I ate in the twenty minutes between meetings, this egg salad sandwich with olive oil and baby gherkins, per C.’s recipe. The Onion is still hilarious; the photos of my finishing the Brooklyn Half are top notch and wow I look so excited. Is it September 29th yet?
May 19, 2013
Came out of the rain finally to the Vietnamese place just out of the subway station, I was soaking wet, pretty much soaking wet, and ready to eat the heads off of everyone else in the restaurant. So I had the chicken pho, it was the first thing I saw on the menu so I just spit it out when the server came to take our order. K. had a sandwich, O. a bowl of noodles and fried fish. His meal was the best, I’ll get that next time.
May 18, 2013
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I was straight-up dopey after running my first half marathon, the arm-pumping adrenaline of those last hundred yards replaced by exhaustion and a thousand yard stare around, I tried to be good conversation for my pals who came with me, but all I could see in my minds eye was the couch, and a few free hours for data analysis.
May 17, 2013
K. rode in on her bike from Penn Station and met K. and I and we went around the corner to the taco place. My nerves were already starting to kick in, if you can believe that, I was all, This is the last lunch I’ll eat before the Brooklyn Half. Didn’t stop me from downing half the grits, though.
May 16, 2013
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I think two thirds of the faculty and administrative staff ended up at the restaurant, the line went on forever, I got the Cuban sandwich because C. got the Cuban sandwich and it was listed on the menu as New York’s favorite so I thought hey, why not. K. got a frozen pina colada. We stood there while K. ordered. What do you think this is that we’re tasting? Frozen flavorings!
May 15, 2013
I sat on a bench in the park where I run half my runs, eating a tuna taco between the Brooklyn Bridge where I won’t set foot and the Manhattan Bridge which is my favorite, thinking about Saturday’s race in the park where I run the other half of my runs, in the neighborhood where I have lived for sixteen years, it’s home, it really is. It was not bad there under the sun, artisanal crisp-rice taco shell cracking in my hand, a cover band singing Bon Jovi. Is it Saturday yet? I should have gotten the short ribs.