The Run

As I start out from the hotel I notice on a nearby clock that it is just 5:30 am. Cool at this time and the streets are pretty empty. The first mile is always like a shakedown cruise: checking out the systems, pushing here, pulling there, getting a sense of what the reserves are like and how far they can be be pushed on this particular day. Not much thought involved, more feeling than anything else. I'm glad it's this way as the first mile is usually through West Hollywood on Santa Monica Blvd. where the refuse of the bars that has spilled onto the streets has yet to be cleaned by the janitors and sanitation workers who are still an hour away.
By the time I clear West Hollywood and reach Doheny Drive I am getting into a pace that I can live with and I know "what is what" with my body. I turn right on a side street and run parallel now to Santa Monica Blvd. as it heads toward downtown Beverly hills. As I run I recognize certain regulars who walk the same streets that I run and I say hello to everyone as I pass. There is one older lady who has made a point of engaging me on every run, whether summer or winter, for the two years that I have been doing some variation on this course. "Aren't you cold dear?" she asks in the dead of winter as I rush by in the same tank top and shorts that elicit, "aren't you hot in that outfit?" in the thick of Summer. I have an incredible admiration for her because her mere existence on this run is a random act of kindness in and of itself.
She always brings a smile to my face.
I am in a groove now and I can feel my mind slipping off into another place. I cross streets that have been a part of my life since I was a little boy and I find myself going back to those days. So much has changed and yet so much remains the same. Some homes that, back then, I loved for their manicured perfection, look old and worn now while others are gone completely, replaced by some new definition of elegance that I haven't quite figured out. I round another corner onto Whittier Drive and am thrown instantly into an ice blue tunnel of Jacaranda Trees and Agapanthus plants in full bloom. Though it has warmed considerably by this time the pure blue of the blossoms on the trees and in the street along with the agapanthus blossoms lower the temperature, at least in my mind, by a good 20 degrees.
I can't see a Jacaranda tree now without thinking of my friend Isabelle and how, at a certain time of year, I made a point of driving down streets lined with blossoms in that same shocking blue. Isabelle loved those little excursions and I took great pride in being the one who could give her such a thrill. As those memories fade others come to the surface, most notably the one's associated with my last day with Isabelle before she died. We were at her home and she was feeling cooped up because of an illness. She had been going through chemotherapy for what we were told was a readily treatable form of stomach cancer and she had lost all of her hair. She was an elegant woman, very proud of her looks and style, and in all the years we had been driving places together , we could never have the windows open for fear her hair would get messed up.
That day, that Wednesday, I realized her hair was no longer an issue so I set up a treat for both of us that has become a constant reminder to me of just how precious life is. We got into the car that day and for the first time we opened all of the windows and the skylight. I put Mozart on the stereo and turned it up very loud as we coursed our way down Sunset Boulevard to Pacific Coast highway. I turned right on the highway and made my way up the coast to Malibu where we had lunch and then took ice cream with us in the car. The wind was blowing around us like a hurricane that day and I can honestly say that for the short time we were speeding up the coast, Isabelle forgot the cancer, her pain, and mostly her fear of death.
From there we went further North to Cosentino's Nursery and stood out where they stored their pots. We always liked Cosentino's and could never understand how the owners could afford to put a nursery on prime real estate with such incredible views. That day we just stared out at the ocean and said nothing for the longest time.
When we got back to the house late that afternoon Isabelle was happier than she had been in ages. I left once after a long hug, realized I had forgotten something and went back into the house. Isabelle said it was just an opportunity to say goodbye a second time and she hugged me again. Before I could leave she took my face in her hands and told me I was a gift to her and how much she loved me. As I locked the gate behind me she was standing in the doorway throwing me kisses and thanking me again for the most wonderful day. That night she became suddenly and unexpectedly very ill and by the next day she was dead.
So much time has passed, so many miles have drifted by under my feet and I haven't been aware of them at all. My thoughts are still on Isabelle and I find myself thankful that my very human memory can be so vivid as to recreate a final day with a cherished friend.
I am headed down hill now back toward West Hollywood and the sunrise is scorching my eyes. I check in with my body one more time and realize that I am picking up speed with confidence that my muscles are warmed and somewhat invincible. I visualize the fronts of my thighs, arms and shoulders growing sharp, pointed edges to cut through the thick, warming air that is rising from the streets along with the sun, and I am sure that this is one of the finer runs I have taken in a long time. I have not been alone one step of the way.