Worst run ever this morning. I decided to try and beat my usual time, so I cranked up Jonathan Coulton’s “Code Monkey” instead of my more usual warmup, “Sunny Afternoon” by the Kinks. I was winded half a block up Eugenia, and groaning by the time I reached the owl. Then my earphone connector came loose and as I was trying to reconnect it I skidded, lost my balance and came a cropper on Bernal Heights Boulevard.

Worried onlookers flocked to me. I waved them off, saying:

“No, it’s fine, I’m just an idiot.”

I finished the rest of the run without mishap and came in at exactly the usual pace.

I’ve been reading The Tummy Trilogy, which makes it impossible to stick to any sort of diet that isn’t, you know, delicious. I don’t think I qualify as a serious eater in Trillin’s sense of that term – my tastes run too haute – but I definitely have a level of engagement with food. Luckily and in spite of this morning’s pratfall, the running seems to be sticking. I don’t do it for any particular reason any more. I just run. That should offset at least a little of the half-and-half in my morning coffee.

Every woman has to ask of her partner “Will he love me as much as Calvin loves Alice?” Jessa Crispin, another crush of mine, notes that we all have to admit the negative, because we are less worthy than Alice of love. This thought made me gloomy for a short while, until I came to a pleasing realization: Calvin loves Alice almost as much as I love Jeremy.

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