knox snooze

Succotash my Balzac, dipshiitake.

I don't even feel kind of guilty

Not that it surprised anyone, but I didn't run Saturday. After blistering myself with longer-than-ever-before runs on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, I decided that it would be smart to take Friday to rest from running. And to resume drinking and smoking, apparently. Yes, cigarettes. They keep me warm.

When I climbed out of bed on Saturday morning, I looked out the window and felt immediately vindicated in staying home. It was less than 20º and there were maybe three or four places in the yard where actual ground was visible. By that, of course, I mean itsnowedd like mad. And still was. And somewhere in Strawberry Plains a bunch of tougher people than me were much,muchh colder than was absolutely necessary. Of course, they also had $20 of mine, but if that was the cost of staying in a warm living room, then it was well worth it.

When I finally got around to running again, it was Sunday. It was still cold, and I only got about a half-mile before vicious shin-splints took over. I don't know if they were technically shin-splints (which somehow seemed to always be the *out* injury of anyone who didn't feel like running when I played basketball and soccer), but it was approximately as comfortable as colliding shin first with the metal frame of the bed. Repeatedly. I finished up in the gym on an elliptical machine and a stationary bike. I don't know how long shin-splint thingies should be rested in order to heal, but I'll give them a week or so.

Holy shit, that was inane. Congrats on still being awake. As your reward, read some Paul Ford, who is America's leading genius.
What have I learned in the last 10 years? A partial list: My family is normal. Everyone toadies, and remorseless fuckers prosper. The minute anyone tells you that they want to create their own Algonquin Round Table, but with bloggers, run. Run. Also, if you can spend any time napping in a field on a summer day when you are youngerÂ?do so. That can be the place you visit in your mind when you're standing on a crowded subway, stooped with back pain, sweating like your pores are water-piks, while a beggar in stained and drooping sweatpants yells in your ear.
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