the mock-up.

Daniel Graham just had a lovely run to the end zone. This is much more like it. (Perhaps Corey Dillon, who has been largely without mojo for the last three weeks, stumbled across Andy's and decided to co-opt it for the afternoon.)

Mixed feelings about thunderstorms notwithstanding, I like the occasional rainy Sunday -- I like it even better when I've run the a half-marathon in the morning and can feel exactly zero compunction about curling up on the pampasan in my sweats and half-dozing, half-watching football. I do this on a fairly regular basis all fall but I usually feel some scotch of guilt, as though I should be outside doing something constructive. Not so much after 13.1 miles.

Anyway, I'm too tired to be coherent about anything right now.

Some things overheard at the B.A.A. Half-Marathon:

• "This pace feels about right." (Some guy to his buddy as we all walked up to the start)


• "Ooooh, this is a good line -- lots of guys." (Some woman waiting for the Port-a-Potties)


• "You said there weren't any hills! I hate you right now!" (Another woman to her male running partner. And it wasn't in a joking tone of voice. It was in more of a "I'm going to break up with you at around Mile 10 because I feel like I can't trust you anymore" tone of voice.)


• "Oh, man, this stuff is nasty. Gimme another." (A guy at the PowerGel station)


• "Um, excuse me? You might want to move your chip more to the middle of your shoe." (Some random runner to me as we waited at the start. You know what, random runner? Shut up. I've been running road races since before the invention of ChampionChips. Judging from your shiny spandex running shorts, clean new sneakers, and inappropriate eagerness to give unhelpful advice to total strangers, this is probably the first half marathon you've ever signed up for. So know your role and shut your mouth.)