Yesterday, while running my laps around the Baguio Hospital Parking Lot, I thought about an old Runner's World article I had recently read only a few days earlier that detailed Lance Armstrong's ex, Kristin, and her dream of finishing the New York City Marathon, and I started to think about Armstrong, and his retirement from cycling, and what an ultra-competitive guy like him actually does when he can no longer do what he always did, and I thought about that other excellent American cyclist from the eighties, Greg LeMond, and how he went into stock car racing, and I started to wonder if Armstrong would ever do something like that, or even if he would ever run a marathon, and take the risk of not only being possibly, in this event, average, but conceivably even finishing in a worse place and time than his ex-wife, and then I came home, washed, flipped on CNN, waited for Larry King, and saw the sportscaster announce that Lance Armstrong had decided he would run in this fall's New York City Marathon.
I don't know about you, and I don't know what this means, if anything, but it is fucking weird, is what I'm saying.
