Next week will bring us back to Highland Park, starting at the Tazza D'Oro café on Highland Ave. A shout-out to Joanne: If you lead it, we will come. Well, I guess we will come anyway, but it would be great to see you.
Sunday we traversed the Strip, and spent a good 5 minutes actually contemplating climbing over an 8-ft. fence blocking the long-closed 31st St. Bridge, but then someone said, "Hey, we don't even like that bridge." So another potential brush with the law was gone, and the rest of the run was fun but uneventful. Heading down the long wide industrial stretch of Railroad St. straight toward the downtown towers in the dawn felt like a movie set, UPMC looming above like the Eye of Sauron.
Happily at La Prima there were exactly enough freshly baked almond meles to go around, which went some way to cheer up a discussion of the eventual future of runners -- being walkers. And also the machinations of hospitals and health insurance companies, as laid out in the recent Time article, Bitter Pill, and confirmed by Dr. Pam. [Long pause in real time here while I became totally mesmerized by that article - really, read it.] And the question: why do we have to wait hours to see the dermatologist? Especially since it seems to take about 5 seconds to diagnose and promptly slice off parts of our anatomy. (If there is a dermatologist on this list, please don't take it personally.) Finally: where is Tom? We miss you.
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