I joined the fine men and women of Gay Running Club at the Stow Lake Boathouse this morning for an easy four to the ocean and back. I moved myself at a deliberately slower-than-normal clip (yeah, okay Corey) and found it a nice change to run without pushing myself to the point of pain for once, even though I fully realize that the pain part is gonna have to return if I want to beat my 5K PR this year, which I do. The weather in Golden Gate Park seemed almost made for the use of running tights, which is just the raddest because wearing them makes me feel sort of like Batman, if, you know, Batman was a jogger and he preferred to do his jogging in costume (er, uniform).
After the run B and I drove out to Ocean Beach to watch the waves. We parked and made our way onto the sand where we walked by a dog meet-up taking place near the fire pits. Further along we saw that someone had dragged a Christmas tree to the shoreline and propped it up in the surf. As I watched the tree and the water and the fog there was a moment when I knew, the way you only really sometimes do, that I am, indeed, living in California now, for where else might one find an old Christmas tree among the waves, its dying needles dropping off into the Pacific.