pedestrian saga

Jogged another two miles in 25 minutes this morning. I was tired and not breathing well. R was on fuego. She called fartlek twice, which just kills me—the sprinting itself but also the fact that she can’t resist saying fartlek with such glee. (”Fartlek to the blue arrows!”) And while I was merely thinking ahead to breakfast, she was already imagining post-5K possibilities and wondering aloud if there may well be a very special 10K in our future. Adrenaline does this to a person.

Since I first laid eyes on it, driving the coast north with Scott around Christmas 2005, I’ve been dying to cross the Astoria-Megler Bridge by unmechanized means. Scott remains unconvinced that traversing the mouth of the mighty Columbia on our tandem would be the ultimate rush. When I first mentioned the annual 10K crossing to R, on the other hand, her eyes widened, and she began quoting the Lewis and Clark journals and talking about spiritual quests. That’s more like it!

Ah, but midsummer first, before the fall.

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