As the plane crashed down
He thought, “Well, isn’t this nice?”

— Alanis Nadine Morissette

—

The good news: I suppose magnets will not stick to me. Lordy, I hate a sticky magnet.

The bad news: I have no iron. Maybe I just misplaced it.

I tend to look at medical charts as if they were race elevation profiles. This one has quite the screamer of a finish.

On the bright side, this would explain why I’ve been feeling so crappy for the last month or so, and it’s fixable. Horse pill-sized iron supplements that taste like, well, iron supplements. This happened once before and it worked out fine.

But why is this happening? I don’t think we ever found a cause last time. Just slapped some crazy glue on the gaping wound and kept moving. Luckily I turn 70 tomorrow. Maybe we can run the clock out before it becomes serious. Or stock up on duct tape.

Another 4 miles on the indoor track at 15:05, continuing the march to sub-15s. No, I didn’t actually march. It felt OK, but that was when I was blissfully unaware of my anemia. I am now like a Swiss soccer player, writhing relentlessly in the wake of a phantom foul. Or something.

I see the doctor tomorrow. Will he tell me extreme distance running is a bad idea? Will I listen if he does? What’s the point of going on if you can’t go on?

I’m now blissfully to the point that if something bad is going on in my body, I don’t want to know. Just give me some Lorna Doones and leave me alone.

Beats me. Maybe the medical chart really IS an accurate portrayal of my fitness.

All downhill from here …