Went for a run yesterday for the first time in months. I’ve put on ten pounds, while writing my book. It was a challenge to lug that weight around the park drive. Almost as difficult as when I first started running, and could barely make it to the corner. My lungs hurt, my muscles cramped. I know that if could get back into it with some discipline, and regularity, I’d build up to three miles again, in no time. But obviously, I’m lacking something in motivation, because the thought makes me want to take a nap.
The park itself was as perfect as always. I don’t mind the light rain, on a cooler day. The scent of the dirt, the trees, and grass. The lush overhead canopy. It’s one of the most beautiful places on Earth. As I told Elisabeth Robinson, the other night, Central Park isn’t just one of my favorite things about New York. It’s one of my favorite things about life.
Elisabeth plays tennis in the park. I’ve thought about taking some lessons. She and I have gotten together a couple of times. We used to waitress together at Indochine, and I dated her brother, Tom, before that. Elisabeth wrote “The True and Outstanding Adventures of the Hunt Sisters,” which I was so impressed by, and wrote about here, when it was published, several years ago.
Last week, Doe and I met Karen by the sailboat lake. We sat in the grass and talked. When Doe first saw Karen, she ran around in quick circles, and nipped at her clothing, barking, excitedly. Funny the way she remembers the people she loves.
Now, she rests by my feet. I’m re-writing, making revisions. I had a conversation with an editor at a publishing house, the other day, who told me what was wrong with my book, and everything she said made sense. I knew I had taken a wrong turn, and I even suspected where, but until she confirmed my concerns, I wasn’t sure. Now, I’m back in, trying to discover a new way, that doesn’t take you so far out of the original story. It’s like imagining a map to a place you know exists, but have no further information about.