An Accidental Half

I ran a half marathon this morning.


I woke up with every intention of doing no more than three miles and then climbing back into bed, but I was in a good place with my thoughts and my tunes as I reached the end of the Panhandle and decided to keep going.

I was somewhere around the Conservatory of Flowers when I realized Gay Running Club would be gathering for First Circle at about the time I'd arrive at Stowe Lake if I kept heading that way so that's what I did. Once there I stopped briefly to join the group for introductions and to welcome new and visiting runners and then ran the five-mile course to the ocean with Nick and Jamie. Instead of making a return to the boathouse afterwards, however, I continued on through the park toward the Divisadero Corridor where I looped back into the Panhandle, made my way through the Castro, past the tennis players in Dolores Park, to the edge of the Mission before turning around to wrap up the last half mile by doing laps up and down Waller.

Later in the morning I was stretching and foam-rolling my legs while catching up with Kari on FaceTime when I said to her, half-jokingly, that after our encounter on Thursday evening I thought I'd see her running today.

"I saw you," she said. "I was on my way home from the grocery store when a massive blur of hot pink went by and knew immediately who it was."

That seems true.

Thursday in the Park with Kari

I was rocking embarrassingly hard to an all-female pop playlist titled "Pow-Her" as I made my way through the Panhandle earlier tonight when I ran, almost literally, into Kari who was also out getting some exercise.

Once the initial shock wore off we sweaty-hugged and then jogged a few miles together, making our way at a chat pace so we could catch each other up on life happenings since our last meeting, on Sunday at Team Brunch.

After I'd left her at her apartment and was traversing the two or so blocks toward home I started to think about how this big city is often just a small town in disguise and how seven and a half years of the loveliest little moments can sometimes get lost in a handful of huge, heavy, horrible ones.