Maybe it was the three different summers I spent painting the wrought iron fence my mom picked up on one of her antique runs. Or maybe it was the summer I helped my dad drill holes in the sidewalk to install said fence. It’s clear that I have a problem: I’m drawn to the details of these old iron fences, especially ones that are very old and dripping with a million coats of black glossy paint.
I shot this on the Church street side of St. Paul’s (wikipedia) on Sunday, as I made my way to the subway station by City Hall. I wanted to visit the Ground Zero memorial, but wanted to share that with Heather, thinking that maybe we’d get up early the next day and walk down. I was delusional. One doesn’t run 26.2 miles after minimal sleep and then make early morning trips to emotionally laden landmarks. So that will have to be another visit.
We stayed downtown on this trip and for me, that was a first. I’ve got a few photos from my hotel to subway station walk before heading up to see Heather in the marathon. I feel terrible that I didn’t try to see her earlier in the race and at more spots. I have absolutely zero photos of her running.
Husband: -100 points.