Change.

At lunch I went for a celebratory run, a celebratory run to run off a full bottle of celebratory champagne, and truth be told I thought I'd die before that first step outdoors. Over sleepless night the celebratory bubbles settled in my legs, but rather than effervesce they kept me so grounded it took effort indeed to fly.

By the time I made my first loop around the Capitol I felt them popping, a billion firecrackers bursting one by one along a string, a gaudy din of celebration as every fiber and sinew loosened and stretched. On typical afternoons I'd typically head north, end home again to complete an up-and-downhill pair of typical miles, but before I left I loaded up my Shuffle with The National to celebrate and I couldn't bear the thought of abandoning them in this our hour to celebrate.

Onward I pressed, passing Museums of This and That left and right, the marble tombs of every building block and bone of civilization. Despite the threat of rain and biting wind my joints held strong, ankle and knee and hip pain free for the first time in years. As I rounded the Tidal Basin, the great marble figure of Thomas Jefferson loomed, beckoned, reminded me of last night's mostly good surprises. Cheers at RFD as the map became truer and bluer. Crashing the NAACP party at Busboys and Poets. Dancing in the streets and honking horns and hugging strangers. Some other stuff.

By mile four I was waving goodbye to FDR. By five I bid Mr. Lincoln adieu. I had a lot to think about I guess, like how quiet the empty building across from my apartment is. Like how the same man sits at the guard desk, guarding nothing all the longer and longer night long. Like how last night I heard him whoop and holler, watched him jump high into the air and pump his fists in celebration from eight stories up. Like some other stuff.

By now I couldn't help myself; mile six found me smack before the White House, rubbernecking that epic catastrophe. Mile seven found me back on the Mall, thinking still. And 9.0915 miles later the best I could come up with after all that celebratory running, all that celebratory thinking, is I wonder what I did wrong.



For the record, I'm still expecting rain.