This week in the Twin Cities, there was the FANS 24-Hour race, the Minneapolis Marathon and Grand Old Day 5 Mile (plus a dozen or so other races, including a 5K in my backyard). I did none of them; I watched none of them. Instead, I went to the Brickyard, planning to run my favorite hill for 5-7 hours.
I'd hoped the rain would keep the number of people taking their dogs for walks to a minimum, but there were still quite a few. There were also two hobos - not your typical urban homeless - something I'm guessing most people reading this blog don't encounter. Some interesting points to make about hobos: 1) They're cleaner than you'd expect. They average 50-60 years old and you don't live that long in harsh environments without taking care of yourself a little. They also tend to have pretty good shoes. 2) They don't want you to know they're hobos, so they pretend to be tourists, stopping at all the scenic overlooks and reading the signs. 3)They never look at you, talk or smile; they know how to not make waves (plus bad teeth are a giveaway - making me either a hobo or British, I guess).
I mention them because, since there's no facilities of any kind at the Brickyard, I brought my water in two one gallon jugs and they drank them. Of course, I can't prove that. And they were welcome to it, needing it more than I did. But it meant I had to restock and that meant a short car trip.
The car wouldn't start. Though everyone seems to rely on me when things go bad for them, I had no luck getting anyone to pick up a phone. So, runner that I am, I ran home. It's only 8 miles by car (probably 6.5-7 on foot). The rest of the day consisted of getting the car repaired. I had to walk to the repair shop with the keys, so they could tow it, then walk back home (after reading all the magazines), then walk back to the shop to pick it up. The fuel pressure regulator they installed two months ago was faulty, so there was no charge.
I started to drive to the grocery store, as "the cupboard was bare" and I was peckish. The car didn't make it there. So, I started walking again. Thus, the unintentional marathon.
I'm training for something, but what? Purgatory?
[btw, I'm thinking the next post will be titled "The Quality of Mercy Is Not Strained Peas."]
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