Just as Far as the Lighthouse, Girl

Yesterday I was walking up the stoney streets of Cascais, on my way to run along my most favorite path in the globe: from Boca do Inferno (lit. "mouth of hell") to Guincho beach, overlooking the Atlantic. I was intercepted by a phone call that my presence was requested in Sao Joao for Indian food in 30 minutes. Now, this was a dilemma.

This Indian restaurant was the spot of nearly every celebratory meal eaten outside of my apartment for three years. The food is good. Outlandishly good, in fact. But holy curry, man, I had planned my whole day around this run because, well, it is my favorite spot in the world. (And I am not prone to throwing superlatives into the air. My most indeterminate crush of all time once said, "It is very difficult to impress Jenelle.")

These dear friends wanted to eat in 30 minutes, so I decided to scrap the Boca-run, and just run along the boardwalk to Sao Joao. (My 2nd favorite path.) But I'd forgotten that I am not the woman I used to be and have fallen a bit out of shape. Needless to say, I took some elegant "stretching breaks" as I went, but made it safely back to my old hometown, and the dinner date. I imagined that Sao Joao's "Cucina Indiana" was the most excellent of finish lines.

Along the way, I impressed myself by sending text messages from my cell phone while running. I also (literally) ran into Marco Santos--with the cool new tattoo--whom I had not seen in a year, and whom did not know I was in town. Funny.

Well, tonight I got my Guincho run. And I told myself I'd run "just as far as the lighthouse," and then turn back. I am a sucker for overused, tired metaphors that stretch out like my legs after running. While I'm mid-jaunt I make up half-haikus in my mind and feel far too profound. Just as far as the lighthouse? I'll let you draw this one out.

(Lisboa Lighthouse photo by Oumupo.)