I figured out one of the reasons I didn’t want Sean to beat my time in the marathon: I’ve done it once and I don’t need to do it again. I found a way to justify my time, though. At San Francisco, a much hillier and twistier course (or so I tell myself) the fastest runner finished in 2:45. Portland was like 2:15. So that means I get an arbitrary scaling factor and I can tell myself my time was faster, relatively.

In any case, Sean is on my list for beating my time, and Jeff is on it for helping him do it. Not that my list means much of anything, as my more important list has things on it like, “remember to buy gas on the way to work tomorrow,” and, “go to sleep earlier.” Stuff that I forget until it’s too late. What was I talking about again?

I had something that I can’t remember the name of for lunch again, c-something de pollo which just turned out to be chicken soup. It was, as most things are at Super Taco Ochoa, delicious.

Much better than this frightening sight this morning at work.