That Z Man

Yesterday was Z's birthday, and I was thinking about how the story of us is at its heart a running story. About eleven and a half years ago, I was working the registration table at my running club's Fourth Sunday Run, and a guy came up to the table to register for the race. I asked him if he was a club member, and he said "No, but I'm going to change that right now," so I gave him a membership form to fill out.

What happened after that is a story that has often been mis-told by others, but I'm here to give you the correct version--after all, I was there. I was running the 10K that week. The race started, and it wasn't long (maybe half a mile?) before I noticed that up ahead of me two of the club's most talented and winsome older women runners were schlepping along with the new guy (who was stylishly attired in purple sweatpants), chatting up a storm. "Those two," I thought. They always talk to the cutest guys."

I ran along behind them for a while, until my interest waned and I began to think about what I could do to finish the race, because I was feeling pretty woozy. It was a hot day, and I had some typical complaint going on (bad knee? sore back? don't remember). Around mile four, I realized that the new guy was ahead of me, and I was gaining on him.

With a grace and beauty you can only imagine, I glided up next to him and gave him a big smile. I am embarrassed to repeat to you my pickup line, but here's what I said: "I'm pretty sure I've met you before, but I seem to have forgotten your name." I swear to God I actually said that with a straight face. We exchanged names. We stopped at a water fountain together, and in the course of getting a drink realized we were both feeling less than 100 percent that day. This gave us a serviceable excuse to run slowly and to run together.

We finished the race. We stretched together on the grass. We exchanged phone numbers. A group was making plans to go out for breakfast--I invited him; he accepted. About six of us met at the hole-in-the-wall breakfast joint we favored, and I sat by the new guy.

I can't remember what I was doing that evening, but I wasn't at home. When I came in, I found a message on my answering machine. It was the new guy, saying something like "Nothing important--I just wanted to let you know I enjoyed running and talking with you today." Before I went to bed, I wrote in my journal, "I don't even want to think about this guy. He seems way too good to be true."

So I tried not to think about him. He went out of town on business for a week, which helped. When he came back, we went for a run together. Then we ate a late lunch. Then we were sitting in the car and he leaned over and kissed me. My friends, I was a goner.

Almost twelve years later, we've run a lot of miles together, and I'm still a goner. About five years ago we took out a license to drive each other crazy "for as long as we both shall live," so that's what we're doing. And I have to tell you, it's the most fun I've ever had.

Happy birthday, Z. I, for one, and so glad you were born!

Ps. Photo taken at Coyote Hills Regional Park last weekend. Photo credit: me