It was a cool Los Angeles spring morning in 2003, and I was months away from graduating from college with a completely impractical theater degree.
On this particular day, I was wondering why I was standing among a noisy crowd of strangers on a dirty sidewalk at such an early hour. The multitude of runners passing by reminded me of the reason - I was there to see my brother and a few friends run in the Los Angeles Marathon. Taking a few photos and calling out my brother’s name supportively as he ran by seemed like a reasonable older sister duty to me.
After the race, our group of marathoners and fans went to the fast food joint Fatburger for lunch. Apparently, long-distance runners crave greasy burgers after burning 2,600 calories. As we sat down to eat, the guy across from me introduced himself. I had seen him around our group of friends, and identified him rather nondescriptly as “my brother’s friend, Steve.”
“My brother’s friend, Steve,” ended up being a rather enjoyable conversationalist. He was a few years out of college, and gave me a few bits of advice on surviving post-graduation life. It was an ordinary connection on an ordinary day.
In the following months, my brother’s friend Steve evolved into my co-worker Steve (as we both interned with the same non-profit organization), then into my boyfriend Steve. Now we’re 8 years into marriage, and that spring day seems like a distant moment.
There were many places that became a part of our unfolding relationship - Roscoe’s House of Chicken & Waffles (our first date), Malibu Beach (where we got engaged), USC’s campus (our wedding reception location). But when people ask us where we began, we point to that lunch at Fatburger after the LA Marathon.
On this particular day, I was wondering why I was standing among a noisy crowd of strangers on a dirty sidewalk at such an early hour. The multitude of runners passing by reminded me of the reason - I was there to see my brother and a few friends run in the Los Angeles Marathon. Taking a few photos and calling out my brother’s name supportively as he ran by seemed like a reasonable older sister duty to me.
After the race, our group of marathoners and fans went to the fast food joint Fatburger for lunch. Apparently, long-distance runners crave greasy burgers after burning 2,600 calories. As we sat down to eat, the guy across from me introduced himself. I had seen him around our group of friends, and identified him rather nondescriptly as “my brother’s friend, Steve.”
“My brother’s friend, Steve,” ended up being a rather enjoyable conversationalist. He was a few years out of college, and gave me a few bits of advice on surviving post-graduation life. It was an ordinary connection on an ordinary day.
In the following months, my brother’s friend Steve evolved into my co-worker Steve (as we both interned with the same non-profit organization), then into my boyfriend Steve. Now we’re 8 years into marriage, and that spring day seems like a distant moment.
There were many places that became a part of our unfolding relationship - Roscoe’s House of Chicken & Waffles (our first date), Malibu Beach (where we got engaged), USC’s campus (our wedding reception location). But when people ask us where we began, we point to that lunch at Fatburger after the LA Marathon.
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