230 days

16:30. It’s not so bad if you think about it. 16:30.

87 miles in 24 hours. Maybe 80 with a bathroom stop.

It’s hilarious when my mind wanders like this. I’m fuzzy today, weaving around the course like a drunk trying to maintain social distancing on the way to last call. I switched from the bird park to Chap soccer fields because I’m less likely to get nailed by an aspiring Tour de France rider. Mildly threatened by a poodle today, but I think I could have taken him.

I’m having trouble staying upright, I suppose from the Ultra Anemia © (now with lanolin). And yet I’m dreaming of a 24-hour run. What the hell is wrong with me?

Do the best with what you’ve got, the prophet sheehan said. Do the best with what you’ve got.

And then he died.

3 miles
chap soccer, 9:30 a.m., 88
49:48 (16:33, 116)
16:26, 16:34, 16:39
138, 0.70, 2.3, v34

About gary

no sock monkeys were harmed in the making of this blog.
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