Whoa, man, I feel like ass today. It's always best to find yourself coming down with a cold just a week before you plan to take part in a race. It's only an 8k, so I can run it sick, but I have this stupid goal of soundly beating my time from last year. I will turn 30 years old the day after the race, so my histrionic age-fearing male mind has attached a certain degree of importance to the symbolism of (almost) 30-year-old me being able to outrun 29-year-old me.
I think BBC World News reporter Dharshini David reads this blog. Just days after I mentioned my dad's criticism that she looks like Morticia Addams, she is suddenly sporting a lighter makeup scheme.
Dharshini, if you are reading: 1) Thank you; 2) I have two words for you: volleyball outfit.
I tried finding a picture of Dharshini online, but there weren't a whole hell of a lot to choose from. The one that amuses me the most is this one, which would indicate that Dharshini has been broadcasting since she was 14 years old.
Once I make a T-shirt featuring Jingjing the Death Panda, I want to make a shirt featuring this, which I stole from Kari.
Have you ever heard of the wee Channel Island of Sark? For all of my Britophilia, I'll admit that I had not. I know nothing of the Channel Islands. But apparently Sark, which is only three miles long, maintains a feudal system. That's so quaint, in an oppressive way.
Sark is so wee that you have to first fly or float to the slightly less wee islands of Guernsey or Jersey and then take another boat to get there. All of this really makes me want to visit. Inevitably, this means that going on holiday to the Channel Islands is something that only old people do. I have an amazing ability to want to go to places that turn out to be old people Meccas.