2.2 miles, 37:49 (17:32-97)

I picked up Char at Mayo today. She says hey.

Char is 87 going on 12. She still lives independently, loves a good crossword puzzle and a strong cup of coffee, and Charlie Rose. Mostly Charlie Rose. If he ever runs into her on the street, he’s in trouble.

She was in the hospital because her heart wasn’t pleased with her latest adventure. She pulled a Thelma and Louise with her best friend, driving to Colorado and Wyoming for no particular reason. As it turns out, 7,500 feet isn’t the best idea for a flatlander nearing 90 with a bad heart. Who knew?

She went through two days in the ER, a stress test, an echo, a couple of CAT scans and a bunch of doctors. The prognosis: Don’t hang out at 7,500 feet, you dummy. A little tweak to her meds and she was headed back home. All’s well.

She has Medicare and a supplemental policy. She is a former radio broadcaster and doesn’t have a lot of money, so she depends on it to stay alive. If Medicare goes, so does she.

Government is such a numbers game. 23 million people. That abstract, sterile number means nothing to me. But one frail elderly woman? I understand that. You’re going to kill her so some rich guy can get a 3 percent tax cut? This is unspeakably insane, you heartless bastards.

And then Mo came home and we strolled for a couple of miles at the track. 2.16 miles (37:49, 17:32-97). I still have no energy and the HR is running too low. Dear body: Please kick in soon. Sincerly, Gary.

Football guys were out. We saw one guy catch a pass in the corner that beats anything I saw in the NFL last year. And they had a beagle puppy on the sidelines. I don’t recall any beagle puppies in the NFL last year. Couple old guys going the wrong direction in lane 1, two women in matching leotards, big guy in the middle. A good day to be on the track. Note to self: Run here more often.

I tell myself it’s all cycles. Running, health care, insanity. Just gotta hang on till things bottom out and it starts to get better. I hope Char lives that long, you heartless bastards. I might have said that already.

They say running is the best therapy. I think I’m going to be running a lot …

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About gary

no sock monkeys were harmed in the making of this blog.
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