I am sitting here in a state of utter blear, forcing Pink Lady apple slices dipped in peanut butter into my reluctant mouth so that I won't be found sitting and babbling somewhere along mile eight of today's training walk. I hope I have enough time to digest this somewhat before we start in an hour and nine minutes.

What I would not give to crawl back into bed and sleep in. What I would not give.

But I'm up, and I'll walk, and my thoughts will be very much with a friend who is going to have a tremendously hard day today. L. McK., you're epitomizing grace under pressure, and I know I don't have to tell you that grace under pressure, according to that manic-depressive old misogynist Ernest Hemingway, is the very definition of courage.


Off to sleepwalk. At least the weather will be beautiful as I somnambulate down the lane.