5K Beetches.

There was a run today, one that required you run like hell. And, oh yes I did. I kitted myself up like a cop-impersonating stripper, snuck out of my front door at the ungodly hour of 0730AM past the apartment filled with impressionable little white trash children and headed for Portland.

Honestly, it felt two parts "walk of shame" one part "wtf am I back in high school?", shaken, not stirred.

So, then god tries thwarting me with fog, but my car triumphs. And the whole way down the 5, I'm having these extended metaphor daydreams where I am arresting during a routine traffic violation for impersonating an officer in a uniform with the name "sargeant sexy" stitched on the lapel. Freudian analysis reveals a deep fear that I am, in fact impersonating my life and will be found out at any moment.

So I finally get to Portland after getting lost for the 700th time since I've gotten here. For those of you who don't know, Portland is designed to resemble an MC Esher drawing with bridges where the stairs should be. And it's frickin' 39 degrees out (I know, Mischa, my scion told me) and I am running around downtown portland in spandex. 5K later and several mysterious pains throughout all of my leg tissues and we're handed beer and hot wings at 930 in the morning. Really, who planned that?

Point is: I finished. I kick ass.

Okay, that's two points.