A few weeks ago I was intent on running from my house to Navy Pier (in Chicago), and it's not enough to just say I'm going to the Pier because I didn't want to leave it vague so that I'd turn around early. So, instead, I said I had to pat the head of one of the statues in there, preferably an R2D2 mailbox, which was no longer there, so I had to opt for a statue of some kids playing "ring around the rosie." I did okay on that run (10 miles or so), but it took me 4 and 1/2 hours to run the marathon and my dad did his in like 3:07 at my age. It took me an hour and a half longer. My dad could have finished his race, popped in "Zombie Land" and watched the whole thing in a Lazy Boy, waiting for me to finish. That is, if time and space allowed such a scenario for our 34-year-old selves to race one another and there were big chairs and televisions at the finish . . .
Later that night, I ordered in sushi by myself and watched a movie, also by myself. It was kind of lonely night for me in a big empty house, missing my girlfriend who is living in L.A. In fact, when the character in the movie, "Zombie Land," as a matter of fact, says how he loves to brush a woman's hair behind her ear, I got insanely jealous; I love that move. Yes, I was jealous of a fictional character merely because he got to touch another fictional person's hair and ear.
So, that's me: A long distance runner and a long distance relationshiper, and I'm finding that I'm not too good at either one. And they're both equally painful.