No snack cracker indiscretion goes unpunished. And not just by Bill and J.D. It's always accompanied by a warning from my left foot, that if I run too much and get too fat, it's going to be painful. If you just started reading my blog, I ran half of the NYCM and limped half of the NYCM because of some foot pain, which I thought was a subluxated cuboid bone. I no longer think it's that, but it's not a typical runner's injury, and seems to show up when weekly mileage + weight >= 225. This equation has been determined empirically over the last year and a half and has held up to experimentation even better than Shröedinger.
And right now, I weigh about 180, and run about 45 miles per week, so I'm pushing the envelope a bit. Damn you Snack Crackers! They should be banned. Nobody puts crank in a vending machine, but I have to deal with the snack crackers, right down the hallway, and just 85 cents. And you should see me, digging through my pockets, finding a nickel here and a dime there, shaking down my friends, "spare a quarter, buddy. I'm good for it. This is the last time, I swear it. I gots the ~shakes~."
Listening to: Rage Against the Machine - Calm Like a Bomb (I be walkin god like a dog; My narrative fearless; Word war returns to burn; Like Baldwin home from Paris, Uh.)