Feverish in Waikiki

Yes. Attila the Hub finished the Honolulu Marathon yesterday, raising thousands of dollars for cancer research. I cheered him on at mile 5, and near mile 25—along the final incline below Diamond Head.

Based on his projected time of arrival, I had a few hours to kill in that second location, so I ate breakfast (Starbucks coffee, string cheese, cut-up papaya from the local ABC mart). Then I joined with a couple of the locals in cheering the runners up the hill. We clapped and clapped as thousands of people ran, walked, and limped by, and because I'm rather stupid I didn't stop yelling even after it became clear that I was losing my voice. I was having too good a time with my bilingual friends, who taught me how to cheer the runners on in Japanese. (No. I don't remember the phrase I yelled out hundreds of times, exhorting the Japanese to "keep going," because I have a mind like a sieve. However, I'm told I got the pronunciation better than a lot of round-eyes do.)

And when Attila Hub came up the hill I jogged alongside him, even though I was wearing tennis shoes—not running gear. I even tried to sprint to the finish line, though I didn't make it, of course: he was running downhill by then, and he's a good deal taller and fitter than I am. No matter: his sister cheered him over the finish line, quickly repositioning herself after offering some encouragement at the 21-mile mark.

I didn't realize that supporters have to dress as though they are themselves running: wear the proper shoes, for one thing. And train a bit. I guess that means a minimum of four 20-minute workouts during the week, when I'll be cheering, clapping, and jumping up and down. Then there will be a "long cheer" on Sunday afternoons, wherein I'll hold a sign, act excited, and yell for two hours straight. This will take place in my backyard, of course, and ensure that the neighbors continue to give us a wide berth.

Walking along the course early yesterday morning, I passed by the finish line, so I got to see some of the top-50 finishers—those who managed to complete the event in the first few hours. They all looked svelte and young. Whassup with that?

Now I have some sort of vicious mini-bug, so Attila the Hub is sightseeing around the island with his sister while I cough in our hotel room, read a little Richard Miniter, and doze.

No matter. There's a beautiful view from the balcony, and my fever seems to have gone down. In a while I'll go out again and walk by the water. It's safe here: it just doesn't get cold like it does at home. Being sick in paradise is better than being depressed at home.

There is that lovely moment when you know you're getting better, but still need to take it easy. And avoid coughing very wetly on other people.

Sightseeing tomorrow, if I'm up to it and the cough eases up.

Congratulations, Honey.