Gauging from yesterday's comments, you thought I was in an exceptionally foul mood. Perhaps I was. And perhaps that's because I hadn't run since my date with intervals last week.
In honor of those faux Irish revelers, my boss decided to let us go home an hour early. [Drunkard's note: There's probably an ironic joke to make here.] The blue skies and warmer temperature begged me to join them.
I only had time for a three-miler, but it was enough. I suited up in my gray shorts, blue and white short sleeve tech shirt, Brooks Adrenaline 8 (no socks) and sunglasses and I hit the road. I felt fast. I felt hot. I felt good.
I spent the evening with the best company I know. And I drank some very good beer. It was not Irish. Nor was it green.
The Day Late, Dollar Short Part
One more thing about yesterday's so-called holiday. This Frazz hits the mark: