A monsoon storm roars into our neighborhood. The wind is knocking down trees. Stuff is rolling around on the roof, which may or may not be coming off. The rain is torrential. The National Weather Service alerts are going off on my phone like a slot machine in the Vegas airport. The electricity is flickering ominously. Mo is hiding in the kitchen. The cat won’t be seen for a week. It’s relentless, pounding us with wave after wave of calamity. We’re goners for sure. I can think of only one thing:
The temperature should be really nice for tomorrow morning’s run.
I am a Bad Person.
Today was OK. 3 miles, 42:45 (14:12-120.) I uncorked a 13:10 on the third mile once I weaseled my way onto the track, possibly an A qualifying standard for the Olympic team. The big worry: The beloved tree that gives the only reliable shade on the track was hurt by yesterday’s storm. A couple of major branches were down. What has today’s storm done to it? Oh, well. Anything for a 13:10 …