A little secret here: I have forever harbored the quiet notion that my body of work would one day be important enough to require a scholarly archive. So ever since 1993 and the Sports Illustrated for Kids book Over the Edge, I have saved every hard copy revision of every manuscript I've ever written (with the exception of In-line Skating Made Easy, which I knew would one day require a great deal of explanation).
Taking Paris hits stores four weeks from today. I write this because it suddenly feels close and I want to remind myself that it's not tomorrow. Be patient. Twenty-eight days is a long time to wait for anything, including a Christmas-like event landing the first week in September. So I must remain calm, knowing that four Tuesdays from now will come when it comes. . . .
Every couple weeks, Boston Marathon champion Des Linden sends me my training plan for this year's marathon. She is a generous coach, quick to respond to texts and extremely encouraging. There are wrinkles in the training I did not foresee, but those secrets are hers and not for me to share. Suffice to say there's variety in the work.
I turn 60 in a few weeks. Fifty leveled me, making me realize that I was definitely near or past the halfway mark of this life. I spent that day in my office, a little stunned. Couldn't write. Went to get a haircut. The barber asked if I wanted a beer, which is always a great thing for any barber to suggest….
I'm the guy who writes books in his garage office in slippers and sweatpants, and very often little else. So I'm in no position to judge my neighbors, be it the mom next door banging on her keyboards while trying to teach herself music, her son with a passion for purchasing old police cars, or my other next door neighbor from China whose husband died suddenly two years ago and who has suddenly found fashion sense and purchased a stylish Mercedes.
For a great number of years, more than I care to count, I filled my down time with training. I was always training for some new grail: marathons, triathlons, adventure races, mud runs, and on. I wasn't a professional, so the hours couldn't always be justified and more than once led to a major-major-major fight with Callie. But training was my jam.
I don't know any black sailors. I'm not talking historically, when man o' wars were regularly crewed by men of many races. I'm talking about your average posh marina crowd. Not saying there are no such men or women, because I'm sure there are die-hard black sailors here in America who can't wait to unfurl the spinnaker. I salute all of you.
