This morning, the Autoblography Hiboux alarm clock went off at 6:58. It still felt like night in our bed under the window, but we only snoozed once and then I stumbled to the front window of the apartment. My parents lent us Ronda the Honda for two weeks, so that we could take two short weekend trips home while they’re in Florida. That means I have to play the dance of the Alternate Side Parking Rules. But this morning, I saw a spot. Right in front of my house. On the legal side of the street. If you know anything about parking in New York, you will know the the angels sang in my foggy brain and cried, HOLY SHIT IT’S A MIRACLE. Except maybe not the “holy shit” part, that’s sort of blasphemous.
“OHMYGOD I’m GOING there’s a SPOT in FRONT of the HOUSE be right BACK,” I yelled over my shoulder as I raced out the door in my PJs and my house-slippers and a parka. I practically magicked the car to the opposite side of the street, not even bothering to wipe the side windows clear and just rolling them down, instead. I think Stuart was STILL in the bathroom when I came upstairs, flushed and triumphant from my parking victory.
“Can I wear these pants?” I asked a few minutes later as we dressed for warmth and flexibility. “What about this shirt?” “Are you wearing a hat?”
In the kitchen, I poured a glass of water and ate three slices of banana. “Don’t gulp the water,” Stuart warned. He took the house key off his keychain and slipped it in his pocket. I stood on the landing, with my foot on the railing, stretching out my pesky right hamstring. We went downstairs.
Outside, we felt the moisture of a dense fog, settling around us. It felt good, though – sort of warming in a strange way. And then we did something completely unprecedented, for me. At 7:25 in the morning, we started jogging slowly up the street. For the record, while Stuart goes a few times a week, this is the first time I’ve gone running in about three years.
For the next 25 minutes, we jogged slowly most of the way to Astoria Park, and lapped the track once before I got tired. It was hard to admit that after a 10 minute run and one lap, I was already a little spent, but there I am, jogging with Stuart, it’s not like I have to impress him into liking me. So he asked, and I admitted, yeah, the strain was starting to set in.
“There’s no need to push yourself so that you fear coming out again in a few days,” he assured me as we slowed to a brisk walk near the tennis courts and I felt my lungs STOP hurting. I took his hand quickly, because I really appreciate the encouragement. I appreciate that while I don’t believe I’ll truly start running regularly, Stuart does. But I didn’t really believe I’d quit smoking, either, and it’s been a month. And he knew I would. So maybe I really will become a runner. It’s been one of those lifelong dreams that I’ve started and stopped about twenty times. But this is a different time, and a different place. And I’ve quit smoking. Which sort of makes me feel like I can do anything.
When we got home, Stuart made a pot of strong black tea and I cut bananas for two bowls of Rice Krispies. It was only 8:05. We settled down to watch the Today show and have breakfast. While I showered, Stuart kept me company in the bathroom. I got dressed and finished my tea, and kissed him on the landing like we do every morning.
Since we’ve been married, Stuart and I have done a lot of awesome, decadent, indulgent, wonderful things together – from trying new restaurants to putting up a Christmas Tree to walking over the Brooklyn bridge and hanging out at Barnes and Noble. This morning, we did something that seems the opposite of glamorous or decadent. Like this post, it was simple, without frills or excitement. We woke up. We ran. We talked. We made breakfast together, showered and dressed, and kissed goodbye. Simple.
But really, it was one of the best mornings of my life. And I can’t wait to do it again.