From my twentysomething years in Los Angeles, I can recall on one hand the number of times I spotted a celebrity:
– Michael Richards (aka Kramer) at a pizza place in Santa Monica (the hair…hard to miss the hair….)
– Kiefer Sutherland getting out of a car in Brentwood. (Actually I think a friend pointed this one out to me; I was never a 24 watcher.)
– Ben McKenzie (aka Ryan Atwood from The OC) at a bar in Venice (he was short!)
Maybe there were a couple of others, but regardless, it was pretty b-list stuff. I suck at recognizing famous people. There were many things I loved about living in LA, but rubbing elbows with A-listers definitely was not one of them.
So as we spooned sorbet after dinner last weekend and my husband spotted a certain shaggy head of blonde hair strolling across the patio of our neighborhood Midtown Atlanta restaurant and claimed a star sighting, I instinctively applied my celebrity non-recognition skepticism.
“That was not,” I said, eyes narrowed.
“Yes, it was,” he replied, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “A hundred percent sure.”
“I have to pee, ” I announced abruptly and stalked off toward the entrance of the restaurant, through which the mussed golden mop had passed moments before.
And? And it was.
Owen Wilson. Charmingly crooked nose and all. A thousand percent sure. I mean, Zoolander is my all time favorite movie of all time. And that was definitely Hansel standing there at the hostess stand.
There’s no way I’d ever do this, but part of me had a fleeting fantasy about making friends and inviting him over to our house (just a few blocks away!) so we could drink “tea” with Finnish dwarves and Maori tribesman. But obviously that would be like a vanity of self absorption that he’d try to steer clear of. So I pretended to visit the restroom and then scurried back to our table.
I mentioned this to our waitress and she confirmed that he was a regular. In town, apparently. Filming this movie, or so it seems likely. And “super sweet.”
There is no real point to this anecdote. Other than that I lived in L.A. for three years and didn’t see shit for celebrities, but I’ve lived in Atlanta for five months and have already practically had dinner and an orgy with one of the lead actors of my favorite movie.
I know. Cool story, bro.
I had a good track workout tonight. My legs felt heavy during the first couple of repeats, but I had no problem working through a solid set of 12X400, clearing the 90-second barrier easily on each one: 87, 88, 88, 87, 87, 86, 86, 86, 85, 85, 84, 82.
12X400 is one of my favorite classic track sets. Looking back on my workout log, I’ve done it two other times this year (on May 29 and June 26) and have gained speed along the way:
Speed work. It works. (Although…having slightly cooler and duskier conditions helps too. But it was still in the low 80s when I was driving home from the track tonight…relatively balmy!) And while I left tonight’s session feeling tired, I wasn’t nearly as on-the-turf drained as I’ve been previously after track. I ran a calculated workout and there was gas left in the tank. Hurrah.
It’s tempting to try to assign race goals based on workouts like this one (“I should be able to run a 5K at 5:44 pace!” <–umm…no, not likely) but honestly, the most helpful thing for me is just seeing an improvement. I have worked hard, gained a little strength, lost a little fat…and I’m little faster now. And I know that, no matter how hilly the course or inhospitable the conditions, that will only help me when I race.
That said…in my umpteen years of running, churning out quarters consistently and easily under 90 has always been my benchmark for being in good racing shape. I can count on one hand the number of times that this has happened post-college.
I guess, in a (completely non-Hollywood) way, I too am so hot right now.
I think I need to find a flattish 5K in the next few weeks.