My Galway Day

My wife’s name is Colleen.  Her brothers are named Patrick, George, John, Michael, Walter and William. Her sisters are named Rosemary and Annie. Her father, a retired cop, is George. Her mother, a retired nurse, is Mary Eileen.

She has two sets of cousins named O’Brien, both with huge families. She and nephews and nieces named Colin and Kaitlin and Killian and Liam and Kieran. She has a cousin who’s a bishop named Quinn.

Do you get my drift? I married into the Pride of the Irish. Or maybe the Irish mafia.

And since today is March 17, there was no way I was spend my lunch hour running hill repeats in a cemetery (my midweek habit of late).

Today was all about parades and corned beef and bagpipes.

For Colleen, St. Patrick’s Day is bigger than Christmas. We were going to watch the parade downtown.

That meant I would have to run before work. So, with the strains of “McNamara’s Band” running through my head, I pulled on my running shoes and got in four miles on neighborhood roads.  

It was a beautiful morning, a true Irish blessing, I suppose.  You never know what kind of weather you will get in mid-March. It could be anything from snow to 70 degrees.

I was in a good mood, greeting people who were out taking walks. Getting into the spirit of things, I said “Top o’ the morning!”

Unfortunately, not a single person replied with the proper Irish response: “And the rest o’ the day to yourself!” Yes, I ‘ve picked up a few things from my sweet Irish bride.

I wrapped up my run in 34:07. Then at lunchtime, Colleen came downtown for the main event.

My office building is right on the parade route, so we just headed out the front door and across the street. For the next 45 minutes or so, we watched high school bands, bagpipers, cops on motorcycles, firemen in green sashes, Irish dancers, etc.

But of course, this being Indianapolis, things were a bit, well, different. The city’s biggest annual event, after all, is not an Irish parade in March, but a 500-mile car race in May. The racing spirit runs year-round here. So I wasn’t surprised to see bagpipe band in the parade today, waving a huge checkered flag. Nor was I really surprised to see Indy race car driver Sarah Fisher riding in the back of a Jeep.

Yes, it was much different from the St. Patrick’s Day parades in Cleveland, where Mrs. Trail Boy and I grew up. There, the parades were packed with Irish cops and Irish priests and Irish judges and the West Side Irish-American Club and Mrs. Murphy’s Irish Dance School.  Mrs. Trail Boy’s dad marched with the Retired Irish Police unit, proudly wearing his green blazer.

But Cleveland or Indy, people still like a parade. The differences just make it more interesting. We saw a few thousand spectators today, cheering and waving.

Tomorrow, I’ll try to head out to the cemetery for hill repeats, until I’m red in the face.

Today, it was all about green.

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2 Responses to “My Galway Day”

  1. wish we could share a pint!

  2. I used to enjoy taking the morning off and running the Shamrock Run. They ruined it by moving the race to Saturday instead of the 17th.

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