Photo by Andrew Lovo. Used with permission.
I ran a marathon once. Well, not really. I once ran IN a ten mile race for about 17 seconds.
A few years ago, my daughter Laura and her boyfriend Andrew joined my husband and me for a pre-dawn trip to Washington, DC to see the cherry blossoms at sunrise. If you’re not from the DC area, you may not be aware that each spring the blossoming of the cherry trees is a big deal. Tourists and locals flock to see the sights. Arriving so early, we found a parking lot close by.
Even though it was April, that morning was cold, so we wore winter coats and gloves. Despite the temperature, the blossoms at dawn were beautiful, and for a couple hours, we strolled the path around the Tidal Basin.
When we returned to the parking lot, we found a police car blocking the exit. Unknown to us, the annual ten mile cherry blossom race had started at 7:30, so the roads were closed for the runners. We were stuck.
We decided to walk back to the city for breakfast. That’s when we encountered the next problem: the event had started, and the streets we needed to cross were filled with runners, the line stretching for as far as we could see.
After standing on the side and watching the runners for fifteen minutes with no end in sight, Andrew had an idea. “Let’s take turns and each wait for a short gap and join the runners, working our way left across the street.” Andrew went first. He jogged in place for a moment, then joined the runners, effortlessly moving both forward and sideways. He made it look so easy. He reached the other side and happily waved to us. The three of us looked at each other nervously. I volunteered to go next.
Let me just say I’m thankful there was no news camera coverage that day of my flight across the street in full winter gear amidst the runners in shorts and t-shirts. I was not quite as nimble nor as quick as Andrew had been. But I made it. Then Laura and Richard linked arms and came across as a duo. I have a secret fear that our sprints are posted somewhere on You Tube, perhaps under a “dorky runners” category.
Ready to cross the next street, we heard the short blip of a police siren, and looked to our right. No! The head of the line of the runners was now coming down this street. We beat feet – literally! – and crossed about twenty seconds in front of them.
In the words of Nora Ephron, “I can make a case that I regret nothing….most of my mistakes turned out to be things I survived, or turned into funny stories, or on occasion, even made money from.”
So my 17 second run is a story that I don’t regret, because it makes people laugh when I tell it. And that makes me happy.
To my readers: Please share a story that may not have been funny at the time but now it is.
