Father's Day Morning

We got up in the morning and made our way out to the car and down to the lake. It can be pleasant there on weekend mornings, even when the day ahead promises to climb unbearably high. It can be pleasant, provided you get out there early enough.

I vaguely remember opening my eyes when the glow of day was just starting to shine thru the curtains. And I clearly remember turning over and going back to sleep. Suffice it to say that we didn't get out there terribly early. And when we did get there, Ben discovered he had left his helmet at home.

So riding his bike while I ran was out.

He looked over at me from the passenger's seat with a look on his face like that he would have ten years ago when he'd lost some toy and wanted me to find it. But I didn't have much magic in me.

You can run part of the way with me, I said.

He didn't say anything.

Or you can just hang out here.

Crowds of runners were milling around the stretching area -- serious runners with serious faces and serious legs. Some were already finishing the appointed rounds, dripping in sweat, although it was only in the mid-70s.

I'll run three miles, he said.

So with the cool of the day beginning to slip away and the sun beginning to beat down on the open places on the running trails, we got a drink, I dowsed my head under the shower, and we started across the bridge, our strides matching each other in perfect synchrony.

Not a bad way to start a Father's Day.

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