Today marks the 27th annual Los Angeles Marathon. I was here when the very first one was run. It zig-zagged through Hollywood, where I lived, so it was easy to just gout a few blocks, brink along some coffee, and watch.
Years later, the route changed, as did my address, but the run route was right down my main street such that I would simply go outside in the morning, sometimes still in my pajamas, and open up a lawn chair, have my coffee, and watch the runners.
When my grandson was about two years old, he was skittish and wanted to run all the time. It was usually hard for me to take him for walks and stuff because at that age, he did not understand "STOP" when I would yell, and I was always afraid he'd run into the big street and get hit by a car. But one thing was for certain, we could not stop him from running in the marathon!
Zaire, at age 2:
Zaire at age 3:
A snippet of Zaire at age 4:
At age 5, with me running behind him (at age 56) - it was just a mile, but I was close to death at the end of that mile. Again, only a snippet: