Hot and sticky under the collar.

I set a goal to run a half-marathon (21.2km) by the end of the month. Lola says I’m in my PRIME.

I even purchased a new pair of running shoes last Friday: the Mizuno Wave Rider 29, which I named “Skid Marks” on Strava. One of Strava’s features allows you to track the mileage on your equipment. My three bikes are named Sodapop, Ponyboy, and Cherry Valance. My shoes are called Runny Poos, and now, I have Skid Marks as well.

So far, I have put 5.8km on my Skid Marks, and I can’t do any more for the next bit because I am healing a re-tattoo of my stupid yellow-bellied goose and my underbite-having flying fish.

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UK? Because I am.

Once upon a bright and sunny day in 2018, Yann and I found ourselves before the door of a residential building in Arles-sur-Tech, France. I had the key — previously hidden behind the green shutters of the window to the right —in my hand. I had yet to meet the person to whom this lodging belonged. This stranger had hung the black Reynaud-Bray tote I’d abandoned at the Toulouse-Blagnac airport a few days earlier off the doorknob to make it easy for Yann and me to know which place to rob.

Lucky number 13.
Continue reading “UK? Because I am.”