On May 2nd I ran the Vancouver half-marathon. It was a victorious run, easier than the 1st half-marathon for the lack of elevation gain. It was more amateurish, too. Many people seemed merely to be out for a Sunday jaunt around the city; these walked later on, were easily passed, or passed out before the finish line.

I relished every moment, especially the beginning when we were still a throng, almost tripping over each other and the portable music devices and water bottles and sunglasses which dropped from too many of us. This thing I don't understand, why people need so much gear for a fully supported run among thousands. But it makes fun spectacle and I like thinking about how the probability of minor accidents is concentrated in that venue, elevating mishap to ubiquity.

I loved running through Chinatown, through downtown, around Stanley Park, and through Yaletown back to the Science Ball. There was that one hill in the middle of the park, but otherwise the course was flat.

About three miles from the finish, at the isthmus where the marathon and half-marathon courses squeezed onto the same street, the first-place marathon runner passed me going twice my speed. He was a sinew, thready and sprite. He drank a cup of water without breaking stride, sunglasses on a cord dancing around his neck.

Andrew came with and tried to wait for me along the route. Despite having to get up very early and getting lost, he found me around mile four and even ran with me a few yards. I saw him again standing on the pedestrian overpass above the finish line and it was good to have someone there looking for me.

My time improved some and I felt so good that I walked the three miles back to the hotel.

June 6 I ran the half-marathon in Hood River, Oregon, with Angela. We had been training together and doing so made the long runs seem shorter. The race was no exception, but this one was the hardest yet, for the pace that Angela set (marathon runner that she be) certainly, but for the severe elevation change mostly. The first four and half miles of the course are uphill—no lie; thereafter every reprieve is the bane of the return mileage, and the latter downhill tries tired knees.

The course is just hard on people. We saw a woman with socks soaked in blood where blisters had given up, and the worst, a man bleeding from the nipples. His shirt had rubbed them open. The blood stained in long streaks that arced like the water clinging to your car windows. I still cringe when I think of it. I want to know: Why didn't he take off his shirt?

They say it is one of the most beautiful marathon courses, but beauty isn't always varied or interesting is it? I was glad when it was over, breathless and exhausted. We stopped for a hamburger and Dairy Queen on the way home.

It's been a week since then and I've run only a little. It's time to transition to biking for the August ride to Vancouver. I'm riding to work every day now and loving it. Being on the bike brings me closer to the community. Bikers wave and other people say hello. Commuting is a contemplative time. I remember now how it demarcates work from the personal, and that is an important crossing.

Otherwise, I'm lost for a goal and it's uncomfortable.

Fitness seems like such an ephemeral state: If I stop for a moment it'll dissipate.

It's not true, I know.

I'm seriously thinking about doing the Paris half-marthon in March. But that depends on leave allowance and finances.

Something less lofty: I'm thinking that trail running would be fun to try. Andrew says he is interested too. I hope that is something we could do together, maybe in the fall.