Transplant and the City–Running Toward Home

“That was like a headshot,” a father shouts at his daughter. The family of three – father, daughter and son – played a game of Wiffle ball. She threw a fastball high and in instead of down the middle. All he wanted was something to hit.

A father cheers, “Let’s go lefties!” from the stands as the Little League team plays Over-the-Line on the baseball diamond.

Under the shade of a tree, the girls’ soccer team shuffled through cones as they warmed up for practice.

During my weekly runs at Hunt Park, there is always something happening. The basketball courts always have kids practicing their layups. The baseball diamond is home to the future of baseball. Soccer teams scrimmage against each other. Couples set up a picnic and lounge under the shade.

The people occupying the park give it a sense of comfort that makes me feel like I’ve been using it since I was a kid — it makes me feel at home.

When my family and I bought the house down the street from it, the distance from the public space was a selling point. Jogging at a park has become a routine pulled from the mundane moments within the four walls of my house. A few years ago, I fell into a rabbit hole of depression, and running became my way out. I’ve kept up with it since, and now I run three times a week, for 20 minutes.

In Pomona, my primary jogging location was Washington Park — a green space that was a part of my life since I learned to kick, dribble, hit a ball and run after it.

The fields on the corner of Grand Avenue and San Antonio Avenue saw me grow from a kid trying to score his first goal to a teenager scoring so much his grandpa was forced to void his $5-per-goal contract. The tennis courts taught me to love sports I wasn’t familiar with. The basketball rims taught me how to dribble past an adult who was drinking a beer in between pickup games.

It wasn’t a perfect park, but it was home because of its familiarity. It was the perfect place to run away from the depression monster when it was trying to become my coworker, best friend and life coach.

Now, running is just another way of exercising to clear my mind from life. When we found the house within the Romana Community in Riverside, the distance from the park made it an easy decision.

Hunt Park has quickly become home because of the way the community fills it with cozy feng shui. Running through the fields doesn’t feel strange. Walking our dog, Kung Fu Kenny, doesn’t feel out of place. Setting up a blanket and laying in its grass feels like family.

The grass grounds me in a new reality, the people remind me I’m part of something here, and running through the park feels like running through a life in Riverside that — at the pace of my jog — is finally becoming mine.