cthulhia: (feets don't fail me now)
[personal profile] cthulhia
everyone is unlucky somewhere. conversely, everyone is lucky somewhere else.

She describes how she's romantically angsting over someone as she writes, but, if she really tries, she notices that everything else is fine. That sounds familiar

Luck is assuredly a self-fulfilling prophecy, in either direction.

The luck theme reminds her of St. Patrick's Day, also on my mind. The Ras na Eirann confirmation came in the (e-) mail. The Somerville Striders overdo it with their attempts to be chatty and approachable. But hey, free Irish beer (at the Burren), or (non-alcoholic) Irish coffee and scones (at The Diesel). Somehow, RedBones is involved. Woot. (If you're not in the race, or with a runner, these places will probably be closed off until 1 or so, at least they'll be mobbed.)

Maybe I'll get lucky and find someone I know slow enough to run with me. 12:30 miles are good for me on pavement. I can run an 11 minute pace on a treadmill. The moment I'm outside, it all goes downhill. Well, uphill, probably. The Striders claim to be friendlier towards slow runners. We'll see if I'm forced onto the sidewalk because the race crew takes down the course before I'm done with it. Always a Joy, that.

January 2019

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