After running the BAA half marathon (13.1 miles of pure and undiluted toilet yearning), I knew I needed to step up my training for the Canyonlands Half Marathon. Knew... but didn't. After three months of sedimentation, I ran 6 miles about a month ago and ruined my foot - I'll probably never walk again.* Actually, I probably just pulled a ligament. Being born of goodly, stoic parents, but not having myself been blessed with the gift of a high pain threshold, I declared myself unfit to run the 1/2 marathon and sent my brother Michael to the starting line with my racing bib. Michael (who also didn't train) did my name proud and finshed in a great time. I waited on the sidelines and ran the last four miles with Tim, and we practically won the race. **
Note the middle pic: Michael and I are both incapable of serious thought / exercise without sticking out our tongues. It is sure to end badly one day...
*I've been hanging out with my niece Bryn, who regularly declares herself a cripple after earth-shaking injuries like running into the couch and such.
** We came to the high desert from sea level and like to tell ourselves that's why we couldn't breathe.
