Flashback

Random photo of the blogster many years after March 22, 1978 

Today is March 22, 2018. I'm flashing back to March 22, 1978--some forty years ago.

The scene: I'm living in Key West on Rose Street with my husband-at-the-time and our two sons. It is a warm and muggy day, one of many such days for those who live in Key West. My husband-at-the-time is at work. 

Both boys, the older, who is seven years old and the younger, who is not quite four, are taking a nap. I peek into the back bedroom and see them sleeping, sweating peacefully, wearing just their shorts and sprawling on top of the covers. 

I've been padding around the house barefoot on the speckled terrazzo floor, which is still fairly cool. I decide to go outside--maybe I'll turn the hose on and water the parched miniature palm by the front gate. My new red sneakers are on the rattan couch, so I grab some socks and sit to put the shoes on. I pick up the left one, admiring its color and the snazzy white stripes on its side. 

"Hey," I say, "these are running shoes." I bought them at the island's only shopping center, Searstown, where I find I buy most of the family's clothing. When I got them, I was thinking nothing more than that they felt good on my feet. Now, I pick up both shoes and examine them more closely. 

I put them on, lace them up and tie them, and go out the front door. I look at the curled-up hose and then at the withering palm. I roll my eyes. 

There's no one else in sight, either walking or driving. I can hear "Hotel California" blasting at top volume from all the open windows of the neighborhood nuisance's house across the street. No big surprise here--the news flash would be if he wasn't playing "Hotel California" at top volume.

I look down at my feet in their slick red shoes. "Hmm," I think. "What if I just jog away from Mr. Nuisance and away from the lethargy that dogs me here today on Rose Street? The kids will sleep at least another hour, so surely I can safely run away for 15 minutes!" 

So I do. I jog all the way around the long block--left on Rose Street to Ashby Street, right on Ashby to Laird Street, right on Laird to George Street, and right back onto Rose street and home. It's taken 18 minutes; I've only had to stop twice to catch my breath. As I come back to the silent house, I'm smiling. I raise both my arms in an exaggerated bicep curl. And I am not making this up--I say aloud to a wildly cheering imaginary crowd, "Thank you! I feel strong now! Like a god!"

Eventually the boys wake up. I am no longer lethargic; I tickle their tummies and kiss both of them soundly, sharing my new energy on this March 22, a date that from here on will always be special to me.

Fast forward to Crissy Field, San Francisco, July 14, 1996. The blogster
has just finished her first marathon. Not a lethargic bone in her body.