Thursday, July 14, 2011
This post could be about so many things. As a doctor, I could discuss dysenterical delights. As a runner, I could discuss, well, running. But today my mind is on my 88-keyed, lifelong friend.
I haven't run enough this week, on my legs at least. I have done multiple runs with my hands though. I played piano for almost 9 hours today, all told. That's like an ultra marathon. Which is something I've contemplated doing (on my legs) someday. Partly because I've heard you can eat hamburgers mid-run when you top 50 miles in a day. And that sounds way better than Gu Energy gel. Though I do adore their Espresso Love.
When I was little, I first wanted to be a poet. Then, when I was about 5, I put on great big headphones and plugged them into my parents' record player, and I chose Horowitz playing the Moonlight Sonata and I said to myself "this is what I want to do". I then spent the next 2 years of my life begging for piano lessons (also, climbing trees, collecting bugs, and being a member of a club named the "California Condors"). My parents said "you are too young". But on my 7th birthday, I got a card which I still remember. It had Schroeder on it and inside it said "Happy Birthday. You will start piano lessons next week. Your piano arrives tomorrow." My friends were speechless, and quite sympathetic, but I was over the moon. The spinet piano my parents brought home was the best thing ever. And sort of made up for the fact that they gave away the Steinway they owned when I was a baby. Sort of.
Now, I have strayed into the odd world of medicine. But this week I got to put my piano hat back on. I got to do runs that make my hair curl. I should be training for my marathon, but this week I did runs instead of doing running. And I played. And played. And played.