I lived in Palo Alto, California from roughly 1997-2002. In those days I thought a lot about becoming a triathlete but did little other than bike through the rolling Peninsula hills and occasionally join a group jog on Wednesday nights through the streets of Palo Alto.
On Wednesday, I finally make it back to the weekly 5.5 mile run. Of course I intended to keep up with the leaders and demonstrate how impressive I have become. However I get cutoff at a light at around 2 miles and never manage to catch up.
Just like in Tokyo the group goes out to a Vietnamese restaurant after the run. Vietnamese food seems to have become the universal choice among run clubs. Except in this case it is a spacious restaurant in a strip mall along El Camino rather than a cavernous hole-in-the-wall. And I also could also tell this was America because with everyone at dinner talked about their jobs and their investment portfolios.
Sitting there it felt that nothing had changed since 2002, but then I recall that at least now I have some claim of being a real triathlete.
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