Thankfully, I'm too cheap to actually buy the photos. And in this one I stole off the web site, my ravenous man-crotch is obscured (albeit in a big zero) by the photographers' do-not-steal-this-photo-and-post-it-on-your-blog watermark:
The run was fabulous—the weather was perfect, the crowd was nicely spaced out thanks to an organized program of starting waves, and I was numbed by a handful of Ibuprofen so I was able to beat my best half marathon time by a whopping 15 minutes without realizing I was completely destroying my IT bands. To pass the time in a long run, I sometimes do mileage-related math in my head (when I'm not singing show tunes, of course). But I'm not always a clear thinker when I'm under physical duress, and though I thought I was on par to beat my time by 20 minutes, which would have qualified me for a fast-person start corral in the Chicago Marathon this fall, I realized in mile 11 that my math had been off
But my shorts look normal and I didn't pay a cent for the photos and I did get an impressive new personal best out of the run. So I'm not going to complain about my time. Much.