Longtime readers will recall my love affair with the little track a couple of blocks away. It was a cinder track belonging to a small Catholic school. Soft, bumpy, lined with trees. It’s one of the main reasons I chose our home nearby. And now it’s gone.
I stopped by today. It’s been a couple of weeks since construction began on the “upgrade.” They’re putting in a new fancy track surface with “lanes” and “smoothness” and “no potholes that threaten permanent injury.” In other words, all the best parts.
The trees are gone. Four huge trees lined the back straight; now it’s down to one. Two trees on the back turn as well. It’s a big parking lot with an asphalt loop.
It’s been closed since work began; big signs posted on the fence ordered me to stay off.
While driving by today, I saw that now the fence is gone as well. Nothing left but the signs lying on the ground.
If a sign is on the ground is it still a sign? Does the pope cut switchbacks in the woods? I figure what the heck.
I run a couple of miles on it just for old times sake. It’s like sitting next to a loved one who recently died. You don’t want to let go, but it’s gone.
There is no magic. There is just running. This is not a place to cure my doldrums. This is a place to cause them.
Bye, track. I’m sorry they did this to you. And me. But mostly you.