For my money, anyone who deliberately runs 26.2 miles - just over 42 km - needs to have his or her head examined. That includes my son, Andy, and 45,000 of his closest friends who ran the Chicago Marathon yesterday. Above, our pride and joy picks it up 150 m from the finish line with couldn't-be-worse backlighting. Below, the mob at the first milepost.
Back home after a long drive. It's late; I'm pooped. We must have marched maybe 6 or 8 miles around the city trying to follow him. Not nearly what he did, but more than enough for my old legs and feet. Some more of this tomorrow, and back to commenting on my friends' blogs.
Back home after a long drive. It's late; I'm pooped. We must have marched maybe 6 or 8 miles around the city trying to follow him. Not nearly what he did, but more than enough for my old legs and feet. Some more of this tomorrow, and back to commenting on my friends' blogs.