For five eventful years in a time long time past, I lived and worked in Ventura California. This past winter my young son Mike invited me to run a springtime destination marathon with him. We chose Ventura. Mike was born there, and neither of us had revisited the place after we had moved away so many years ago. As Mike was born a month before we departed his memories are absent of course. Last month we jumped on planes (he from Austin, I from Houston) landed in Los Angeles, and drove up the coast past Malibu while fighting Friday afternoon traffic and mountainside road debris. And then finally late afternoon, to arrive at this wonderful seaside town.
Ventura, officially named San Buenaventura, was founded in 1782 when Saint Junipero Serra established Mission San Buenaventura, the ninth of the California missions. Serra named the mission after the Italian Saint Bonaventure, hence the nickname that Ventura is the “city of good fortune.
My best recollections were of the always perfect weather and life beside the Pacific Ocean, living five minutes from work and ten minutes from the beach. Our house at the time was an older style ranch house, somewhat neglected when we bought it. My home projects were few and mostly DIY. I recall replacing a short section of falling apart fence, digging out some dying junipers, and cutting back a large bougainvillea, which surprisingly revealed the Channel Islands in the offshore distance, who knew? Working around the edges of a house refresh, I would stare at the dated landscaping and indoor fixtures, trying to envision how to update with the time and money available at the time. Both were in short supply. Make the home as comfortable as practical and enjoy what was offered by nature, which awaited outside.
We lived just up the hill from Ventura College, where I snuck away early and often to Saturday pickup basketball games. Those courts are gone now, to make way for building and stadium expansions, though the ghosts of those competitions still linger. God, I loved those mornings. The college track remains where I took my first tentative sprint laps, to build some endurance against the youthful competition, and led to a long-time running life; who knew? And then packing the boys in the car on Sundays, for a ten-minute drive to the beach, the sky always perfectly blue above on those long afternoons, it seemed. Occasionally sea fog would roll in for an hour or even a week, the town dulled a bit, the houses sagged under their age, waiting for sunny days to return. On schedule in the fall hot dry Santa Anna winds would sweep down canyons from the nearby ranges, threatening heat and fire for a few days or a week. We would wait again for sunny cool days to return; it was not a long wait.
And so, the future returned on our weekend of travel, perfect spring days after winter-long rains, the hills were completely in bloom, the grasses so green, the sea air so fresh. Boxed strawberries line the farm to marked roads, they sell for a song. Why Ventura was nicknamed by locals as “Paradise”. What I discovered was that these past places have been transformed. From those somewhat sleepy, somewhat shabby sun-drenched ranch house lined streets to now updated houses, upgraded roads, remodeled hotels, new businesses, and more traffic of course. Nice places to live now for sure, busier, and way more expensive. But still in a sense, and in many ways, it is the very same place. A chapter in life. We returned home and witnessed the future.
On Saturday morning we awoke early and wandered out for a two-mile run. Along the beach of course. With a beautiful sunrise and views to match.
After breakfast we met up with a virtual friend (who we had never met in person) Woody Woodburn, a national award-winning newspaper columnist, writer, and a daily streak runner like me; we are adjacent on the U.S. Run Streak list. Tall and outgoing, Woody came galloping into the hotel lobby and we chatted it up like old times and best friends. He took a great interest in learning about Mike’s background and interests, that made me smile. He also gave me an autographed and inscribed copy of his new book! The Butterfly Tree: An Extraordinary Saga of Seven Generations: Woodburn, Woody: 9783982280189: Amazon.com: Books I was honored by the meet-up and this most personal gift.
And then for Saturday’s main event, a drive up through town along gently winding roads, the houses framed in the bright morning sun, landscaped with native flowers and beach grasses, all in bloom and overflowing to the sidewalks, a bluebird day if there ever was one. The iconic Two Trees which sat just north of our house are largely gone now, destroyed in a hillside fire; one has been replaced, and sadly not the same. Finally, we landed on Parson’s Avenue to visit our old house. Which looked at first glance like a newer, better, refreshed version of the old house. A Ring doorbell greeted us; we rang with no answer. On a hunch we rang again, and this wonderful lady named Chris came to the door and invited us in.
I observed the house as a visitor now, though also as a resident, happily shocked that it had been occupied almost continuously by this local couple and their family and lovingly restored. It turns out that they bought the house two years after we sold it and have lived there ever since. They have done a wonderful job. A new roof laid over the old shake roof that they finally replaced last year (and removed the shake at last). Restored hardwood floors, and updated kitchen, much outdoor landscaping, and more! Look at it gleaming in the sun, the broken asphalt circular front driveway and deadened tree removed and replaced. The house looks great, and she was so gracious. And as a native from Ventura, she knew Woody also, a small world. I am happy about all of that. Afterward we visited to the hospital where Mike was born. The building also remodeled. Mike does not remember much about the place, and neither do I. I did remind him that he was named after Michael Jordan during a lunch discussion at the local McDonalds, shortly before his birth. Our love for all things basketball has never ceased. Mikes two older brothers (Dan and Matt) sat on a wooden chair that we still own, at that house, back in the day, they are grown and successful, my how the years have passed.
I felt like just a tourist for our lunch and dinner outings, and a walk on the beach right past a bright afternoon wedding event. Down again to the beach to watch the sun set, with a few other tourists and plenty of locals, just hanging out.
Oh yes, the race, the reason for out visit. Our hotel was adjacent to the San Buenaventura State Beach, where both registration and the race finish line were located. The pickup area reminded me of a Southern California TV movie set, with banners and flags and happy runners chatting up the race.
And then finally on Sunday morning, the race itself. We did not know what we were getting into. The venue was a start line in the town of Ojai up the road, and descending back down into the city of Ventura. I have been to Ojai exactly once in my prior life, and remembered it as a folksy artisan town.
We knew the basics about the race, that there were school bus shuttles up to the race start line, wherever that was, and that the course ran (mostly downhill), except for a curious 200-foot climb early on. We did not study any of this too hard. A bus shuttle, 1.5 miles from the hotel. At 4:00 AM. For drop off before a 6:10 AM start, yikes. Which meant that we had to get up at 2:30 to eat, dress out and get over there. With no local ride available, we hustled down a long dark stretch of freeway service road and up another seven blocks to the park. We were a sight, jogging along while carrying extra food and drinks. It was cold, 50 degrees with a breeze. I gave Mike a kitchen trash bag to wear, and me too; why didn’t we buy cheap sweatshirts at the 99-cent store yesterday? Made it to the park just on time and loaded up, then departed up the road in the dark. Rattling along in the back of the bus we were the last ones off. It was cold and dark. Totally dark. Oh, we learned later that Ojai is a “dark sky” community! Volunteers pointed us in the direction of the town center. Totally dark. Runners were beginning to congregate along main street, still in the dark, sitting on the street curbs and crowded into an open Postal Office to warm up. Across Main Street there was a small park, and we took refuge there huddled up against each other and shivering while eating bananas and leftover bagels. Finally, gradually the sky brightened and there we saw a mountain behind the town. Time to race, I guess!
A relatively small race, maybe a thousand total? And off we went in a western direction. I felt slow but physically OK as we ran out a country road, up a big incline, then right back into downtown Ojai at 6.2 miles. And then back south out of town into the countryside this time towards Ventura. Mostly a long set of curves and easy drops down a two-lane road, very scenic. I was hanging in there OK to ten miles and then to 15 and thought I might finish in a decent time. Problems ensued. I was looking for shade but we ran long stretches of road bathed in bright sun, and it was warming up fast. A slight sea breeze headwind helped some Then the downhills started to take a toll on my quads, I dehydrated, and eventually slowed to a run-walk. Typical end marathon suffering, we push through. At the end as we ran back through town, I was barely hanging on. Mike intersected me for the last quarter mile. Twice I tried to pick up the pace and my legs got all unstable, and I had to back off. Then the finish line appeared, finally, ….yea!!
It was a nice race event and I would recommend it to others. Mike did super on light training and negative split the second half. Proud of him. However, for me, another tough day at the office of the marathon. OK, I can blame the bright sun and for sure the lack of long run training, but overall, I was not happy with my effort and results. I did finish. So, there is that and three weeks later I have forgotten the suffering of that day. Afterward we packed and dressed and drove back to LAX, in traffic of course, finished off an airport dinner, parted ways, boarded planes and headed home.
Returning to visit and eat and run / race again brought me full circle. And though exhausted and depleted at the end, the trip revives my still fresh memories – I will always remember this step on the path of life.
“Here’s the takeaway-we can savor life twice: once in the moment and again by recalling the memory. “…And we did…
The Benefits of Reliving Your Happy Memories | Psychology Today
*Lyrics “Paradise,” City and Colour:
I’m searching for a paradise*
That I just can’t seem to find
I’m searching for a paradise
For the time of my life
I’m searching for a paradise
Gonna go where the spirit guides
….
My silhouette is fading
Past the point of safe return
Now my body’s aching
There’s both ends of the candle burned
My heart is beating slow
It’s worn me to the bone
I’m searching for a paradise
That I just can’t seem to find
I’m searching for a paradise
For the time of my life
