Apparently they're running a marathon this morning. Not me, but many other people. The point of a marathon is to tell Athens we have won against the Persians, according to Robert Browning's poem Pheidippides. Of which I have only read a tiny bit.
Victorian poets aren't really my thing. Unless they poetized in Dutch, in which case they're slightly more my thing. But still not really my thing.
But for several hundred people today, it is their thing.
The other running event in San Francisco is the Bay to Breakers, which in true Athenian fashion is commonly done by many in the nude. Of which I wholeheartedly approve, despite never watching the race, because I hate thematic running groups. Evenso, please run nude with nothing but a face-mask to keep warm. I might applaud if you did.
Oh, and sunglasses for the glare.
Don't forget the sunscreen.
This is California: running naked is what we're all about.
Precisely like you've seen on Bay Watch.
And after that, beer.
The whole thing started over an hour ago. I wasn't awake yet. I had better things to do.
Imagine pale corpse-like figures with glistening flesh flitting through the fog.
Grey icy Kenyans in the lead. Of course.
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