From the Archives: June 09, 2004 - Age 28

Note: For context, this entry was written three days after Shawn and I completed the San Diego Marathon.

Today is the first day that I was able to walk without a limp, though I still have quite a bit of pain in my left foot and a sore back. As Shawn said to me last night, while I was rubbing down her legs, “Every day it’s the same pain in a different place.” For whatever reason, our pain migrates to different body parts each day, (making sure nothing gets left out, I suppose). Don’t take this as too much of a complaint—it’s part of the deal, and please understand, we have no regrets. The pain, though, is a constant reminder of our trek, echoing with every move we make.

I was on the train home today, trying to find a comfortable way to sit on the hard subway bench seat, when the man across from me dropped his coffee. It spilled out on the subway floor right as the train pulled away, causing the puddle to stream down the car. The man, quite reasonably, said, “Shit!” At the next stop, he got off, out of embarrassment more than anything, I suppose. It was when I looked back to the puddle, and then to where he was sitting, that I realized he had forgotten his bag. It was just a grocery bag, and from what I could tell, its only content was a carton of ice cream. But this old man, with a day-old beard and wearing a Yankees hat over his coke bottle glasses, I mean, I felt bad for the guy. At the same time, I felt better, for all I had to worry about was soreness.