I don't really put a lot of preparation into this space. I like to riff. But yesterday morning I had one of those breakthrough awarenesses that seems tailor-made for blogging. It is this: one of life's great pleasures is being the first to break the toilet paper seal in a newly cleaned porta-pottie on race day. So righteous. So pure. Then to step out into the first moments of a pale morning sunrise and see runners arriving to compete. Washing my hands at one of those portable outdoor soap dispensaries, then wandering off in search of a food truck for a breakfast burrito.
I mean, does it get any better than that?
Well, yes. I was also first in line at the food truck, meaning I got my steak and egg burrito in no time flat. I even bought one for my friend Rick Martinez, a rival coach but one of the all-time good guys. By the time they arrived the line was ten people long, soon to be twenty. Then it was five hours of bs'ing with my coaching friends, walking around the course to cheer on my runners, and basically wandering in the sun on a blustery autumn morning.
Orange County Championships is a midseason meet, so I don't go all-in on the yelling. Just a loud cheer, maybe a directive or two. Six weeks from now at the State Championships I will be far more vocal. Full throated enthusiasm. Desperate to will them home. A man has to know how to pace himself.
Fifteen thousand steps later, meet over and outcome the usual mix of great performances and mystifying setbacks, I drove to Board & Brew for a BLT on sourdough. Added a fried egg to the sandwich for a little extra protein. My neighbors Tim and Bethany, coincidentally, arrived at the same time. A little IPA. Some lovely conversation. Then home to watch college football with Calene. A break to head out on the back porch at sunset and practice my guitar and work on my French with Duolingo (super fun), then a little more TV before bed. Oh, and I slept late this morning.
I find all that spectacular. A day of indulgence and fun. Being a writer is an intense career. I'm my own boss so if I don't work then I don't get paid. I'm very driven, my mind obsessing about plot points, next books, whether or not this new fiction piece has a chance.
(Making up stories feels like such a guilty pleasure after decades of non-fiction. By the way, I don't think my next nonfiction is going to be a Taking book. Expect a big departure).
Add in designing workouts for my runners, being at the track before sunrise for morning workouts, then coming back for the afternoon double. Throw in a little anxiety about the state of our country with this looming election, a complete disgust with coaches who cheat and those who glorify them, and more than a few impulses to call the police on those moronic middle-school kids weaving through traffic pulling wheelies on their e-bikes, and it's nonstop processing of creativity and emotion. A lot of internal chatter.
So to have a day where the simple things line up one after another for twenty-four hours of God-given enjoyment feels pretty amazing. Worth savoring.
Wishing you all can enjoy that simple pleasure of cracking a toilet paper seal in a newly-cleaned porta-pottie sometime very soon.