I ran a half marathon yesterday. And by ran, I mean ran/walked, and by ran/walked I mean jogged and walked, just trying to keep up with Jack. Jack and I ran the same pace the entire 13 miles. When Jack wasn't regaling me with his marathon tales, I had a lot of time (3 hours and five minutes, exactly) to reflect over my life choices. (i.e. having 4ish glasses of champagne the night before, deciding it was a good idea to "carbo load" with a whole pizza at midnight and, oh right, not training for a half marathon.) I would have finished third to last, but Jack pulled a fast one and sprinted past me at the last minute. I thought we had bonded quite a bit, but I guess the competition really got to his head. Jack wasn't there to make friends. I'm not really sure why I was there.. but I finished it and will forever have this really athletic-looking photo of me getting my ass whooped by Jack on my first half-marathon.