Day 263 = Running + My Hometown

I flew into my hometown of Little Rock, Arkansas, this morning for the holiday week. I really don't need to get into the details of the flight other than you can stir a baby (not shake it) to shut it up on a plane. Mom says that's OK. But never shake a baby.

So let me get right to my 263rd workout, which was a 4-mile run. Mom and I drove over to Jim and Pat's house, family friends. And they are like family. Mom and Pat have been BFFs for almost 40 years. Her son, Michael, and I were born on the same day; he's one hour older than me. We grew up having birthday parties together, and his sister Courtney was a bridesmaid in my wedding years ago. Now she has a 4-year-old, Tyler, who when he grows up he wants to be a married person.

When I was married 10 years ago, my ex and I lived in a house just down the street from Jim and Pat, so I walked in this neighborhood a lot. I didn't run back then because I didn't start running until I moved to Texas. But I'd walk my dog Ringo around the neigborhood.

So I started out running down Arlington to Crestwood and across North Hills and then left on Fairway and right on Bunker Hill Drive. I grew up in that house at 4601 Bunker Hill Drive. I ran by that house tonight. It still has the teal doors and window shades from the 1980s; both design elements were additions from my dad's ex-girlfriend who was an interior designer. I wondered if it still had the same carpet, which was mauve with a teal border. Yes. That was my house. I cringe now to think of that Boca Raton look inside a 1976 ranch house. I used to say that I'd buy that house if it was ever for sale again, assuming I'd still be living in Arkansas. It would be so pimp if I lived there.

When I was little, I think I had a couple of lemonade stands on that corner of Bunker Hill and Mt. Vernon. But one time, I had a jewelry stand where I tried to sell my grandmother's costume jewelry and tried to pass it off to my friends as real diamonds. They weren't that gullible, and I didn't make any money.

One time, I joined my friends Jennifer and Angie for a bike ride down the street to the corner of Fairway and Bunker Hill where there was a church and a big parking lot. I lied to my mom about where I'd been because I wasn't allowed to ride my bike that far. I was probably 6 or 7 years old. I got in sooo much trouble.

When I was 17, I had a little party at my house. At one point, my friend Michele went out to her car and came back in and said it had been stolen. We all went outside (I was filming it all with my camcorder) and found out that her car was not stolen but evidently had just rolled on down the hill, right into my neighbor's garage. There were bricks all over the hood of her car. She told her mom her car was sideswiped, and I think she believed it. I think Michele told her mom finally when she was in her 30s.

After my run, I had dinner with Mom, Jim, Pat, Courtney and Tyler, who showed me his bank that "poops money." And by pooping money, I mean the bank lost its bottom cover.