I can barely see straight to write this blog. The office coffee, as usual, is weaker than my ability to come up with a proper analogy. The brown water is only good for coating my mouth with a bad taste. And I already had that this morning when I woke up after five hours of sleep and a night spent swilling beer at a bar soon to close because it's been robbed three times this year, the last when the thief somehow managed to scale the building and come in through the roof-top patio.
This is the last weekend for the bar and music venue and last night was its fourth annual Cash-a-thon, a tribute as you might guess to Johnny Cash. I don't know how much they were selling the beer for or if the bartenders just didn't know my name, but I made it out of there on the cheap and all the while bought for two.
The evening was a nice respite from this week.
Yesterday, I again worked late, which meant I had to again cut short my planned run because that sun keeps going down earlier and earlier. I ran eight miles through death valley, but I wanted to do 10. I got home and stuffed my face full of cereal, showered and then made some pasta and drank a beer from the fridge.
I was supposed to meet the archivist at 9 p.m. I stuck my unfinished beer and a spare in my pockets and walked over to her house, where we pre-lubricated to save monies at the bar and waited for Martini to join us. I was ready to rock and roll, but I had just enough self control to realize that I need to get some work done today. As you can plainly see.
Expect a race report Monday. I will be running the Buckeye Half Marathon, which just to torture me will pass by my office. However, it will also pass by the bar I frequent after work and sometimes for lunch. Perhaps it will also be a fluid stop.