R still has the flu, which is unusual around here, where the 12- or 24-hour variety is the norm. I slept in and went for my run late, and walked more of the 10 miles than usual. I'm telling myself that I'm saving up for the 1/2 marathon next week, and that it's better to walk with the blister that was forming than to tear up my feet now. My old shoes are too old to do well with long runs, and my new ones are not yet broken in enough. A quandary, but hardly worth worrying about.
R. said that she felt like she was floating Saturday night. I asked, "Did your hands feel like two balloons?" and she said the sort of did, and D. told me to stop already with the Pink Floyd references. We explained the allusion to R., but in her flush-faced state, she cared even less than usual how clever we were.
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