LA Day 12

A day was full of work, mixed nuts, and a treacherous set of lunges by the Silverlake reservoir; oh bliss.

Today I had the chutzpah to give a few more missions organizations a call, tell them about MATS and how great I look in plaid dress pants. Okay, part of that is true. But after my splendid salad of Atwater Village lettuce and radishes and cucumbers, I took a rest, read some news and then went on a run.

After finishing a call with the president of a major missions organization, all I could think about is how he had the same first name of a peculiar individual, known as my uncle Loren. I went about telling about our connections and what we could do, and how I'd love to meet, and in the meantime he stopped me and said: "it'd be a pleasure to sit down and talk...how does July 20th sound?"

It sounded great.

I stripped out of my faded Chicago Bulls shorts for running shorts and hanes briefs, locked the door in the back and took off for Silver Lake reservoir, determined to make it on this day. I came close, but stopped outside the Silver Lake community center, stripped my shirt off to expose my whiteness and stopped to read the side of a Hispanic snow-cone truck.

That's the funny thing about LA; you have no idea what half the text in the entire city means but it makes you feel better because most the 5 million other people don't have a clue either. It's like one big confused mess in the middle of what should be a paradise, but is overrun with traffic and helicopters and restaurants on every corner claiming to have the best tacos or burger.

An observational journalist could make a killing in this town, if anyone paid to read good work, which they don't.

So I ran until I was at least 3/4 around the reservoir, along the tan dirt sidewalk circumventing the fenced reservoir. I felt like death, but I was determined to push myself as I used to enjoy, but now feel both too old and out-of-shape to do. I crossed the snake-like street, avoiding a motorcycle and an overpriced woman-lead dog, and happened upon the brilliant idea of doing some lunges.

I began: 1, 2, 3...and made it to ten and took 25 steps and, again: 1, 2, 3...10!

The fun had just begun, when I thought: "I'll just start running!"

No, the pain in my newly-stretched thighs was too much and I'm sure I looked like a heart-attack victim or a recently-shot white tail deer, as I nearly hit the deck from pain while my legs and my heart said to each other: "where has this been in 3 years, and why now?!"

I got my whits and started running, eventually and all the way home like the third little pig.

Tonight I made myself some spicy, but delicious chicken fajitas, ruined the rice which became compost and then hung out with a buddy for a bit before he decided he had to go.

All is good in the hood, if you live in Silver Lake, LA. If you don't, you should. Or, you should just stay where you are, because there are too many people crammed on this street, and in this city.