Today we went to Pleasure Point. We ate at Pleasure Pizza (this is sounding like a poem, but I promise it's not) - artichoke-pepperjack and hawaiian. We then saw some old dude changing out of a wetsuit who flashed us good when he did a high-kick to step out of the clinging black foam neoprene.
I convinced Paul to go down the wooden stairs along the cliffs with me to the beach so that we could watch the surfers more closely. As we walked along the sand we came to a rocky area that jutted out so that each time a wave came up the beach was covered. Between waves there was a ten to fifteen second or so break where there was just wet sand making it possible to get by without scrambling along the slippery rocks if you were quick. I pointed this all out to Paul and then started reciting "Jack be nimble, Jack be quick" to myself waiting for a break in the waves and watching the surfers. I got so focused on the nursery rhyme that I forgot why I was reciting it in the first place and stepped out at the wrong moment, getting wet up to my knees with salt-water and sand. Paul, in the meanwhile, had scrambled along the rocks and was looking back at me like "How did you manage that?"
Then we saw a pod of dolphins swimming out by the surfers which was pretty amazing.
Before we headed out this morning though we went out on the Los Gatos Creek Trail so I could go for a run. Paul just walked because he had already run about 15 miles for the week and had developed a blister last night. So while he walked, I ran. And I would say jogged, because that is what I usually consider my pace to be, but as I started passing people I realized that after more than a year of almost exclusive treadmill running, I have actually developed a pretty decent pace. Not that I'm fast (even though I prefer to wear orange running shoes, something I have only allowed myself to do since completing my first marathon - my theory is that only real runners can wear orange or yellow running shoes), but a 10 minute per mile pace isn't too shabby for me. I passed multiple joggers (and they weren't all like 80 either, so I feel pretty legit posting about this), ran twice around a body of water bigger than a pond but smaller than a lake (is there a name for such a thing?), then walked back down the trail with Paul who had caught up while I looped the pond-lake. It was glorious.
This week I read a book and thought, "This writing is sad. Like really pathetic. Like, I wrote a better book than this in the 6th grade. How in the world did this guy get published?" And then I started daydreaming about what it would be like to a published author instead of a lawyer and then I remembered how I have written 35,000 words of a novel and then fizzled out on it and really should get back to it if I ever want to have any room to criticize. Then I forgave the aforereferenced author just a little bit and congratulated him on sticking to it until the thing was written even if it was junk.
Also, I have a pimple. It's under my left eye and hurts like a bugger. Because I have the hormonal system of an eleven year old girl, I only get a zit every other year or so, thank goodness. But still, I might as well whine about it.
Finally, I wish I could plan a trip right now - maybe to Bora Bora or the Seychelles or something. It's too long that I have been earthbound and I would like to get up in the air and out of the country. For now though I just escape with The Amazing Race, Survivor, or travel books.
That's all. Random, I know. How are you spending your Saturday?