Drove to Indy, met up with good people, gave Pump a shoe massage and talked about sports (“Hey I drove by that stadium that has the logo you have tattooed on your arm.”), ate pizza (to be regretted by all approximately 8-12 hours later), ran with Brooke, told her that her hair looked fine under her hat, didn’t kiss the bricks, got through some tough bits together, watched a neon man dance like nobody was watching despite the very opposite, drove 8 hours and 22 minutes to Toronto, watched Beachy accomplish something great, held signs, heckled runners, got sunburn.

Go away, I’m sleeping for a hundred years.