Corner of 4th avenue and Pacific street, 11:25 am: my phone rings, and Francesco lets me know that Genevieve is about half a mile away, heading towards us on the left side of the street. A little less than five minutes later, she runs by looking strong and confident. We yell her name and get a smile and a wave.
When you spot your marathon runner, shout their name, and get a wave, you are a lucky supporter. I remember waiting at the top of the Boston Marathon’s Heartbreak Hill several times, waiting for my dad to come by. Those haggard men in dolphin shorts were not interested in “Yay, looking good! Clap clap clap!” They were interested in a quick and painless death, or at least some band-aids to cover their nipples (mesh shirts were abrasive back in the day.)
A mile or two after we saw Genevieve, her knee gave out, which left her with sixteen miles of pain and limping. But she kept running and finished, more power to her. At a congratulatory party last night, she had the great big medal around her neck, and looked relaxed and happy.
Yaay, great job! Clap clap clap!
Meanwhile, fall has, um… fallen, at home. The big maple tree in the back yard has erupted into blazing color, and the ground has become a soggy mixture of mud and leaf mold that makes you unlace and pull off your boots every time you come into the house. Jeez, I’m tempted to go and buy some clogs or something.
Kate and I go to tho doctor’s for the twenty-(one)-week ultrasound on November 17th, where we’ll find out if the baby is a boy or a girl. And I will post the result right here!