THE "Mmm" HOUSE.

So I've registered for the Chicago Marathon. While crossing the finish line of the Rochester 1/2 last fall, my immediate thoughts were: "God, I'm tired" and "I'm thirsty". But after catching my breath and getting some beverage, I marveled at how well the race went, much better than I could have anticipated. So I decided - pretty much right there and then - that I'd like to try going the whole distance. From what I've read and been told, the first 13 miles of a marathon are relatively easy, it's the second 13 that kill you. I guess this is why I was able to make such a confident decision, having never ventured past that 13-mile mark. But I'm gonna give it a go. Hell, if P. Diddy can do it, why not me? I mean, we've got so much else in common and all.

Two weeks ago, I began a "pre-training" training program. The miles are pretty low right now, but the runs are more frequent and regimented. I need that. I need the chart on my refrigerator telling me which days to run and how far. Funny - the rest of my life is so very scattered - following no set course whatsoever. But this really seems to work for me. There's this nice little boost I get when I cross off each completed run. Like when I was little and got a "Good Job!" sticker on a quiz or something.

I have several routes of different mileage. This morning was 5 and I decided to take a route past this one house that ALWAYS has these great smells coming from it. Sure enough, they were frying up the bacon for Sunday morning breakfast. In the evenings, it always smells like pot roast or grilled burgers. There's something very comforting about this [very carnivorous] family: the idea that they probably take time out to have meals together, a somewhat foreign notion these days.

When I was little (Christ, here she goes, being that old fart again) I remember playing outside after school with this mob of neighborhood kids. We'd ride bikes in each others' yards until each house had its own muddy moat around it. Or play catch in the street. Or brutally mock whichever kid who's turn it was to be the outcast. Meanwhile, there was the warm aroma of dinners being cooked, wafting through windows. And somehere around 5:00, Moms would begin calling their kids home.

I guess that's what running past "The Mmmm House" reminds me of. Simpler times. Good times. Maybe that still happens and I just don't see it. In any case, it's a nice feeling - the memory. Also, having something happy to think about seems to make the miles go by faster.