I jog from South Station to meet E and fifty others for a 5K fun run in the Seaport. It's a spectacular Boston evening, one of those evenings that makes me fall more in love with this city. The perfect golden afternoon meets the blue dusk, lighting up the waterfront.
E is fast. She sets the pace and I stay with her, as we cross the metal Northern Avenue bridge and move down Atlantic Avenue. This is my second workout of the day -- I spent sixty minutes with a barbell this morning and muscle fatigue is already setting in. But the speed feels good. It hurts so good.
We pass the Aquarium and whip around the end of Long Wharf. The waterfront is busy and fifty runners attract attention as we blast down the sidewalks. There's some clapping and cheering and I just barely hear a woman cry out, "Keep running!" I plan on it. I always will.
The halfway point comes at 11 minutes and some odd seconds. We go back the way we came and E's pace never falters. When we pass the Chart House and look up at the Custom House, I say, "Pretty!" and E agrees. Our feet pounding the concrete, we talk a little and breathe hard.
We reach Strega Waterfront at 22:28. Frank Sinatra pours out of Strega and it's lovely. I've never ended a run with jazz.
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