The wonderful Italian ice shop on my street served its last
cup of lemonade for the summer on Sunday. For me, it’s closing marked the end
of the summer and as I slurped up the fruity deliciousness one last time I
thought ahead to the long battle with the cold that would ensue until it
re-opens in May.
Fall was in the air in Chicago today and I wasn’t feeling
terrible, although I am a man who usually mourns the annual death of the
summer. It was a cold, blustery day and my run alongside Lake Michigan and then
the Chicago River brought back nice memories of Boston falls spent running
along the Charles River. The cold ears, the stiff jaw, the having to keep
moving at traffic lights to stay warm, the notable absence of the hoards of
runners who had seemed so keen when it was just 10 degrees warmer, the crisp
air, and the not needing to worry about my sweat covering the house, its
contents, or any small children who may happen to walk under my t-shirt while
I’m wringing it out. These, I decided, were all good things and although the
summer will always be far and away the best time for tennis, perhaps the fall
is the number one season for running.
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| The Chicago River |
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