I decided last night that I would not in fact go for a run. My knee didn't feel all that bad, but it was sticky balls hot outside and iced knee sounded better than icked knee.
What I did do was engage in two of my favorite non-running like an idiot activities. I grabbed my keys and went down to the pub where I plunked myself down in front of the projection screen TV to watch baseball and asked the kind barmaid for a draft beer.
It's been awhile since I've gone to the bar by myself, and I don't often get the chance to watch a game. I am of bare pocketbook and no cable so I usually just listen to the radio broadcast and wait for the highlights during the news.
But last night seemed special. I am near payday so a little $10 beer holla seemed like a cost-conscious splurge and the Cleveland Indians were about to sweep the Minnesota Twins in a three-game series with the grand finale that wasn't between C.C. Sabathia and Johan Santana. Basically, the game was over after the first inning, which ironically I listened to on the radio while I was eating my dinner at home. But despite not seeing too much action it was still a nice treat.
And we can just call it carb-loading for my eight-miler tonight.
Marathon Countdown: 29 days.