Notes
When I lived in Philly, I would run on Lombard Street. Today I ran on Lumbar-Don't Street. My back was still knotted for some ill-advised lifting that I did Tuesday, but it's been a week since I got "boots on the ground" and my Endorphins were going into deficit. I needed to get at least a 5K out of myself just to get back to something close to level. NOT as easy as it sounded. I had to put the brakes on 3 times before the first mile, because I just COULD NOT my feet turning beneath me in a proper, comfortable and efficient manner. I don't know if what happened next REALLY changed things, or it was just in my head, but right at the One-Mile marker, I caught a whiff of something Phishy, for which I was kinda Grateful ... yeah, there was the fragrance of weed in the air: someone was sparking someplace nearby. Now, being a skinny old White dude = narc-ish looking, I figured it would be best to keep moving, even if I had to adjust my route a little, making a best guess where it was coming from and "not go there" As luck would have it, whatever painkillers were in the air settled where I hurt most, and we chugged back home with not so much as an ache. Hey, like I said a couple weeks ago: SOme people start their Weekends on Thursday Night. God Bless 'Em