guy not planning an African safari.
Thinking maybe I need to up my game.
***
Hayward Field is a track fan’s idea
of heaven on Earth. And the 2015 Pre Classic
did not disappoint. Helps I know the Meet Director.
Conversation went like this:
‘I don’t hear from you for twenty years and the first thing
you have to say is, ‘I need a press pass?’
Also need, I told him, some party invites for me and my buddy.
Thank you, Tom. Mean it.
***
So we walk into the Pre-Pre Party at
the Lewis & Clark Catering Company next to the BMW dealers
and I look across the room and spy some guys
I ran with in the late Seventies.
Which is not as amazing as I recognized them.
And they start talking about the trips they’ve made together
to hike in the Alps.
Thinking maybe I need to up my game.
***
Friday night is Distance Night at the Pre.
I am a distance guy.
Was amused to watch Galen Rupp come on the track.
Crowd responds and a smirk crosses his face.
Reminded me of that scene in ‘Stir Crazy’,
when Gene Wilder and Richard Pryor get put in jail.
“We bad, Jack. We real bad. We don’t take no shit.”
He warmed to the crowd when he removed his warmups.
Then there was Cam Levins, a normal-enough-looking little white guy
who chased the leaders of the 10K
like he was Clint Eastwood leading a posse.
And, of course, later at the Wild Duck
I had my photo taken with Galen and with Cam.
Even with my old buddy, Coach Alberto Salazar.
And, yes, I have some opinions
and, no, I’m not sharing them.
***
Stayed an extra day, so I could ride to the airport with
John Parker, author of Once A Runner.
Definitely, look him up.
We talked about his new novel, a prequel titled Racing The Rain,
which I think might be his best work.
Turns out Coach is an autodidact with an Elon Musk interest.
Another buddy drives a Tesla.
Thinking maybe I need to up my game.
Thank you, guys. Mean it.
***
Please note: I am not complaining nor promoting.
I am simply reporting.
Mostly I am just amazed.
Amazed at life, amazed at today. Amazed – and grateful –
to be amazed still.
I am like a old athlete, perhaps – doubtlessly –
past his prime, but, please believe me,
there’s still some fire in the belly, juice in the tank.
But I ramble.
***
Anymore, I come to realize, almost any trip is an adventure.
A marathon if you will. And again, in almost all things,
it’s me against the distance.
***
You can’t stop aging but you have some control
over its speed; if you know what you’re doing,
you can slow it to a crawl.
I’m crawlin.’ Damn straight, I’m bad. No shit.
Already trying to figure out how I can get back to Eugene again.
That’ll be an adventure.
Remind me sometime to tell you about the Hippie Faire back in the day.
***
And I am upping my game.
