Couldn't wait to run after work -- I ran back up the old route up to Manuel's, actually a little bit past it, over Freedom Parkway to North Highland Pub. From my house, there's a slight uphill grade the entire way. Near Manuel's is The Carter Center, built upon a hill that was the vantage point that General Sherman used to oversee the Battle of Atlanta.
This is the streak I should have been focused on. Things have been going good. My shoes are properly broken in (about 120 miles on them), my feet are hitting the pavement right, the weather perfect -- you don't overheat, no matter what the exertion.
It's like taking a plane up to 30,000 feet to see if there are engine problems. You'll find out pretty fast. I've reached a level of training that's like a $5/10NL bankroll -- basically, you can do whatever the fuck you want. The cycling has really helped. I'll climb hills on the bike and feel my heart pitter-patter at a stoplight. I'll come back from a run and the engine just revs normally.
During the run I thought about Mark's recent post on continuation bets out of position, a move only good against the weak-tight, but then, any bet is liable to scare them off.
I thought about the goddess, who mysteriously after 13 months came back into contact with me the day I broke up with Kelley. I left a message on her cell, since a bunch of the crew was going to play trivia in her (old?) hood tonight.
I thought about whether I would win Sherri, the new girl that I met. It's too early to tell, it's such an awkward dance at first, part chess, part stumbling around with your shoelaces tied together. I've seen aces lose to the most awkward of draws, I've bought into the most incredible of relationships with the lowest cards possible.
You can't ever tell how it's going to turn out. I guess that's why you play with a sufficient bankroll of the heart.