I finished my run this morning all wobbly-legged like those competitors you see at the end of the Boston Marathon just before they collapse. It was eighty degrees and 100% humidity with a light mist. I thought to myself: it’s just a leisurely 5k not a frickin’ marathon. What are you …seventy years old? Just yesterday, I still had a lot in the tank for the last mile, but today was a different story. I thought a lot about a friend of mine anticipating prostate surgery, and how lucky I should feel to just have to worry about another day of running. 

There are many familiar markers along the route I take, including a pot hole at the half-mile mark, a Dodge Charger that sits in someone’s driveway, the utility box that sits at one mile, two benches that I think of as benchmarks, and the Venetian bridge at the half-way point. When I pass them all the second time I know “I’m getting closer to my home.” Sometimes, even Grand Funk comes up in the music rotation to perform that very song as I make my way back. I’m a sweaty mess when I finally make my way to the pool – this morning in a light rain. Schnauzer Tally sat under cover rather than perform her normal lifeguard duties.

Tally had a big day at the beach yesterday. We even shared a Chicago dog even though today is technically National Hot Dog Day. The entry to Broward Beach is a dog park with secure fences to protect us all from the alligators that lurk in the surrounding swamp. The exit leads to a wooden walkway and access to the sand. It’s one of two dog-friendly beaches in our area. Tally can sit in the shade of our umbrella or romp with the other dogs, even though many of them actually get in the water. She stays on the fringe area, avoiding the water at all costs, just as she jokingly performs her lifeguard responsibilities with me while swimming in our pool. There was a brief moment where she tried to follow me into warm Gulf, but a wave soon sent her scurrying back to safety. 

We were all tired from a day in the sun, even more reason to get in under the covers at the standard 10 p.m. self-imposed curfew. It’s well past the time when most of our neighbors roll up their sidewalks. There isn’t a bedroom light to be seen when I take Tally for her final outing. Back in Portland, I didn’t have to stay up late to watch sports, but here most games don’t even start until 8 or 9p. I usually check the scores before bed time but typically have to wait until morning for the final results. I uncharacteristically took my phone to bed and happened to check it after doing some reading. The Milwaukee Bucks were about to claim their first NBA title in 50 years, so I stayed up for the celebration, monitoring it on the small screen. At the same time, both the Sox and Cubs were pulling off miracle comebacks. It was the most remarkable half-hour of TV sports I’ve witnessed in a long time. The Cubs scored 6 runs in the ninth to stun the rival Cards, the Sox came back to beat the Twins, and Giannis scored 50 to claim the crown. It made for sweet dreams – Grand Funk!