We’re at the Shilo Inn watching the World Series. It’s San Francisco 2, Detroit 0.

Tomorrow morning we’ll be beating four hours in our first relay marathon. Or we’ll be chalking the experience up to a little extra training and a lot of fun. Bill told me on the way here (which, by the way, was a five hour car ride in the POURING rain) that if I come in later than 2:15 he’s going to lallygag back to the finish line. Apparently, there’s no point in his running hard if we can’t hit our goal. I have to admit I’m shocked to hear him say so, not that I don’t completely understand. It’s just that Bill is usually Mr. Do Your Best and Leave It All Out There.

Maybe he doesn’t want to waste any post-race wine-tasting energy on the race itself if he won’t get to brag about it. I plan on bragging about it no matter how it turns out.

Anyway, give us a mental shout out if you think of it tomorrow morning. At the very least, I’m hoping to run my fastest half marathon since I was in my twenties. Notice I said “fastest” and not “best” since, as I always say, the best races are the ones in which you feel the happiest–and that has to with more than mere speed.

Cheers to you on your Sunday morning run, too, wherever/whatever it may be.