I broke an 8-minute mile on my 1.5 mile jog this evening. One more arbitrary threshold crossed. My best mile was in high school, and will never be duplicated. These most recent workouts, though, carried me through a mile of running and under eight minutes, which is something I haven’t seen since college, on either count.
To celebrate I biked 10 miles. My last mile was a pure sprint, where I got down to 2:08. That’s a personal, lungs burning, legs aching best.
Someone asked if I’m training for a triathlon. No. The dirty little secret: I love swimming. Love the water. I couldn’t swim a straight line to save my life. I don’t need to run over people any more than I wish to be ran over, so I’ll stay away, but thanks. Besides, that I’ve just reached a little over a mile of jogging will keep me out of any races for some time. But, still, I’m flattered.
Did you see the world’s largest vuvuzela? How about the new, better mousetrap?
Brazil and Portugal … I hate to say battle it out … OK, they conceded that neither team felt the need to press and, thus, ended in a draw. Ivory Coast, who deserve better than to go home early, beat Korea DPR 3-0. Spain topped Chile in workmanlike fashion. If that team comes alive Spain will be tough to beat. Switzerland and Honduras flail their way through 90 minutes to another scoreless draw. They’ll both depart the tournament very dissatisfied, I think.
And now the Round of 16 begins tomorrow. No more ties, now the desperation comes. Now the nationalistic dreams and passions will be on display for when leather meets nylon it will mean only joy and sorrow. Those first efforts in group play, so calculated and cautious, give way to derring do and success, or timidity and defeat.
Hey, if the commentators can overstate things, so can I.
