Well, today started out pretty easy. Suzanne had a reading scheduled for 9:00 AM, so after breakfast, I took Rudy and Gretchen for a drive to a neighborhood park where we could walk and maybe meet some new doggy friends. California does a good job with these little parks in suburban areas. It was a couple of acres in size, and had lots of green area even though it was on a steep hillside. Eucalyptus trees and some oaks provided shade, and the only other folks there were a couple of ladies pushing strollers, some indigent 20-30 somethings picking through the recycle bins and one teenager being walked by two large not-too-friendly-looking dogs. We decided not to introduce ourselves. After our w-a-l-k, we returned to the campground where Suzanne was finishing her reading. She is trying hard to whittle down her waiting list, so if you're on it, know that she is doing her best.
I almost wished that she had had another reading to do, because she said, "Let's dress out and you can show me that hill you've been writing about training on". This translates to "Okay, you think you're tough; let's see what you're made of." A premonition of doom appeared before me, but I wasn't about to show my fear. To set the stage, our campground is in a little valley, with the only access road having a 25 degree slope... okay, maybe only 8 degrees. The top of the hill looks like Mt Everest... okay, maybe only Pike's Peak... After an easy mile warm-up in the valley, My Lovely Bride says, "Let's hit it" and takes off up the hill from hell. Where does she get this energy, I was asking myself? After running up the hill and down, we (she? I?) decided, "Gee, wouldn't it be fun to do it again?" I am rethinking my sanity at this point, but I am not gonna let this girl best me in my favorite sport, am I? I am not going to be "a WUSS"! So back up we go... fortunately, one of the Laws of Physics states that anything that goes up must come back down, or words to that effect. I was pretty beat by the end, but my Better Half was still perky, darn her. (Here's the hill; we started at the center of the photo, ran left up to the main road, then to the right up the hill to the crest at far right.)
After showers, lunch and a far-too-short recovery period for yours truly, we went out to Harbor Island and Shelter Island to see San Diego Bay. The best part of the trip was walking a couple of the docks to admire the boats moored at marinas there. We have been sailors in the past, and as the saying goes, "You can take the sailor off the ocean, but you can't take the ocean out of the sailor." We joke that's it's an addiction, but when you're looking at sailboats tacking into a perfect breeze on beautiful San Diego Bay in 70 degree sunshine, it's hard not to miss being on the water.
We didn't bring Rudy and Gretchen on this drive because we thought we wouldn't be able to bring them on the docks, and that it might be too warm if they had to wait in the car. It's just as well, because Gretchen might have become amorous towards a little poodle we met named Sparky. Or, she might have barked at him for being too fru-fru. You never know with Gretchen; it's why we affectionately call her "Psycho-Dog".
While driving around, I noticed a sign for something I had never heard of: Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. I first thought of slinky bronzed beauties in bikinis flipping surfers over their shoulders, but evidently the Japanese martial art of jiu-jitsu is very popular in Brazil, having been introduced by a Japanese immigrant decades ago. It's also popular in California among yuppie women who want to be able to defend themselves against muggers or property tax collectors. I hope Suzanne doesn't take up this sport; I know who her "training partner" would be, and I'm not open to becoming a human punching bag.
Suzanne is working hard on a new book-related project that will be under wraps for a few more months. I offered to fix dinner tonight; in my mind was to surprise her with something really special, like grilled filet of Spam on toast. I was sure that I had stocked up on several cans, but lo and behold, the pantry was bare of that delicacy. Where had it gone? We had to settle for prawns with garlic, olive oil and sun-dried tomato pesto over angel hair pasta and a glass of Chilean cabernet. It wasn't altogether hateful...
I almost wished that she had had another reading to do, because she said, "Let's dress out and you can show me that hill you've been writing about training on". This translates to "Okay, you think you're tough; let's see what you're made of." A premonition of doom appeared before me, but I wasn't about to show my fear. To set the stage, our campground is in a little valley, with the only access road having a 25 degree slope... okay, maybe only 8 degrees. The top of the hill looks like Mt Everest... okay, maybe only Pike's Peak... After an easy mile warm-up in the valley, My Lovely Bride says, "Let's hit it" and takes off up the hill from hell. Where does she get this energy, I was asking myself? After running up the hill and down, we (she? I?) decided, "Gee, wouldn't it be fun to do it again?" I am rethinking my sanity at this point, but I am not gonna let this girl best me in my favorite sport, am I? I am not going to be "a WUSS"! So back up we go... fortunately, one of the Laws of Physics states that anything that goes up must come back down, or words to that effect. I was pretty beat by the end, but my Better Half was still perky, darn her. (Here's the hill; we started at the center of the photo, ran left up to the main road, then to the right up the hill to the crest at far right.)
No comments:
Post a Comment