One of the things I love best about our house is the creek and creek trail right behind it. Being able to pop out the back door and right onto a dirt path shaded with oak and olive and eucalyptus trees, scented with wild fennel and the freshness of running water, with wild turkeys grazing alongside in fall and baby partridges scrambling around in spring, feels to me like the pinnacle of luxury. It's made my runs richer, more meditative and definitely more fun--not to mention much gentler on my joints than concrete sidewalks.
However, ever since Kamal has been able to express an opinion, he's resisted the creek trail when we go for runs together. I'm pretty sure it's because, as neat as it is to sight ducks and turkeys and the very occasional otter, he'd much rather sight buses and trucks and trains. That's the kind of scenery my jogging partner enjoys, from his cozy seat, and since I'm often faced with the choice of running with Kamal or not running at all, that's the the scenery we go looking for.
So nowadays, instead of running along the idyllic creek path, Kamal and I typically jog through our little neighborhood, past a giant shopping mall, along a major downtown street, and finally through a transit center, where there are usually a bunch of city buses lined up. He counts them, taking the job seriously, but not so much that he forgoes his usual panache.
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