In Cambridge today, it's cold, damp, and rainy - the usual weather for the Boston Marathon. No one I know is running MOnday, though I have known a few people, men and women, who have run this race. The last person I knew who ran, was Sara Donahue, who actually qualified for the Olympic tryouts last year, but didn't make the final cut. I think it is a remarkable feat for a young woman getting her doctorate in public health at the moment.
My races are not about running. I stopped running 15 years ago, when my body declined to be happy doing it. I walk now, 2-3 miles per day most days, but not today. This is weather to make plants happy, not people with arthritis. So I will forgive myself for not even walking today, write the blog, and tell this story on myself:
Two nights ago, I had dinner with Maine friends on the spur of the moment. We did get to having some wine, and eventually they asked me where I was going now? When I said I was going to Cambridge, my great neighbor and friend, Sam Stevens, said, "By gorry, Sally, you'e the only person I know who has a 10-room pied a terre in East Boothbay!" I guess it must seem to people that I travel alot, and I've been thinking about why that may be. I've not come to a conclusion, but rampant curiosity is part of the answer.
A bientot
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