Speaking of showing promise, the bottom of my foot was feeling a bit better this morning, so much so that I went out and ran 6 miles on it. The sunavabitch didn't let out so much as a whimper as I floated around the small slice of heaven more commonly referred to as the Hopedale Parklands, but started barking at me almost immediately while stretching and walking around afterward. Luckily a water bottle full of ice and a handful of Vitamin I reduced those barks down to a playful yelp and my freshly drugged and frozen friend crawled back into the doghouse and quickly settled down. It's still rearing its ugly head though, so hopefully another bribe of I & I later on this evening will keep this pain-in-the-ass pooch quiet for good.
In the meantime, I'm off to the motherland for a not-so-healthy dose of beer, pizza and buffalo wings at Owen O'Leary's, an on again, off again Monday night tradition since 2002.
Quote of the day:
"They're peaceful-easy-feeling running. You can't hear nature around you. You can't hear the little old man who just had cataract surgery honking."
- Paul Collyer, making a good point about why real runners don't wear headphones