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rebeccmeisterI got up to go rowing this morning. It was kind of cold--maybe around 60 degrees F (15 degrees C). I wore shorts and a long-sleeved shirt and was a bit chilly on my bike ride to the boathouse. When I arrived, my rowing buddy wasn't there, so eventually I wimped out and went home again. Time to bust out the cool-weather gear.
Yesterday one of my friends from undergrad e-mailed to ask if I was going to the Head of the Charles this year and I had to say no. It made me really sad--more sad than I thought I would be when I decided not to go. New England is the place to be in the fall, and I always love to go for a visit.
It reminded me of visiting last year. I went for a run on the last morning I was there because I was training to run in the marathon here in January. Fine mist was falling, and I ran through the cold and rain along old, familiar roads. I ran from Tufts along Mass Ave, through Harvard Square to the Charles River. I took a left and ran along the river, down past MIT, where I thought about my cousin Zack, who went to school there before he died. I thought about the quirky dormitory where he lived. I took a right across the MIT [Harvard] bridge, and saw all of the Smoots measured out. After I crossed the bridge I took another right to head upstream, where my glasses got so wet I had to take them off and run blind. I ran to the Eliot Street bridge, past the Cambridge Boat Club and looped back towards my former home. (my friends live in the house where I lived my senior year of college, which makes it strange to go back and visit) Afterwords, my friends made a big breakfast and I ate and took a nap on the couch.
I wasn't happy when I lived in the Medford/Somerville area. But I found people worth holding onto, and nooks and crannies where I was content to stay for a while. I like to go back and remember what it's like to feel wistful and dreamy and cold, and full of possibilities.
Yesterday one of my friends from undergrad e-mailed to ask if I was going to the Head of the Charles this year and I had to say no. It made me really sad--more sad than I thought I would be when I decided not to go. New England is the place to be in the fall, and I always love to go for a visit.
It reminded me of visiting last year. I went for a run on the last morning I was there because I was training to run in the marathon here in January. Fine mist was falling, and I ran through the cold and rain along old, familiar roads. I ran from Tufts along Mass Ave, through Harvard Square to the Charles River. I took a left and ran along the river, down past MIT, where I thought about my cousin Zack, who went to school there before he died. I thought about the quirky dormitory where he lived. I took a right across the MIT [Harvard] bridge, and saw all of the Smoots measured out. After I crossed the bridge I took another right to head upstream, where my glasses got so wet I had to take them off and run blind. I ran to the Eliot Street bridge, past the Cambridge Boat Club and looped back towards my former home. (my friends live in the house where I lived my senior year of college, which makes it strange to go back and visit) Afterwords, my friends made a big breakfast and I ate and took a nap on the couch.
I wasn't happy when I lived in the Medford/Somerville area. But I found people worth holding onto, and nooks and crannies where I was content to stay for a while. I like to go back and remember what it's like to feel wistful and dreamy and cold, and full of possibilities.
