|You can't get there from here.|
Then the email, the internet. At last doing some necessary playwriting. It is frustrating work, but that means I am actually doing the work, and not just thinking about eventually doing the work.
I had promised the boys a fishing trip, one more before Michele's boy and mine part ways for another year. The wife woke feeling terrible, and was just rising to sit before the fire as I headed up to take a shower.
"How far will you run this morning?" she asked.
I had decided not to run. Maybe tomorrow. My kit isn't clean. I promised the boys a fishing trip.
"Six miles," I said. "But I am supposed to take the kids fishing."
Michele informed me it is absolute low tide, the boat is beached. I couldn't get out if I wanted to.
So I put on a smelly, somewhat damp kit, and stepped out onto the porch to stretch. It was still overcast. And it was raining. Just a little.
And then I had the best run I have had all vacation.
Avg Pace: 8:29
Route: Martin Point Run
Chin up, tense belly, running briskly. Cool air, road clear, rain never getting harder but never dying away, either. Breathing easily, feeling good. No pain. Not in my thighs or knees, or in my back.
Tomorrow I take a day off, the well-earned, previously scheduled day off.
Today looks like a great day for the movies.
Climate: rain. just a little.
A: Don't go nowhere, mister. Stays right here.