They all can't be "easy" runs.

1 on the trails. About a half mile in, a guy was walking towards me, no shoes, grey sweatpants, burning incense, and either carrying an urn, or holding his coffee thermos in a way that would make anyone think he had a reverence towards it. I have no interest in seeing where this was going for the next however many laps, so I decided to take it to the hood route for the remainder of my run. So I did hood route to legacy trail to colonia and back.

I really didn't leave the house with the intention of going that far. To be honest, I've been kind of down and out lately, about many things. Running is on the list. I guess I was trying to make up the miles from last week in one run. Which is stupid, but also instinct. 

5 on the trails. halfway through the 5th lap, I passed an old guy (I'm guessing late 70s). He saw me running and said "I wish I was younger." I said "Me Too." Then I spent a while thinking about my response and how confusing / weird it was. Then I crossed paths with the old guy again. I said "You know, when I said 'me too' I meant I wish I was younger, not you." He said "Yeah, I got that." I was going to run longer, but then I thought I might see with this guy again, and probably couldn't stop myself from further fixing a miscommunication that never happened. 

So I pulled the plug on the run. 

5.5 miles. Hood Route. Then 2 on the trails. 

4 on the trails at noon. 

I know it's not running related, but there is something about when a father sees his kid get a hit in baseball that is really amazing. I can't explain it. I've had pride in my kids before for many different things. But when your kid is at bat, and gets a hit, it is something powerful.

My dad loves baseball. He played all of his youth, and into the Navy. Today he turns 80. He has been hopitalized, had a few surgeries, and we thought we were going to lose him a couple of times since I've been on the blog. In my youth, I played soccer, and my brother played baseball. They have a bond that I don't think I will get with my father because of this.

Around January 27-28 or so, my son Johnny, who hasn't played baseball since t-ball behind the YMCA, decided he wanted to give baseball a try again. He's 14. The other guys on his team and the teams he's playing against have been playing for the last 6-8 years, and probably year round travel ball. I laughed at him. In this day of kid's sports specialization, this would be a HUGE thing, to participate on a team, or even bolder, to contribute. Well, then he got to work practicing. 

Today, my brother flew in from CA to surprise my dad for his birthday, and take him to my son's baseball game. My son caght a fly, then a tricky liner, and knocked the ball into the outfield for a hit. 

My dad wept behind sunglasses.

I had two thoughts at the same time- First, this is the most awesome 80th birthday present I/we could have given this guy. And second, what did I gain by depriving this man of this feeling many years ago? If I had to do it all over again, I think I would have at least tried baseball.