Jupiter, FL

We settled into our campsite at Jonathan Dickinson State Park (apparently Florida really enjoys naming state parks after bros names ‘Jonathan’) with hopes of running a 6-hour ultramarathon in preparation for a 100-mile ultramarathon that was on my calendar for later in April.

A few days into our stay at Jonathan Dickinson, the 6-hour had been cancelled. And then the 100-miler had been cancelled. And then our campsite at the state park had been cancelled.

Coronavirus may have made its debut on the shores of the U.S.A in January, but in typical American fashion, nobody cared too much, few people gave two shits about it until early to mid-March. And then everything toppled like a Jenga game of plans and reservations.

Because Coronavirus was finally wielding its crown to gain notoriety, we also began enacting some measures of our own. These measures mostly involved just staying home.

And not hammocking because at J.Dickinson hammocking is outlawed. Which I hate. And honestly, should have protested about.

And hanging with the turtles at J. Dickinson. Which roamed freely and frequently. And were gigantic and not afraid of any woman, or any cat. I wish my buddy Jonathan (not of Jonathan Dickinson or Pennekamp fame – or Campendium fame) was there to talk about turtles with me. Instead, I only had Lucy. She doesn’t talk, she just sniffs a lot and bops their shells with her paw before running away terrified. I’m glad she runs away. Because these guys did not give the impression that their daily routine – which could be guessed by the turtle trails they had created – would be thwarted without a fight.

I also spent some time being sad about ultramarathons being cancelled. And sad about how achy my muscles were from high mileage training months. And now the muscles wouldn’t be used to carry my obnoxious numbers of miles through the day and night.

Jake made me dinner because he’s nice and wanted me to feel happier. The dinner was compromised of mostly cauliflower, which, apparently, makes my stomach violently revolt. You win some, you end up sitting on the toilet for hours after some.

And then I spent some time being guilty about being sad about running races being cancelled when the virus was slaying people. Making them sick. Making them die.

And I acknowledged my own disappointment about races, then decided to try and help not spread the virus to other people who might get sick and die, and stay home.

But then we had to find a new place to live because Coronavirus catalyzed Florida State Parks to shut down. And J.Dickinson staff decided that meant not letting us transfer to our second reservation for a site a few campsites down from our initial campsite. Safety first, last, and always.

I began spending hours a day – which turned into most hours of the day – tracking campground closures for Campendium, a campground review website that I ‘work’ for. A trickle of closures became a raging river of closures – and we realized we better find another place to stay, being that J.Dickinson was kicking us out. Although, we did have to ask the employees at J.Dickinson if we were being evicted, after noting that Florida State Parks were closing via sources of our own. They never came to tell us we had to leave. I wonder now if we could have just snuck through the entire shut-down without them noticing.

We ended up securing a reservation at an overpriced RV park a few miles up the coast. And that’s about all for Jupiter. We didn’t get the chance to explore outside of our campsite, and a few of the park’s running trails.

But such is life during the time of Coronavirus. Even nomad life.

State Park, Ultramarathon