Born to Run is a silly book. Ditto barefoot running and minimalist shoes. I started running barefoot, a 10th grader in 1961. We trained and raced barefoot. We rarely wore the crap shoes then available.
There’s no romance about stone bruises.
Gogol wrote a short story about a drunk who wakes up and finds a nose in his breakfast. Crazy, eh? Perhaps no more so than what we see in the news each morning.
Don’t know or care what side you’re on. Read.
Awesome form. Karsten Warholm
Now three months ago, quarantined, some guy Rx’d Longmire. On Netflix. So I watched the first one, and the remaining 62 episodes. Crazy, I admit.
Then I started reading the Longmire novels. Eight so far.
And now into two mystery novelists, Peter May and Arnaldur Indridason. So far, six by May and seven by Indridason. If curious, suggest you start with The Blackhouse by May, Jar City by Indridason. …We were all set to attend a wedding outside Reykjavik. Now postponed to next year.
The 6/11 5K cancelled. Doesn’t meet the governor’s rules. Damn. …Maybe next month.
Fitbit numbers: 5/1-5/31/20: 381,152 steps, 1381 floors (13,810′ climbed), 186.32 miles, 62,752 calories
No races since November. Signed up for 5K on 6/11.