Work of course, and billable hours. Enough about that. CrossFit called for a 15k run today. That’s 9.3 miles, and totally out of the question for a Clydesdale like your correspondent. I nevertheless determined to grind out 6 miles or so, just for the calorie burn that was in it.
Went three miles out at Penasquitos Park, knowing that would commit me to the back side. Knowing that I’d never get through six miles on a treadmill, for all the boredom that’d be in it. Decided to take an alternate route back to the parking lot. Big mistake. Realized that I was lost at the 6.5 mile mark, clearly getting no closer to the car park. It’s hard to turn around and retrace your steps at the 6.5 mile mark, if you’re a Clydesdale. Not so much for the “admitting a mistake” bit, although that would ordinarily be enough. More for the going back over track made good. Which is pretty dern demoralizing, when it comes right down to it. Unaccustomed as I am to the long distance thing. By the time it was all over I had 8.3 miles on the clock.
And I was dreadfully late.
Turns out that our church has a deal for acolytes and their parents once a year at Petco Park. Seats in the owner’s box, courtesy of hisself. I’ve never paid for a seat at Petco, and never sat anywhere but second deck behind the catcher. I have, in short, grown spoiled.
The Padres have had a comprehensively miserable year. They were up 3-1 in the third on four hits when the lid came off the whole affair. The seventh inning stretch, that song that all of us know, “One, two, three strikes you’re out!” and all of us sing. Two egregious defensive errors that led to a tie game, followed in time by a pitching change that resulted in back-to-back homers on two pitches, and Clan Lex determined to seek our entertainment elsewhere. Beat the rush.
But you know? There was this time in the fifth when the “wave” was going around even as the game was going to hell and everyone everywhere put their everything into it. Jump up, throw the arms up, wait for the next go-round. Over and over again. It was, frankly, charming. The team’s having a terrible year, they haven’t got a chance, the players are out there out of mere regard for the game while they’re getting pantsed by the D-backs and the citizens of San Diego are nevertheless determined to have a good evening of it. Full on.
I love these people. I love this country.