The Day of the Jackhole

The Day of the Jackhole

Celebrating 40 years on this earth

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2007. The lies we tell ourselves.

September 5, 2011

Running. It’s what I do. I lose no weight doing it, and the only benefit I seem to get is extreme knee pain and the ability to convince people that I love it. No, really. It’s fantastic. I get such a high from it.

I hate running. I’m terrible at it, only like it when it’s over, and the only joy I experience with it is when I run over the Brooklyn Bridge. And that’s a contact high. With architecture.

Nevertheless, I run the New York Marathon. It breaks me in a permanent way. My foot will never be the same again, though the injury can be fixed. Given time. And patience.

This turns out to be a blessing. When I give up running because I want to walk when I’m seventy, I buy my first real road bike. I name it Baby.

My knees build a shrine to my wisdom and my heart sings like a canary.

Thank you running. Thank you for making me hate you enough to fall in love with bikes.

 


Born in 1971?

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