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And to put an end to the dress, it was time to “disguise”. After trying half a dozen masks over the months, I settled for one Zensa: bright yellow (so no one had an excuse to turn to me), easy to breathe, sweat-free, and fog-free to see through the glasses. Then I took a step into our “technology”: Map My Run application. Without a chip, watch, or Bluetooth connection, it keeps an accurate map of your route, allowing you to take a picture of yourself at your own pace, time, and in the right size to show off your messy appearance. You can send this information to any friend you send, so that everyone is honest. I didn’t know anything, the races would be vehicles for honesty.
I took a few blocks to Ray, wearing a green NBA store Celtics mask that looked like Gumby, a green NBA Celtics shirt, and the green Nike Pegasus shoes he wore in college. I marked him, when he advanced a block in the sprint, he talked to Dave, and we were out. He was calling the conference for the fastest movement in the East, and we had to orient ourselves. “The United Nations is live,” I told Dave in DC while we were going with Ray and the East River. “The State Department is on my right,” Dave replied. A big part of our first run was calm, just hard breathing and rhythmic strides, with occasional bumps about the sport. But it was not uncommon.
And we heard each other clearly. Maybe my Belkin were corded headphones. (Don’t start me in ordinary old ears Those that fall every 50 feet.) I was grateful because there were so many things to hear.
This was the most time I spent with friends over the years. When you don’t have a family, the cable seems to break. Add a pandemic, and it will threaten to completely untie the cord. But as I ran, for most of the week twice, the calls made me feel tied to the rope again by points. Texts, memes, and email strings with other people seemed to be soulless.
“I’m starting a new business,” Rayk said one morning, “and I feel nervous. But energized.”
“My kids don’t make new friends,” Dave said the other day. “And they’re very young.”
“I have a dawn,” I confessed one day, “I may not have children.”
This led to an unusual silence. We all knew it wasn’t an issue we couldn’t fix, of course. But I thought they had to listen and understand that being alone was not a mere source of creative excitement for them. I had to explode that assumption, strongly. I think it worked, and I think they get it.
After the fall came, we started talking about college days, when we called home on the phone, saved short-term papers on floppy disks, and left notes to find out where we were. I started wearing the best thing I’ve ever had, to keep it warmer: the bright red of the 30-year-old North Face shell, from college, looked as new as I had gotten. I wore it all winter, rain or shine. They have to do humans with everything they’re using on the North Face.
One morning, Dave started the call by telling an old story he had heard more than 100 times. His father visited him at school and, always with a teacher, a story that helped him train the team to shoot the team one day after the basketball coach (and Dave). 1950s. Then Dave said, “He died last night.”
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