there was a blog entry, but then i ignored the “backup battery power” warning on my ibook, and then there was darkness and no more blog post.

we’ll assume it was the wittiest thing i’ve written in ages and mourn the loss.

but to summarize: most of the blogging has been going on over at the training log, which i’m not necessarily recommending as interesting reading for the general public, but it is the reason that i’ve not been blogging here of late. running daily means that i’ve been logging my runs daily, and i tend to wax poetic at the same time about the weather, or nature, or being outside, or whatever i’m thinking about while i’m running, so the urge to write is being satisfied even if i’m not writing much of consequence.

week before last i ran the shamrock shuffle, me and 30,000 other people, on the first beautiful spring day in chicago. much of the race experience was just about learning how to cope with the crowds, the public transit, the start corrals, etc. but i felt pretty good about my time, too. i’m starting to think of myself as a 9-minute miler rather than the standard 10 i’ve used to calculate time/distance for the past year. maybe i’m actually getting stronger/faster? cool.

so this weekend is my birthday trip to new york. i got in late last night and crashed at wabe‘s and josh’s place, where they introduced me to the late night passover snack that is matzo brei, which is sort of like french toast, unleaven style.

this afternoon, while the good people of the world are working toward their easter holiday, joe and i are watching golf. i am learning that one can ascertain a player’s nationality based on the cut of his pants. pleated baggy pants? definitely american. even young fit guys like tiger woods still look frumpy/stuffy in their golf clothes. i always sort of figured that all golf fashion was old-man frumpy, but it turns out it’s going thru a phase sort of like tennis clothes did when the williams sisters arrived on the scene. all the european guys have nicely cut, flat front pants and slim shirts that show off their bodies. i imagine what tiger wood’s closet must look like: rows and rows of pleated dockers, a million shades of drab, followed by a rainbow of sweater vests and knit shirts with the little alligator on the pocket. how is it that tiger woods could be playing the masters and no one told him that a fawn-colored sweater vest does NOT go well over an orange polo?