I went for the customary end-of-the-visit Run of Shame with my dad. This involves being hoisted from my bed at some unholy hour and making stiff pleasantries before I've been properly fed or computered or caffeinnated. I lace my sneakers and pay respects to my mom, who sits like some ghostly red-headed sibyl and asks her questions, eyeing me through teacup steam as if divining how exactly my knees feel and if I should be running.
And then we jog into the morning at an hour that is fit only for park bench drunks, stray dogs and sprinklers. Some more polite but largely one-sided conversation. A "how're ya feeling?" which translates roughly to "no, we're not turning around yet, it's gonna be a long one". Some snide remarks made about the predawn dog-walkers that litter the path. And one gusty exhale at the halfway point around the lake: "Smells like Korea!". All of which I respond to with "hmphs" that fizzle into whining.
And with a high five and a "good job, buddy", it's over. And we all say our goodbyes, and I haul their suitcases out, and pummel their backs and wave stoutly as they drive off. And make my mad dash for the Motrin bottle.
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