Today’s the birthday of Brother the Younger.
He’s a really cool guy. We don’t get to spend much time together. Life’s like that. But he’s always been there when I needed him.
When we were kids, he launched a croquet ball into Brother the Elder’s belly that became a Smith Boy legend. I, an innocent bystander, could only watch. And laugh like crazy once nobody was looking.
We played guitar together. I drummed him at Monopoly. We shared adventures in a battered Toyota Land Cruiser and a Pinkie Outpost. We had a beer at the bottom of the Grand Canyon and encountered a mountain lion (i think) in the middle of the night at Big Bend.
We survived a 260-mile canoe race despite my total cluelessness of how to row. He had really good drugs.
When I had my Monkey Heart installed, he was there before the surgery and stayed until I was on my way back home. When I had no idea how to make a wireless connect work (Magic Weasels?) it was done. Moving to Corpus? He drove the truck.
When I ran across Texas, he met me in the middle of nowhere with a Schlotzky sandwich. Best meal of my life.
I thought about all that while running today. And how you don’t get to choose who you grow up with. I guess I just got lucky.
Happy birthday, bro.
- 4.1 miles — 56:22 (13:45) 78 degrees r/t
- 13:35, 13:25, 14:06, 13:52
- Piranha-meter — 894 miles