Somewhere in Dante's Circles of Hell that have number he never dreamed existed are those Damned who realize after the first three or four eternities the Power Point Slides are repeating endlessly. Do you see what I am trying to say here? There is no way a man a couple of centuries ago could imagine what infernal vision displayed before him and in his agony, rather than even dream something of the sort might one day be true, he dismissed it for even Satan would not be so cruel.
After one hour and forty-five minutes of detail so minute that microbes seemed to tower above us, we realize the repetitive nature of the un- information. Worse, and this was much worse, we realize this might actually not be incompetence but a form of unspeakable evil, bent on devouring a certain amount of time regardless of whether or not anyone was educated or not.
The answer of all of this is clearly and only can be one thing; Tequila. Liquid amnesia awaits me, yes. There is a bar near the hotel where a blonde who once danced for a living serves drinks and there I must go.
But instead I put on my running shoes and run.
Macon is a hilly place with a lot of traffic but I soon realize I am raster than most of the cars this time of day. I pass an overweight woman on a cell phone. She's eating and talking and sitting in traffic. The light changes and she passes me. The light catches her and I pass her again. I dodge traffic at the intersection and she is passes me forever gone.
The guys are all going out to the bar and I'm going to run. I start a hill and realize I haven't had enough incline training yet. One minutes, two, then three then four and I am over the hill and realize I have to climb the other side on the way back...from where ever it is I am running to. The grass is too high and there are rocks and ruts. Run!
Thirty minutes later and I'm panting, back at the hotel, and I am writing on a tiny iPhone screen, dripping sweat.
But given the chance to go out and drink or run from my troubles I decided to run.