Notes
2 X 11.2 + Luke Lea.
Ran a marathon today. Not too shabby.
Slow and easy. Last run for the 2120's - they retire in glory. I'll miss them.
A little warm, not enough food, but such a perfect day. Parks were never so crowded, with good reason.
All bikers must die. I hate them. With their three-sizes-too-small spandex and their coasting around blind corners at 40 mph. Like we're supposed to be impressed by gravity. I admit to feeling a little sad the guy at 9 mile didn't bite it when the car stopped. I would have called 911 for him, but I'd have been laughing inside. Fruity bastards.
Other than the bikers ... and the walkers ... and the cars ... and the horseshit ... well, other than the people, it was a perfect run. Per-fect. My first Griffins Robusto afterwards, first cigar since God knows when. Screw chocolate milk.
My legs hurt. There is beer in the house. Life is good.