Before yesterday, it was two months since my last run (or any form of exercise for that matter). I had a good run. I started off on 6th and Geary and ran down California till 16th Avenue. Then I ran one block to Lake and ran past the nice homes till 24th. I was going to do the run I often did months before, but decided to take a right turn early. Dead end. Took that as a sign and decided to run back. Past Park Presidio I see a familiar sign: Mountain Lake Park.
Mountain Lake Park was my childhood...the park my siblings spent many afternoons going down the cement slide and swinging on the swings...the park where my elementary school held our annual field day festivities. I couldn't resist running in. I gasp. It's not as I remembered it. The cement slide was a mere 25-30 feet long. I know I'm two feet taller now, but my memories are of a slide that was 50 - 60 feet long. I keep walking. Walked up some stairs and down the hill. Be still my heart, the lake. I walked down the stairs that led to the narrow path around the lake. I find a rock high above the path and sit. I inhale through my nose and exhale out my mouth. I do so till I'm relaxed. I meditate and soak in my surroundings. Quiet and serene.
I walk through the rest of the park before running the last seven or so blocks. As I run I'm thankful that I made a wrong turn, and ended up at the quiet and serene park. For a moment that lake, that rock, that instance was mine and only mine.
Yes, I had a good run.
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