Is We All Really?

I went for a run last night. This was my first run of more than a mile since my knee injury three years ago, so it was something of a feat - both physically and psychologically. My former running partner (and fellow Dilettante) Amanda was nice enough to run with me. And we did 6 miles (4 running, 2 walking) at pretty close to my old pace. (Though slower than little miss "My dad owns a running store in Colorado and it's in my blood"'s pace...)

I was scared to attempt this -- and it became even more frightening as we ran along the trail and passed a spray-painted message that read:

     I is lamp.

About 20 feet down the path, we came upon a second spray-painted message. This one read:

     U R lamp.

And a few more feet beyond that, the third message:

     We all is lamp.

That was a bit of a head scratcher. The final message a little further down though, was pretty clear. It stated simply:

      Eff your Mother

Poetry, really.

In preparation for the run on such a humid night, Amanda had drunk a ton of water prior to meeting me at the trail. She really needed to urinate, but there was nowhere to go, so she said to me, "Let's talk about dry things."

So as though she had requested I do this in the form of Jeopardy! answers, I provided the following:

• What is the Gobi Desert?
• What is Steven Wright's sense of humor?
• What is the kind of cake that my mother-in-law does not like (This being an inside joke about me offering to bake my mother-in-law a cake one year on her birthday and asking her what kind of cake she liked, to which she had replied, "moist.")

Amanda said, "Excellent run of the category," and I replied, "Dry things for eight hundred, Alex."

Today...I actually feel okay. I kinda wish I had not worn high heeled sandals to work, but other than that...not in a lot of pain.

In other words:

     I is fine.