(I wrote this for work but figured since I hadn’t written this newsletter in a while, why not make this a crossover episode!)
I love to say I’ll never do something. What a pleasure, to proclaim your own intractability. For example, I will never watch a scary movie. Yes, I know Get Out is a masterpiece. Trust me, it does not make a difference. I won’t do it.
Before the pandemic, my Chronicle office-mates might have heard me announce once or twice (or three or four times) that I’d never run for fun. I’d say this as my co-workers chatted about their own running exploits. Our office is full of half- and full-marathoners.
“Nope, not me,” I’d say, refusing to mind my own business.
But then you’re forced to stay inside for 11 months, and the whole world goes to [redacted] and, well, your perspective changes. I can’t say for sure when it happened. All I know is I now own water-resistant ear warmers, and I check the weather each week to see which days will top 40 degrees. (That’s my threshold, so far.)
This weekend, I jogged to a nearby park. The weather was a perfect winter warm. Late afternoon sunlight melted onto tree leaves, making them appear buttery and soft. I was out of breath but still felt capable of making it home. And I was reminded of another of life’s pleasures: saying you’ll never do something, then doing it anyway.