I also ran a 4 mile road race yesterday. I fucking hate road races with a passion, but only because of the "race." Road is fine.

My brother, a big burly lacrosse player, and I just stood there before the race and mocked all of the people in short shorts, absorbent tank tops, and their $300 Sauconys. It was easy to forget that a lot of these folks had a goal and they took it seriously, that this road race that we were running to support our paralyzed friend was a mode of moving them onto some greater race, a marathon or a triathlon.

Dan ran a 6:43 mile, came in 11th out of 204, achieved his goal of beating all female competitors. (Half-joking.)

I did a 7:32 mile, came in 40th. I love running, I just hated hearing them all breathing heavy when we started out, when they were on my tail, when they were passing me.

People take themselves so seriously. I don't even think I take myself seriously in music, my desired career path, which might be saying something. I want to say that working hard and being easygoing aren't mutually exclusive, but then I realize that might be my entire problem.

K is despairing on the phone. I'm trying to help her, I'm not being condescending. Can't step on toes. Let her ebb and flow, just don't get sucked under, too.

The feelings of last week are fading as I'm getting ready for this week. Even with tomorrow's bike ride with J, I'm feeling particularly excited to visit K, I feel closer after working through her stuff.

Last week was a flash in the pan, a creative spark. Keep moving forward. Glance back every so often to that glimmer of hope you left behind.