Maple Street Loop

I walked the Maple Street Loop at about 8:30 a.m. Central, and jogged a total of 100 or so yards, in 28:04. I was self conscious jogging in blue jeans and a jacket, but, fuck, it was 38 degrees. Then I took a lesson with Petey King, then, instead of going to the range, drove directly to Burns Park and scored a 50 on the front nine of the long, hard-as-two-motherfuckers course, a pleasing result; had 4 bogies, 4 doubles, 1 triple, and used 19 putts. I hit one green in regulation, with a 166-yard 5-hybrid, and three putted from 30 feet on the perfect but Bolt-fast green. Earlier, I thought I would run tonight, but no way. I awoke at 5 a.m. from a nightmare in which I lost my mind, based on low blood sugar and Ian McEwan's Enduring Love, and haven't slept since; this is a perfect state to appreciate my teetering battle with Jeff Krupsaw in a fantasy football game that hinges for both teams on the results of tonight's game between San Diego and Denver (I trail by 25 points, have San Diego's quarterback, and Jeff San Diego's kicker. I need three or four or five touchdown passes and no field goals. Bunch of yards, bunch of completions. Fuck).