Doesn't the lady in front look happy? And, it's encouraging to see that she's surrounded by men, willing to carry her like the secret female-pharoah she is whenever her gluts give away after 100 yards.

My half-marathon is on Sunday, and my nasal tone announcing event sounds like it isn't an option. I'm just not sure that I'm ready: nothing is as unforgiving as a long, hilly, windy thirteen miles on thigh and gravity-sucking concrete.

I've only completed 10.5 miles in training, suffering several days afterwards. Even now, my nasal-pitched lower back forgives nothing. I should be on a walker at this moment, shuffling for a cookie.

Why did I sell my George Sheehan book "Running to Win" at my last garage sale? I've asked myself that question only 1000 times since. I'm totally on my own, trapped in my sordid, diseased, dumpy thoughts of pound-dumb.

The race t-shirt had better be good.

T.S. Eliot cheerfully tells me, though: Only those who risk going too far can possibly find out how far they can go. Hmmmm.....I wonder what his training program looks like. I think I like Shakespeare's realism here better: Bid me run, and I will strive with things impossible.

Impossible. Yes, I do like the sound of that today. Surely they give refunds?