This morning my friends and I woke up bright and early to meet for coffee. Talk was chipper and jovial around the wrought iron table located on the sidewalk outside the cafe under a stand of goldening trees. I ordered a Mexican mocha, and the blend of cayenne, cinnamon and cloves, combined with the crisp breeze, made my checks feel warm and rosy.
Three things made me very happy this morning. One, for the first time in a string of long days I woke up to sunshine and a dry bike seat. Two, I'd pulled out my Lady Elinor entrelac stole for the first time this season, and its intricate pattern and textures kept drawing my eyes and hands as I sat in sun. And three, blessed number three, (which reminds me why we were at this particular cafe in this particular part of the city in the first place) I congratulated myself on being smart enough not to have entered in the marathon we were there to watch.
Several of our friends were entered in this race, and it was fun to cheer on strangers and familiar faces alike, but I couldn't help but feel that all of us standing on the sidewalk were a brew of mixed feelings. Perhaps a little bit envious. (Why couldn't we be that fit and spry? ) And perhaps even more so (in my case, at least) : smug.
Boy, I thought to myself, am I glad I had the foresight nine months ago, not to sign up for this torture. As I congratulated myself for my wise prudence I happened to witness a person run by barefoot. I think we may have all gasped in unison. Barefoot in Minnesota in the first week of October!
Anyway, the reason I'm retelling this tale is because I instantly felt the need to knit a pair of socks for that poor misguided person running down the street barefoot. You can bet I had on a pair of my hand knit socks this morning.
Something that I had the foresight to knit nine months ago, as well, when I was not signing up for any marathons.
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