Eliot and I are sitting in front of our gate at JFK. We’ve got one more hour to go before boarding our plane. Dublin here we come. There’s a little boy across from us wearing one of those leash contraptions. His mother keeps tugging at him as if he were a small dog. He leans over to the seat next to him. Tug. He stands up in the seat. Sharp tug back to sitting. He tries to climb up on the back of the seat. TUG. It’s mesmerizing. The boy is oblivious to any indignity.
Eliot’s hip deep in one of the Bourne novels and I’ve spent the last six hours reading Complications by Atul Gawande. Once we get on the plane, I plan to plan my return to running — since it seems like it’ll be a slower process than I’d hoped. I’ve got a blank calendar, a cup of coffee — and I’m rested after two days with my parents — so it’ll be a work of art. Lots of small writing, cryptic abbreviations, and categorical imperatives. Lovely.
More from across the pond!
Some race reports