On Wednesday I ran my monthly noontime 3K race around the Tidal Basin in 13:28 (7:17). My hamstring was tender from where I strained it last weekend at the Lake Tahoe Relay but it held up well enough. I was pleased with my time since I was still a little jet-lagged. I flew out of LAX on Sunday night at 10:30 pm, arrived at IAD at 6:30 am on Monday and went straight to work.
But here’s some real news. I’m going on another trip, the trip of a lifetime. I’m flying to Las Vegas today to hook up with my college freshman roommate and ten other freshman dormmates for a rafting trip down the Grand Canyon. Eight days and seven nights on the Colorado River. Most of us are divorced (surprise! In America?), and the wife of the one guy that I can think of who never got divorced isn’t coming. No girls allowed. Or ROTC guys either.
Here’s a picture, circa 1971, of part of the gang. I’m on the far right. Yes, we seem to be on somebody’s lawn. No wonder we all were handed our divorces.
The Sewell Hall Rafters. Sewell Hall was the first coed dorm there at CU-Boulder, a freshman dorm at that. Swell Hall, we called it. In 1970 it was a wild and crazy place.
Those were different times. I could tell you some stories, but I won’t because our society has become so intolerant. But I will tell you that Guy could tell a whale of a sea story. He would stand and make Steve’s waterbed rock with his foot while the rest of us lay atop the mattress being buffeted by the mountainous waves that Guy caused, as the strobe light created a stormy effect and Jimi’s guitar clashed and crashed on the stereo in tune with the rise and fall of Guy's tale about gales and shipwrecks and monstrous ocean dwellers.
Steve got to have a waterbed in the dormitory because he had a bad back supposedly. It was prescribed, by a doctor. I’m not sure that Steve ever got to actually sleep on it.
No laptops on the rafts in the Grand Canyon. I’ll see y’all next month.