LA Story

So there I was jabbering at her about my new job as a serious newsman – about anything at all – but all I could think was wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful and yet again, wonderful – Harris K. Telemacher (Steve Martin), “LA Story.”

I must say that I truly find myself at a loss for words. When something not particularly profound happens, it’s a lot easier to compose psuedo-profound prose about it. Or, at the very least, it seems to flow when I try to come up with an entertaining story loosely based on some feature film or book. But I’m really stuck on this one. I felt an – at times – overwhelming mix of emotions during the day. There was some obvious trepidation, some disappointment, a lot of relief, and – of course – a lot of “wonderful.” I think largely I’m glad it’s over, though, and that the race itself was largely un-remarkable as a self-contained event. I felt fine – not great, and certainly not fast – the whole day. I didn’t panic. I didn’t hurt (in a bad way). And I finished. I think when I crossed the line that I closed a certain chapter in my life, and I suppose that trying to write about it is like trying to reopen something that my brain has sort of closed off access to. And maybe I’m not ready yet to reopen something that I really wanted to put to rest and put behind me. So as much as I thought I’d have a lot to say, I don’t have very much. At least right now. But that small piece of metal attached to a ribbon says an awful lot, so hopefully you’ll forgive me for not saying too much more.