This Thanksgiving, a few of us will begin our Thursday with a strange new holiday tradition. Where Thanksgiving mornings were once a time for football games, foggy heads, and crowded sofas, a number of the Paris 12 will be waking early, lacing up their sneakers, and going for a five mile run--not a precedent shattering distance, and not significant in comparison to some of our recent personal bests (well done, Fred, showing the half-marathon who's boss), but it's a gesture that seems like evidence that some of us are taking to running and, dare I say, might even be thankful for it. Maybe. I still feel like one who runs, and not even close to calling myself runner, one of those speedy bounders who don't slobber or wheeze or wince when they are passed by a woman jogging with her Maltese (had one pass me just last night). The gulf between our world and the runner's world might yet be a yawning one, but let's remember that we all started at zero miles three months ago, and some of us are now running six, seven, or twelve miles in one clip without need of medical assistance. The marathon might still feel ridiculous, but so did five miles once. So let's be thankful for our progress, and remain open-minded to the absurdity that is 26.2.Welcome home to Cristin, recently back from Dubai, and congratulations on your nuptuals! Happy birthday to Joe! Happy Thanksgiving to all!
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