Saturday, 31 October 2015

And there we were ...

And there we were all in one place
A generation lost in space
With no time left to start again.

We’re in the dead heart of the temporal interstice that lies between ordinary life and tomorrow morning’s marathon. It begins with this morning’s massage, courtesy of Jessica in Brooklyn, who leaves me unable to speak. Lots of history buried in those messed up muscles, and she’s really good. Her hands are strong as chrysolite. She recommends epsom salts pre- and post-race. I didn’t know about that. I meet with Sean, then Simon and finally Brad and we eat and eat. Except Simon: he drinks and drinks, while we look on in envy, punctuated occasionally by his pointed apologies. We watch New Zealand beat Australia in the final of the Ruby World Cup in an unpromising Brooklyn sports bar, called 200fifth. We have a whole bank of televisions in front of us, and can hear the American commentary, delivered by a pair of men who’ve carefully read the rulebook and haven’t grasped the nature of the game. But it’s all good. The burgers are excellent, the sweet potato fries doused in cinnamon.

On the way back to the hotel I buy 4 kg of epsom salts for me, and 4 kg for Sean. That’s a lot of salt. Most of the chemists have sold out; in this one the young cashier suppresses giggles.

It's Halloween, and the walk back is slowed by hordes of children and teenagers in ghoulish costumes (18% of Americans believe they've seen a ghost, this morning's paper tells me) collecting candy from people and shops. Actually some of them are adults. Unaccompanied adults dressed as superheroes and bumble bees, the living dead and the dead living.

Sean’s asleep, so I sit and write in the hotel bar. This isn’t real time. It’s all about waiting in that space, expending no energy or adrenaline, waiting for it to start. Everything is muffled, but for the quiet soundtrack in my head, playing music I can’t quite remember. I've been here before.

See you tomorrow.

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1 comment:

  1. And so we went to dinner, at Queen Italian Restaurant in Brooklyn. We recommend it. Founded in 1958 and old school. 'So old school,' said the waiter, 'that we even don't have caesar salad.'