33rd Street Loop/Hash

This makes two consecutive aborted efforts. I attempted the five-mile 33rd Street Loop this morning but quit a quarter of a mile from my house at four miles. I alternated jogs and walks to cover the four in 57:57, with splits of 28:34 (for the two), 14:22, 15:01.
I walked and jogged for 52:48 on the Hash run from Kanis Park this afternoon. I'd bet I jogged for at least twenty minutes, so probably covered close to three and half miles, maybe four. Maybe. The thing is I did do the entire run, which has been a rarity for me the last few years. It was hot, but very dry. No, I'm telling you; it was 97°F and everyone was going, "Fuck, this ain't nothing."


DR. PETE'S HASKELL STAKES ROCKAMUNDO SPECIAL

Competitive Edge, at 21 minutes before post-time of the Grade I Haskell Stakes at Monmouth Park, is listed at 21-1. If you read this in time to drive to your nearest off-track gambling facitily, or you know a bookie, bet $20 to win on Competitive Edge. Fuck American Pharoah. His owner didn't know how to spell his name. That's gotta bug him.

OVERHEARD
"And then all the sudden we fly into this fucking cloud bank, and the pilot didn't blink an eye. And I'm like, fuck, I know there's goddamn mountains sticking up all over the fucking place out here. And then the fucking pilot starts asking us where we're from and shit, and I'm like, 'Fuck, shut up, man. Fly the fucking plane.' "
—Pete's brother Jim Perkins, on a single-engine Cessna flight he and Karen took near Juneau, Alaska, last week. Believe it or not, Jim cusses slightly more than Pete, and he actually says "...and shit" quite a bit