I went out running at noon on the Mall on Good Friday with two work running buddies, H and M. We wended our way through large throngs of tourists to the Washington Monument, enroute to the Lincoln Memorial, when I spotted a man carrying a large cross in a crowd of pilgrims and I stopped to snap a picture.
I lost my two running companions. I have no idea where they went but after looking for them on the route ahead, and the place where I stopped, and the route back to work, I gave up and headed back towards the office, mad at myself for losing them because of my impulsive action.
How can you stay mad while running? As I approached the Capitol going back, I scrutinized the imposing prominence of Capitol Hill rising in the distance. In the olden times I charged up that hill three times in the last mile of a fast 10K race, the venerable Capitol Hill Classic, back before I a chronic, nagging injury slowed me, back when I was younger and quicker.
Why not, I thought, do the last mile of that mile of that race right now and push it hard! So I did, charging up the prominent third of a mile rise, acquiring the level street above and darting down the diagonal street to Stanton Square, finishing strong in front of the school there.
As I trotted back the further half mile to return to work, I was happy to partake, at least for about eight breathless minutes, in memories of times gone by but not entirely gone. At work I encountered my two friends, who had looked for me everywhere out there (except in my past), relieved to see me returned to work in apparently fine fettle.