Thanks for putting up with me, May

In with a whimper, out with a whisper, or whatever the saying is. 261 miles, virtually all of it at an easy aerobic pace. I came back from Massachusetts in late April convinced that the idea of racing well was either unattainable or not worth whatever effort it would take, and my running last month reflected this. Even if I were certain I didn't want to hack around with watered-down age-group aims, I would still run every day because it's a nice escape from the bullshit of daily life, hones my creativity and mental acuity for the stuff I often have to whip up on short notice, gets me into the sun and the air, forms the basis of my version of a social life...basically for all the reasons any recreational runner laces them up. My performance at the Bolder Boulder was just good enough so that I feel grudgingly motivated to create a sequel, like a director who makes a film he thinks sucks but grosses just enough at the box office and gets solid enough critical reviews to compel him to take a stab at extending the franchise. This means training for another three-plus months until I mosey back east, although I might show up at some of the twice-a-month all-gomers track meets at Potts Field. 1,457.5 miles on the year with zero missed days.