Eight

It's 6:48 a.m., and it's 67 degrees. That's also what it was when I left to drive to the River Trail at 4:45, or 35 degrees warmer than a week ago, and the warmest weather I have run in since October, unless it was this warm one of those evenings I ran in San Antonio two months ago. Sweat burned my eyes, fogged my glasses, and soaked my long-sleeve T-shirt, and I didn't feel worth a fuck anyway. I ran 5 miles and decided to cut my 16-mile run in half. I went 8 miles in 1:36:25, with splits of 12:56, 12:45, 12:34, 12:29, 12:21, 11:12, 11:08, and 11:01. I ran the last 4 miles against a 20-30 mph wind. It sucked. I'm glad Jo's in my lap and I have good things to read, and a meal at Paul's 13 hours away. Oh. And a memory less than 12 hours old of one of the best football games I've watched.