Page 8 - Boca ViewPointe - May '22

Page 8, Viewpointe May 2022

Pretend I’m A Truck!

By Robert W. Goldfarb That changed when my daughter Shanna called to say she Running through Boca Pointe might not be a memory
and her husband-to-be decided they would honeymoon in woven into our family tapestry, but it is a delightful prelude
Six days a week I run or walk a four-mile loop through Athens. Sensing an opportunity, Muriel asked “What if Dad to where I will next run. Every summer for the past 60 years,
Boca Pointe. That I’ve been doing this for 25 years could make and I hosted you in Paris before you flew to Athens?” Shanna I’ve run along Southampton’s bay and ocean beaches. It’s
the journey seem like a conveyor belt carrying me in tedious quickly explained they had chosen Athens as a couple, and not palms, banyans and golf courses that surround me, but a
circles. But the scenery I pass is in constant state of change; Jeff would certainly not want in-laws on his honeymoon. But limitless glow that makes me almost drunk with joy.
ponds green on Monday surprise me with their cobalt sparkle she would ask him. Seconds later the phone rang with Shanna My family and I rejoice that running through splendor
on Tuesday. The occasional banyan, ominous at dusk, opens exclaiming “Mom, Jeff said yes! We’re coming to Paris!” lightens my 92-yer-old soul. I suspect there are others who are
its arms the next morning to wave me forward. What happened next is part of family lore. Marathoners pleased I’m still running. Somewhere out there are paratrooper
And there’s the green sweep of the golf course, sometimes carbo-load the evening before the big run, lean runners sergeants exclaiming, “Look, Goldfarb is still running!” I’m
echoing with the crack of a driven ball, moments later with devouring yards of spaghetti. As we entered a neighborhood certain one of them will add, “Of course he’s still running;
birdsong or the barely audible whir of wings. The mind I carry bistro, I noticed three runners wearing Paris Marathon t-shirts. he’s one of us.” 
with me also doesn’t tolerate repetition. It’s a theater alive with In my best high-school
articles I’m writing, plans I’m making and my determination French, I asked which pasta
to find purpose in my journey deeper into old age. they recommended. All three
Every run or walk also takes me along surfaces where quickly snapped, “Pasta, non!
nothing grows, the concrete slabs where cars seem to stalk Vin rouge, oui!” They handed
me, often coming close enough to sense if I’m suitable prey. me a freshly-opened bottle of
They come so near, I want to shout “You wouldn’t get this Saint-Emilion and said “Now,
close to a car or truck. Pretend I’m a truck!” But that sounds you’ll run like a Frenchman!”
combative and running for me is meditative, a journey paced On my 90th birthday, all
by quietness, not by the competitiveness that fueled my career my children and grandchildren
or the early races I entered. gathered, each presenting me
I’ve learned where it’s safe to be meditative and where with a letter they had written
I must be alert. There are several risky crossings in Boca to me. Shanna’s was a drawing
Pointe. One is along the stretch between the fitness center and she made of tipsy runners,
the clubhouse. Drivers turning into the gym are focused on wearing t-shirts reading,
a parking spot, not on whatever is on the sidewalk alongside “Pata, non! Saint-Emilion,
them. oui!”
Two of the riskiest crossings are the 18th street entrances Another joyous memory
onto both Boca Pointe Drive and Promenade Drive. Some cars was born at one of the New
turning west onto 18th Street approach the right lanes with the York Marathons I ran. Our
impatience of a dog straining at its leash. I step back, grateful family gathered on 82nd
cars don’t have the retractable leashes some dogs wear. With Street, not far from where
a respectful wave of my hand I signal, “You go first.” the torrent of runners poured
I’m especially cautious when I approach the Promenade into Manhattan from the
Drive entrance into Imperial Royale. The building’s name Queensborough Bridge. When
is so aristocratic it seems to give residents license to regard I reached them, my daughter
passersby as intruders on their estate. Just last week, after a Leda put her ten-month-old
close call, I fantasized a passenger saying to a resident as they son into my arms.
drove from the building, “I think that bump we just felt was Together, we headed to
a peasant you ran over.” The driver, I imagined, would reply, 83rd Street where his father
“If there’s a collection, I’ll send my valet with a shilling or was waiting (I hoped!). I
two.” (That’s what I meant by the theater of my mind.) kissed my first grandchild,
I’m a bit more meditative while running along Boca Pointe and, before passing him to
Drive from El Dorado to Southwinds. Cars turning in or out my son-in-law, whispered
of those communities are somewhat less likely to come close. “Jesse, welcome to your first
Of course, running wasn’t always meditative. At 18, marathon. Let’s run others.”
running in boots, hunched under an M-1 rifle and heavy back My now 36-year-old grandson
pack, I labored through southern Army camps in heat so and I never did run a marathon,
intense my helmet became an oven. And running wasn’t quiet. but he, his younger sister, all
Paratrooper sergeants ran beside me, shouting “Goldfarb, their cousins and I have run
go faster or I’ll expletive your expletive expletive! Do you many shorter races together.
expletive understand me?” I didn’t, but was gasping too hard
to speak, which made them bellow even louder.
Our sergeants also insisted on following what they called
water discipline. Drenched in sweat, they would empty Norbert Graber, R. Ph.
their canteens onto the ground and order us to do the same. and Lynn Graber, R. Ph.
“Paratroopers drink beer, not water!” they would shout. Instead
of wondering why young troopers–all dehydrated sinew and
muscle–were falling face-first onto bubbling blacktop, they
muttered “This bunch wouldn’t have survived Normandy!”
I began running again early in the jogging boom of the
sixties, this time wearing New Balance running shoes, not
jump boots. Over the years, we lived in apartments on both
the east and west sides of Manhattan. My favorite runs were
along the great rivers that patrol Manhattan’s borders.
Running along the East River has parallels to today’s
partisan politics. I suspect extremists on both the left and
right would run with their eyes fixed on FDR drive which
sizzles with road rage and exhaust fumes. Right wingers
would celebrate the fossil fuels that make rush hour possible.
Progressives would run with T-shirts reading “Global Warming
Kills!”
Moderates, I believe, would stare straight ahead, neutrally
appraising both the road and the river. Neither party would FREE
recruit me whose eyes never strayed from the blue expanse as Family Owned & Operated LOCAL DELIVERY
though the river was speaking to me. I heard it saying, “Bob, SERVING BOCA POINTE AND OUR COMMUNITY SINCE 2001 Free for prescription
I was here before all this was built, and will be here when it • Easy Prescription Transfer • Prescriptions Filled Fast drugs only
comes down. I’m glad you’re looking at what matters.” • All Medicare Part D Plans Accepted • Professional Compounding
The marathons I ran from age 50 into my early sixties were • Most Private Insurance Plans For • Orthopedic & Surgical FAST, FRIENDLY SERVICE
not meditative; there was simply too much to see, too many Prescription Drugs Accepted Supplies SPECIAL ORDERS WELCOME
runners of endless variety to ignore. I haven’t run a marathon Including United Healthcare • Nebulizers & Supplies
in 30 years and, while they were arduous, I remember only the and Tricare • Compression Stockings HIGHEST-QUALITY MEDICINES
& HEALTH PRODUCTS
joy of them, the memories they wove into our family tapestry.
My wife and I had booked a trip to France where I planned 561-391-6336
to run the Paris Marathon. Muriel had been surrounded by
family during other marathons I had run, everyone assuring 22191 Powerline Road • Boca Raton
her I would be fine. But, in Paris, she would be alone, hoping SW Corner of Palmetto & Powerline • Mon-Fri 9am to 6pm • Sat 9am to 3pm • Closed Sun
I would stop running these 26-mile things that were more BocaPharmacy.com
wearing on her than on me.