the old man and the sea

I love the smell of the ocean. I don't know why. I mean, I was raised in Wyoming; when I went away to college at BYU, I thought Utah was humid. So obviously I grew up unaccustomed to the salty sea air.

I love it nonetheless. A fact I was reminded of as I stepped off the plane this afternoon in San Diego.

I don't think I take nearly enough vacations. It's refreshing to have no plans. I'm here because I have a fitness convention at the end of the week. Friday through Monday, actually. Sure, there are some pre-conference events on Thursday, but I'm not planning on attending any of those. But I'm away for a week. I still don't know what I'm doing for the Fourth tomorrow, but I'm not overly concerned about that. I'm also unconcerned about whether or not I actually go out on the town, which was originally part of the plan.

Nope. Today, I've done nothing but read and travel. At this point, I'm 335 pages into Twilight, which I figure is a good thing since I didn't even start the book until I got to the airport this morning. (Three hours early because I figured there would be heightened security nonsense, what with the holiday. But the airport was dead. The only holdup was due to the three really old people in the security line.)

So I've spent some time at the pool. I ate grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup at the in-hotel pub. I walked by the yacht club. I turned around and returned to my room, grateful that I decided to throw a jacket in my luggage at the last minute.

I think it's going to be a good week.